Edited for Content
Imagery sometimes gains power by virtue of being uncensored. When it is visceral and unencumbered by the holsters of moral editing, the result can be incendiary. At the same time, however, the exact obverse is also often true and editing from an “R” down to a “PG” has the overall effect of making the effect more powerful:
“Aunt Cynthia came running down the steps toward the car. She began calling Nanny every type of b-word you could think of: a “fat b--,” an “ugly b—,” a dirty b--,” a dirty b--,” and everything under the sun except a child of God. Uncle then recalls what I can only describe as a scene out of The Matrix. It all happened in slow motion. My grandmother reached one arm in her coat and…pulled out the longest-barreled gun he had ever seen.”
Fuzzy Memories
Memory is a weird thing. One thing for sure, it is not to be trusted entirely. This realization comes too late for those convicted solely upon eyewitness testimony. But it should apply equally well to writers especially when they announce right up front that what they are about to recall is problematic:
“Anyway, this memory of the family reunion gets a little fuzzy because I was only six at the time, but I can still piece most of it together. That summer day, we were out in the country by one of our family’s houses…My uncle Rall, my mother, and a few of the other adults were discussing going down the hill to shoo this gun and taking some of the cousins to experience it. I probably had no business standing there, listening to grown folks’ business. But, hearing what they were saying, I was so intrigued.”
The Big Yellow House
The centerpiece of the author’s home life as a kid was the big house in Plainfield which Nanny and other relatives share. A house—often big, but just as often tiny—shared by multiple generations is, of course, almost a stereotype in the long history of black American society and so it is almost too much perfect that this reality is an iconic example served up here as imagery:
“To four little Black boys, the `the Big Yellow House’ was a palace and Nanny was the queen. It was the house that had space for every major holiday, birthday, and impromptu family visit. Although Garrett and I didn’t reside there, we spent most of our days and weekends at the Big Yellow House because our parents worked long hours and we attended the same school around the corner.”
“The Talk”
Many kids face the moment when they either willingly or awkwardly must sit through “the talk” in which the facts are life are explained—or, perhaps, not—to them by a parent or other family guardian. In black families—especially families with young black sons, there is sequel to “the talk” that is more about the facts of maintaining life than producing it:
“If you get pulled over, put both hands on the steering wheel and wait for the cop to come to the car. Don’t reach for anything unless you are either told to or ask for permission to reach for it. State out loud what you are reaching for. Try not to get smart with the officers. Less talking is better.”
