Deciding to Write in Dialect
When my mother started teaching, the word Ebonics hadn’t yet been coined; nobody had grappled in the academic journals as to whether to accept it in the classroom or make [...]
When my mother started teaching, the word Ebonics hadn’t yet been coined; nobody had grappled in the academic journals as to whether to accept it in the classroom or make [...]
My mother was known for being a storyteller. As she grew older, she repeated the stories more and more, but I still listened. I knew exactly what she was going [...]
I’m nervous even as I write this first line. How does a white person write about her interactions with black people in a way that doesn’t offend anyone? There are [...]
Not very long ago, I wouldn’t have been able to write much about my sister Connie. She’s nine years older than me and I imagine she didn’t find me particularly [...]
Writing in my mother's voice came in handy when she decided to seek my father’s input on her journal. They’d been divorced for thirty years, but she still valued his [...]
When people ask me what my book is about, my standard response is to say that when I was ten years old in 1967, my father transplanted our family from [...]