Chapter 7: And Because of them, I Can Fly

Not many people know that when I was 11 years old, my favorite book was The People Could Fly by Virginia Hamilton (1985). I was one of the student library assistants, and each week I would check out this particular book. I’m pretty sure my name was the only one listed on the checkout card at one point in time. I, like the people in the story, oftentimes wished I could fly.

I grew up in a very rural area in South Carolina. We had a family farm that included hogs, chickens, and, at one point, horses. We also harvested crops like sweet corn, butter beans, string beans, peanuts, cucumbers, watermelons, and much more. During the summer, the family members (i.e., aunts, uncles, and cousins) would get up around 5 am to either plant crops or pick whatever was ready. A joyous day would end with me sitting on the swing eating a slice of freshly picked watermelon, which was not considered a racial stereotype at the time. I was just being a young girl enjoying southern, rural girl pleasures. Reading, riding my bike on the dirt road, and playing in the family garden were the things I found to be normal.