Today I Must Write A

Now, About That Mulatto Teacher And Me. There Was No Love There For Each Other. There Was Not Even Respect. We Were Enemies If Anything. He Hated Me, And I Knew It, And He Knew I Knew It. I Didn't Like Him, But I Needed Him, Needed Him To Tell Me Something That None Of The Others Could Or Would.

We Wait Till Now? Now, When We're Old Men, We Get To Be Brave?

And I Thought To Myself, What Am I Doing? Am I Reaching Them At All? They Are Acting Exactly As The Old Men Did Earlier. They Are Fifty Years Younger, Maybe More, But Doing The Same Thing Those Old Men Did Who Never Attended School A Day In Their Lives. Is It Just A Vicious Circle? Am I Doing Anything?

The Sharecropper May Lower His Eyes, But Not Because He's Less Of A Man. That's Just A Condition Of Society That Such Things Exist.

Anytime A Child Is Born, The Old People Look In His Face And Ask Him If He's The One.