Rashaun J. Allen's Blog, page 4

Framed In Excellence – A Trek of Four Hundred Years

The National Museum of African American History and Culture lived up to the hype. Not only that but it lived up to the frustration getting my hands on tickets. The first time I woke up just before 6:30 AM to register for two timed release ones. Epic fail. Why? My only conclusion is whoever wanted to go had faster web access. Fortunately, the next morning I snatched two tickets for 11:30 AM.

When we arrived inside I asked a lady at the front desk, “Where to begin?” She looked at us with interest, “Well, how much time you got?”

“About two hours,” I said.

“That’s not a lot of time to see this museum.”

“How much time will you need?”

“About three weeks.”

I didn’t believe her but took her advice to sit through Ava DuVernay’s 25 minutes “One Day in History,” film. It’s an exclusive movie about different pivotal moments in African-American history that all took place in different years but on the same day in August. One moment was the creation of Motown Records. Each moment was done with an introduction scene followed by a prominent black actor or actress reciting a poem.

Afterward, we began our trek through the bottom floor which was dubbed, “the one mile walk through four hundred years of African-American history.” It began with Africans enslaved in the United States and culminated with the inauguration of the 44th President of the United States of America Barack Obama. This narrative was weaved together to show how African Americans have progressed. How was this progress measured? My guess the progression of us going from being treated less than human to one of our own becoming the leader of “the free world.”

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“Awe” followed me across each picture and artifact. We stepped inside a recreated slave ship. A video image of the sea was used to simulate the last image enslaved Africans would see before the voyage across the ocean. The exhibit showed Queen Nzinga of Ndogno and Matamba who fought against the Portuguese during the 17th century over the enslavement of her people in modern day Angola. I wished it had included the infamous story of how she negotiated with Portugal on equal footing despite them not providing her a seat at the table. She snapped her fingers and a warrior with her became a chair for her to sit. Instead, the small paragraph emphasized her conversion to Christianity later in life which some historians argue was a clear sign she had lost the fight for her people.

The next images that moved me were enslavement. On the walls were the names of each slave ship and records of their human cargo they left shore with versus those who survived. I didn’t realize the slave ships information was written on the walls until half-way through it. I would have made a conscious effort to determine if the “Jesus” slave ship was included. Or if mention was made how some slaves ships were blessed by the pope. One ship was named “Good Intent.” How ironic. [image error]

By the time this part of the museum showed the heartbreaking journey of the middle passage, we were brought to the enactment of slavery in different colonies. It was my first time being shown a cotton bag that was expected to be filled with up to ten pounds¾multiple times in a day. A grueling task. If the quota wasn’t met the enslaved were whipped. And if the quota was met it increased the next day.

Then I saw shackles for adults and children. Children were expected to contribute to the plantations at an early age. Others were sold before taking their first breath. The museum explained how many colonies had different levels of treatment of the enslaved. But know, “the enslaved were always treated like property.” I missed any information on how the enslaved was stripped of their religion, identity, and name. Nor how what little they held on was passed down to their kin. However, a story stayed with me about a woman clutching on to her baby at an auction refusing to be separated from her child. Then forced apart through a sale and her agony and anguished being heard across the market. Finally, it was noted that this scene played out often every day the enslaved were sold.

Artifacts of our modern day messiah Harriet Tubman, who made countless trips throughout the south to free the enslaved, was moving. There were several portraits of her throughout the museum and a piece of her clothing like a scarf encased for our viewing. By this time, we had already hit the two-hour mark and was still only on the bottom of the five floors and didn’t even reach the midpoint of the four-hundred-year trek.[image error]

There were artifacts of President Thomas Jefferson. He raped some of his enslaved women and enslaved the children (his own children) the women gave birth to. If someone would enslave his own children without losing sleep one could imagine his sinister behavior had no bottom.

At some point, we reached the emancipation proclamation. But what I wanted to see was some sort of account of how many slave revolts took place between enslavement and the emancipation proclamation. Or ways in which the enslaved resisted the conditions of slavery.

I left with the impression that beyond the heroics of prominent figures like Harriet Tubman the average slave accepted the conditions as a way of life. But I don’t believe it.

I was interested in finding some sort of debate or discussion around reparations. Maybe a reference to an article. Instead, I only came across false promises that deeply affected African Americans: a good Christian is a way to be a good slave and have a wonderful afterlife, fighting in the war of independence in either the British or United States side as a way to earn freedom. Then in the civil war fighting for the north for freedom.

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At the reconstruction period, we had put some pep in our step. What did the newly freed do? Many found a way out of no way and began to found towns in different parts of the south. There were some examples of progress then the pendulum swung backward in the form of Jim Crow and other forms of segregation. One example, the Ku Klux Klan, American terrorists, who have, is, terrorizing the lives of many African Americans. There was a big section around African Americans migrating across the United States of America. Several binders that held examples of people or families that left one place and settled in another. [image error]

There were highlights of careers that offered African-Americans a decent life like the Pullman Porter, men hired to carry luggage and other loads on overnight trains. Although Pullman Porter was paid well their treatment often was subpar. There was a cart that looked like an old version of an Amtrak train. Once I got to see examples of “progress,” I wondered if there would be any mention on how economically African-Americas progressed? Were Pullman Porters able to transfer their wealth to their kin? I was anxious to see beyond the formations of towns and businesses how had they survived or perished through this four hundred year journey. There was mention of Madam C.J. Walker, a black woman, who became a millionaire from selling black beauty products.

The civil rights movement had lots written on Martine Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. A lot of civil disobedience such as Rosa Parks refusing to give up her bus seat which led to the Montgomery boycott. I would’ve loved to see data on the economic impact it had on Montgomery.

There also was mention of the Black Panthers and some of the initiatives they started like the free lunch program. But my favorite picture was “the Black Panthers’ ten-point plan” which clearly illustrated how they intended to make a positive impact on American society. It’s funny how often the Black Panthers were labeled as a terrorist organization for actively aiming to make a safe environment for their loved ones. Some of their initiatives like free lunch programs were programs that the United States eventually adopted. Meanwhile the KKK an organization known to have lynched countless black people never received half the amount of scrutiny and ridicule it rightfully deserved. Alongside or not too far from the depiction of black folks around this time were signs of “Fight the power” to balled fist afro picks.[image error]

Around these artifacts was also a depiction of urban ghettos. There was mention of how drugs impacted the urban ghetto and effectively immobilized this rebirth of African-American consciousness. And African-Americans changing their name to Afro-centric names.

One of the most sort after exhibits was the Emmett Till exhibit. The line went around the corner and the wait to enter hovered around twenty minutes. Out of respect for the family, no pictures were allowed of his original casket. (The one his mother Mamie Till held an open casket funeral to show the world what racists had done to her son). This was possible because his casket was dug up in 2004 in order to do a DNA test to verify his body which up until that point he was only identified by a ring on his finger.

The corresponding video that showed the tragic end of his life had originally been shown on the History channel. Two things his mother said was impactful. Her impression that she had felt Emmett thought she was exaggerating about the dangers in the south. (Leading to him whistling at a white woman and being tortured then thrown into a local river to die.) The second thing was her impression of injustices happening to African Americans throughout the United States. She felt like many of us still do today that since she had a good stable job and racism and injustice didn’t affect her family¾it wasn’t a priority. She learned the hard way when her son became a victim. How will the rest of us learn?

The crowd we walked alongside was filled with mostly black tourists. Some older men and women, some families and what looked like high school students on their senior trip and family reunion. But what I felt through the crowd was mutual respect. It seemed like the general consensus was we were on sacred ground and treated the space and each other as such. The amount of security and cameras helped as well but never seemed to be too imposing on us.

Seeing so many different types of people made me think how great a trip this would be for young children in my family. It would create an avenue to have a constructive conversation around racism and segregation that still affect us. Instead, of just coming off as a parent or mentor just saying things but providing this place of huge context.

Towards the end of our trek, we came across information on the influx of Caribbean people around the 1980s like Dominicans who came to America to live productive lives. There was information about the war on drugs that effectively increased incarceration of black folks. Finally, we got to Barack and Michelle Obama. The dress Michelle wore on inauguration was being shown. The museum is a beautiful token to African-Americans. It is as ambitious as it is a good foundation for a unique experience of a people.

One thing for sure it’s clear that African Americans come from a people who have unimaginable resilience. To look at so many examples of overcoming “Shakespearian” tragedies and still have compassion, remorse, and grace speaks to a place deep inside us. Although, some of us like myself know there are much more hard battles to be fought and won.  [image error]

On the walls of the museum stood many quotes from prominent African Americans. My favorite was from Maya Angelou, “Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave. I am the dream the hope of the slave.” These scattered quotes add to the surreal experience the museum made feel.

The front desk lady was right about needing more time to experience the museum. This piece only focused on the bottom floor of five. At best this museum showed how empowering a museum could be when given the privilege to display the hopes, aspirations, sacrifices, and actualizations of a people. I look forward to going back sometime in the near future.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream—A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review and is forthcoming in The Tishman Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com.

The Cool Geek – Damn

On a road trip bumping an album is the gold stamp of approval. Between the beats and bass battling against the wind and “Oohing” and “Aahing” over lyrics. Then I’m rapping out loud while people stare through their car windows. That’s the power of Kendrick Lamar’s fourth studio album (not counting Untitled Unmastered) Damn.

He reinvents his style but still manages to display a level of authenticity that my 80s baby ears appreciate. You won’t hear me say, “I just like the beats.” In any of the 14 tracks (besides the skits) Kendrick Lamar delivers poetry. My favorite track on the album is “Duckworth,” for his ability to narrate a true story between his father Ducky and Top Dawg, the CEO of his label.

But let’s forget all that for a second. How is this album relevant to black America? Kendrick Lamar enters it right into police brutality with a clip of Fox News discussing his lyrics on “Alright” a motivational ballad from his 2015’s How to Pimp a Butterfly. Then in “Humble,” he raps, “I’m so fuckin’ sick and tired of the Photoshop, show me something natural like afro on Richard Pryor.” Black self-love has often been a challenge in the United States when beauty standards have often been portrayed as white or European.

Now am I going to write here Kendrick Lamar’s the best rapper alive. No. But he lays ground work for a debate launching quality albums. But what admire beyond the typical barbershop argument is what he shares of himself. On “Yah” he raps, “Fox News wanna use my name for percentage, my latest muse is my niece, she worth living.” He gives fans his motivation. Similar to that Mom or Dad looking in their child’s eyes before work. Meanwhile, other rappers limit their reach confined to just rap about the glamor and gilts of fame and drugs. His muse is a reminder any of us can find inspiration to achieve our heart’s desire.

Writing this piece, I found myself aiming to find a song I didn’t like. But it was a fool’s mission. After reading lyrics I ended up appreciating them more. Although I still place Good Kid, Madd City as my favorite Kendrick Lamar album. At least now I got my fix of new music.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review and is forth coming in The Tishman Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com.

 

30 Realizations on my 30th Birthday

1. I’ve now been without Mom for half my life. No day has gone by without her crossing my mind.

2. My skills don’t always translate – I’ve run 2 marathons but still struggle to wash the dishes every night before bed.

3. What’s important to me has changed with time – At 15 it was clothes, at 22 it was money at 30 its family.

4. Consistency goes a long way – Friendships, romance, the gym, you name it!

5. Your word is your bond – Being a person who keeps their word is rare and I aim to appreciate that trait more.

6. Time with loved ones is precious – I tend to forget as I’ve gotten older my elders have aged too.

7. Speak Up – There are times I wish I had and other times I’m glad I did.

8. It’s okay to fail – Just don’t be defeated, I lost a poetry slam at SUNY Albany then went to write and publish two poetry books.

9. Sorry is not a solution – Changing a behavior is a better response.

10. I’m okay with not having a ton of friends – The handful of friends I do have been a part of my life in good times and bad.

11. My black-boy-joy is non-negotiable – No matter how difficult my life may get I will make it my business to smile.

12. Be comfortable being alone – If people don’t want to be a part of what you’re doing do it anyway. You’ll find like-minded people in route to it.

13. Silence can be louder than words – There were moments in my life when walking away was the best option.

14. No is a full sentence – I do not have to explain my actions and to do so is a choice.

15. Life happens outside of social media – Not every aspect of my life will be shared.

16. Being fired is not the end of the world – I’ve been fired from two jobs and both times they were gifts in disguise.

17. Tell your loved ones you love them – I still don’t always do this. I’m better when I write it down.

18. There is power in writing – Writing has always given me an avenue to be an agent of change.

19. Disconnect from the world sometimes – Stepping away from your phone or a simple walk in the park can do the trick.

20. Be your own advocate and friend – For years I was always hard on myself. If I did something others thought was great I always found something I could do better. Nah B, start clapping for yourself!!

21. Allocate your time – Once loved ones are gone, or sick you or moments are missed you can’t press rewind.

22. I love to talk – So what!

23. Step out my comfort zone – Finding ways to challenge myself has pushed me to grow.

24. People will choose to believe what they want.

25. Think about your decisions but when it’s time to act be BOLD.

26. My family tree is amazing – I never thought I would meet over 100 people who are my kinfolk.

27. Take Risks – I left a career with a fortune 500 company to pursue writing. The scariest and best decision at the same damn time.

28. Don’t go crazy over money – I missed out on a lot of great opportunities because I only put dollar signs on them.

29. The people who mean the world to me still mean the world to me.

30. My jokes are hit or miss. Lol!

Note – This is a repost of a status I wrote on my birthday.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review and is forth coming in The Tishman Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com.

Framed in Excellence – James Baldwin or Ta-Nehisi Coates

I was curious how James Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time compared to Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me. They both have similar agendas to speak to a younger generation not yet accustomed to being black in a white world. But their writing styles and insights take the reader on different journeys. Where James Baldwin writes raw and unhinged as a thought exercise imagining what conditions would give the Nation of Islam the six or seven states that they claimed are owed to Negros by the United States as “back payment” for slave labor.” Ta-Nehisi shapes a more cautionary tale when he writes, “All my life I’d heard people tell their black boys and black girls to “be twice as good,” which is to say “accept half as much,” and the love ones who helped shape his life. It wasn’t until I read The Fire Next Time, that I could look back and conclude that Ta-Nehisi didn’t push as far as James did into the unknown of the black experience.

Like Ta-Nehisi, James Baldwin lays out in plain terms the difficulties it is to be black in America. But I was struck at his candor to address his exodus out of the Christian church. James writes, “I realized that the Bible had been written by white men. I knew that, according to many Christians, I was a descendant of Ham, who had been cursed, and that I was therefore predestined to be a slave.” Then he goes a step further to discuss his departure isn’t that much different from other black folks’ dissatisfaction with the church. One being the symbolism of a white Jesus that led many to flee to the Nation of Islam to find a black God in name of Allah.

In Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi didn’t dive into the practicality of black people’s hope for more freedom. In a previous book review, I wrote, “How many black sons have died for not having this heart to heart?” It was my way of saying what he shared could save some to live another day. But I’d like to add that being filled with a head full of insight isn’t enough to navigate a white world. Being falsely accused or not having a skillset to build your own or ability to build with other black folks will not help young black men and women go from surviving to thriving. But if I’m honest this wasn’t a take away from James Baldwin either. He merely hinted a need for a greater ability among us when he writes, “The only thing white people have that black people need, or should want, is power – and no holds power forever.”

I found myself underlining countless passages (I could have just underlined everything) in The Fire Next Time but when James writes, “Well, the black man has functioned in the white man’s world as a fixed star, as an immovable pillar: and as he moves out of his place, heaven and earth shaken to their foundations,” he like Ta-Nehisi nailed my frustration I’ve gone through all my life. A breath of fresh air that reminds black folks that their experience isn’t made up or an isolated event but something that unjustly happens across our nation.

Although The Fire Next Time was published over 54 years ago, it still being relevant speaks to the depth of work needed to be done in the United States. A saying that I heard often growing up James writes, “The white man’s Heaven,” sings a Black Muslim Minister, “is the black man’s hell.” One should not be able to look to the highest public office in the United States and still pose James Baldwin’s question, “How can one respect, let alone adopt, the values of a people who do not, on any level whatever, live the way they say they do, or the way they say they should?”

But James Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time and Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me are two books you give to a younger person of color to at the very least help them survive another day. If we’re lucky twenty years from now we’ll get another book from a new brilliant writer that will share insight for the next generation coming into their own from the rear.

–

Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com.

Framed in Excellence – James Baldwin OR Ta-Nehisi Coates

I was curious how James Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time compared to Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me. They both have similar agendas to speak to a younger generation not yet accustomed to being black in a white world. But their writing styles and insights take the reader on different journeys. Where James Baldwin writes raw and unhinged as a thought exercise imagining what conditions would give the Nation of Islam the six or seven states that they claimed are owed to Negros by the United States as “back payment” for slave labor.” Ta-Nehisi shapes a more cautionary tale when he writes, “All my life I’d heard people tell their black boys and black girls to “be twice as good,” which is to say “accept half as much,” and the love ones who helped shape his life. It wasn’t until I read The Fire Next Time, that I could look back and conclude that Ta-Nehisi didn’t push as far as James did into the unknown of the black experience.

Like Ta-Nehisi, James Baldwin lays out in plain terms the difficulties it is to be black in America. But I was struck at his candor to address his exodus out of the Christian church. James writes, “I realized that the Bible had been written by white men. I knew that, according to many Christians, I was a descendant of Ham, who had been cursed, and that I was therefore predestined to be a slave.” Then he goes a step further to discuss his departure isn’t that much different from other black folks’ dissatisfaction with the church. One being the symbolism of a white Jesus that led many to flee to the Nation of Islam to find a black God in name of Allah.

In Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi didn’t dive into the practicality of black people’s hope for more freedom. In a previous book review, I wrote, “How many black sons have died for not having this heart to heart?” It was my way of saying what he shared could save some to live another day. But I’d like to add that being filled with a head full of insight isn’t enough to navigate a white world. Being falsely accused or not having a skillset to build your own or ability to build with other black folks will not help young black men and women go from surviving to thriving. But if I’m honest this wasn’t a take away from James Baldwin either. He merely hinted a need for a greater ability among us when he writes, “The only thing white people have that black people need, or should want, is power – and no holds power forever.”

I found myself underlining countless passages (I could have just underlined everything) in The Fire Next Time but when James writes, “Well, the black man has functioned in the white man’s world as a fixed star, as an immovable pillar: and as he moves out of his place, heaven and earth shaken to their foundations,” he like Ta-Nehisi nailed my frustration I’ve gone through all my life. A breath of fresh air that reminds black folks that their experience isn’t made up or an isolated event but something that unjustly happens across our nation.

Although The Fire Next Time was published over 54 years ago, it still being relevant speaks to the depth of work needed to be done in the United States. A saying that I heard often growing up James writes, “The white man’s Heaven,” sings a Black Muslim Minister, “is the black man’s hell.” One should not be able to look to the highest public office in the United States and still pose James Baldwin’s question, “How can one respect, let alone adopt, the values of a people who do not, on any level whatever, live the way they say they do, or the way they say they should?”

But James Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time and Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me are two books you give to a younger person of color to at the very least help them survive another day. If we’re lucky twenty years from now we’ll get another book from a new brilliant writer that will share insight for the next generation coming into their own from the rear.

–

Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.comBook Review

Book Review – The January Children by Safia Elhillo

         The January Children by Safia Ehillo is a poetry collection that deals with the author’s woman, Muslim and Sudanese identity. Wait. It’s so much more than that. The title itself opens the reader to Sudanese history and culture. It represents her grandparents’ generation born in Sudan under British occupation, where children were assigned birth years by height and all given the birthday January 1st.

Sofia’s poems waver in the power and limits of language. Although the reader doesn’t need to understand Arabic to digest them. She infuses Arabic into her pieces creating an interpretation she operates in – an imperfect translation of Arabic and English.

Many lines in Sofia’s poems stayed with me. In “Bride Piece” she writes, “We all out live our beauty it’s the currency we trade with men for their names.” What a chilling way to reveal the vulnerability women face in relationships with men. Then in “Talking with an Accent about Home (Second Take) she writes, “it was easier to just be something else.” Each stanza reveals hardships women, men and children faced just for being Sudanese.

The most interesting poems are her imagined conversations with Abdelhim Kafez, an Egyptian singer of the magnitude of Bob Marley. (At least that’s how I understand him I had no idea who this guy was). Poems like “Watching Arab Idol with Abdelhim Kafez,” “Late Night Phone Call with Abdelhim Kafez” and “Why Abdelhim” to name a few show a progressive and changing relationship with Abdelhim.  In “Why Abdelhim” she writes, “anyone can be the girl he says brown girl & never says how brown.” This line eloquently conveys the fascination with him that led millions to attend his funeral and several of those people to commit suicide by jumping off the balcony.

Reading her book brought me to a world I knew little about. How escaping the issues that drove Sudanese people to the United States only gave them a new set of problems from “Islamphobia” to being “too black” and “not black enough.” The collection only scratches the surface of what can come from Safia. Especially when identities of Muslim faith, African descent and womanhood are in constant crisis in the United States.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.comBook Review

Real Art Protest – Game from a Young Me

Remember rumors spread like wildfires

While truth blooms like a flower.

Never be scared to try your luck.

The ruckus is where the magic happens.

Can your fortitude be broken?

Don’t use words when actions shout.

You’ll thank me later

and habits last a life time.

The will comes before the skill

and don’t go extinct like the pterosaur.

Only go after a goal when your heart is in it

and only if your heart is prepared to fail.

Victory is kin to you like blood

when doubters spew nothing but fear.

If you can’t handle storm in your life

There’s no way you’ll be the future me.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com

7 Generations – What’s in a Name

A maiden name is the difference between uncovering a new family line and being stopped indefinitely. My 2nd Great-grandma, Clifford Lawson’s maiden name had been buried. Although, I had identified her on the United States Federal Censuses from 1900 to 1940 none of them revealed it.

Going through Ancestry.com and other sources, the feeling was clear. I was only discovering my paternal granddad’s mother as she related to her husband, my 2nd Great-granddad, Nathan Lawson. Each search before their marriage returned, “No Results,” as if she didn’t exist until age 16 when she became his wife.

My connection to her felt like a long thin strand of cotton. A thread that provided a peephole view of information.  Each tad bit of information brought me closer to the door of her life. I couldn’t help but wonder who was my 2nd Great-grandma, Clifford Lawson? She was from Georgia. Her race was labeled as colored and she died in Wilcox county on October 8th 1944. But the most helpful information came out of her death, a certificate number.

A certificate number allowed me to search the state records for any information. But there was a catch. Some states had strict rules about who could get information. Sometimes only the next akin, husband or sibling. Sometimes record became public information 50 years after the date of death. I took my chances and made a request. It would take three months to see if anything would come out of it. But I kept searching as I waited.

I combed through five United States Federal Censuses. I learned in a fifty year span my 2nd great-grandma had 10 children (three predeceased her), Garfield, William, James, Charlie, Zeik, Nathan Lawson Jr, Shine and Re*e. Learning to read and write was a luxury for the family that worked farms in Wilcox and later Pulaski Georgia. It wasn’t until Clifford reached 52 years old that it revealed in a 1930 US Federal Census she can read and write without ever attending school.

When my 2nd Great-grandma, Clifford Lawson’s death certificate arrived, I used it to find out what her life looked like before marriage. She had four siblings and was born Clifford Westbrook in about 1872. Once her maiden name was discovered, I found her father, my 3rd Great-granddad, John Westbrook and her mother, my 3rd Great-grandma, Harriet, both who were born in North Carolina. With two new ancestors, the family tree had just opened up to a new generation of family.

7 Generations – is a blog series that digs into my family tree to consider the impact of circumstances and decisions through the generations.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com

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Layers of Love – Wrong Way Love

My measuring stick of beauty was breaking my neck over a fat booty.

Twisting. Turning. Turning and twisting.

A double take left an impression on my mind

so vivid we were already dating by the time I said, “Hi.”

Her passions nor her purpose mattered to me.

When I learned her name I visualized her with no clothes.

Maybe that’s why love eluded me.

Too caught up in her physical to explore

her mind

her fears

her goals

her insecurities

her quirks

her non-negotiables.

All it took was two ears

a closed mouth

and an open communication.

Until words no longer mattered

and I understood from the look in her brown eyes

a snippet of her soul.

–

Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com

Book Review – Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin is about David, an American man living in Paris who has a love affair with another man. The central conflict is David coming terms with his sexuality. When David and Giovanni first meet they have a conversation about Parisians “measuring” everything. A metaphor about David measuring his desire for a man compared to his life measuring up to society’s standard. David has made the decision to be an American in Paris to find himself. The reader finds David in Giovanni’s room. Although David has a fiancé in Hella, she’s a filler and is the manifestation of what is expected of him.

Is James Baldwin really a top notch writer? Like what does he do that has, is, still captivating readers? Giovanni’s Room seems to be immediate from page 1 to 169.There isn’t a dull moment and each page is crucial to the story.

His writing seems to be poetry in motion, his descriptions relate what’s happening to everyday experiences in life like when he writes, “Confusion is a luxury which only the very, very, young can possibly afford and you are not young anymore.”

There are also incredible sentences that say so much like, “For I understood, at the bottom of my heart, that we had never talked, that now we never would,” unpacked what was a father and son relationship filled with missed opportunities to bond with each other.

The narrator of the story is David and the reader gets the idea that he is very self-aware “For I am- or I was- one of those people who pride themselves on their willpower, on their ability to make a decision and carry it through.” This line lays the groundwork showing how all his relationships – his father, Hella, and Giovanni are built on lies and deceit.

There are only a handful of characters yet the story fills full of people. Maybe it’s the way he describes the vibrant life of Paris. His description furthers my take that in order to produce moving art an author must have some personal insight or take on the situation. In this case, James Baldwin lived in Paris and was openly gay.

I have only read one other work of James Baldwin, Go Tell It To The Mountain, a collection of short stories but both seem to show his craftsmanship to develop characters that are full – David is not quite good or bad.

I would recommend this book for any one wanting to learn more on writing craft. If there was any aspect of James Baldwin writing style that I would emulate it would be his ability to write about real issues in a way that leaves the reader changed by the end of his books. Human suffering does not discriminate its pain, although the doses hit us all at different times.

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Rashaun J. Allen (@rashaunjallen) received his MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from SUNY Stony Brook. He’s eyeing agents to help publish his coming of age story, Christine’s Dream – A Memoir of Love, Loss & Life. He is the author of A Walk Through Brooklyn & In The Moment and has been published in TSR: The South Hampton Review. When not writing he runs for the thrill of crossing the finish line. Find more of his work at www.rashaunjallen.com