Across That Bridge: Life Lessons and a Vision for Change

by John Lewis

The first time I realized that the world saw me as inferior, a reject, a substandard creation is etched indelibly in my brain. I took a trip to the little town of Troy with my father. Troy was the place he would sell his share of the crops, settle his bills, and purchase new supplies. At six years old, this should have been a moment of pride for me. It was my first trip into town, a big deal for a country boy. It made me feel a bit older and a little more important to go on this journey with my dad. But the moment I left the nurturing circle of my community, my glee was slammed by the steel fist of hate. When we got to town, I could not help but notice the demeaning way my father was treated. He was the man I looked up to, loved, and respected, but he was assaulted by words and abuse, called “boy,” addressed by his first name, directed to submit to the worst violence and dared to mount any defense. And then there were the signs that dotted the entrances to so many businesses up and down Main Street. They screamed out a degradation that pursued me like a clanging indictment of my existence: white women, colored women, white men, colored men, white waiting, colored waiting. My skin color was a part of me I could never change, a characteristic I did not choose and was not responsible for, so this derision seemed hopeless to contain. It was as though the whole world was shouting out that I was defective, somehow poorly made. Those signs were humiliating—painful symbols that th...