I Am Not Sidney Poitier

by Percival Everett

“Maybe I am, a little bit. Arrogant, I mean. Lord, I can’t help it. I’m an American.”

The bully, his name was Clyde, asked me at what I was staring, his precise words being, “What you starin’ at, li’l motherfucker,” the “li’l motherfucker” saving him from ending a sentence with a preposition.