Good Dirt

by Charmaine Wilkerson

“But your mom’s mother and I both agree on this point. Because for so long, we colored folks have been made to live with the message that our looks, our lifestyles, and our histories aren’t up to snuff. Well, we want to make sure people know that we are proud of our lives.”

People were wired to persevere. People were wired for hope. People might feel hurt, but they still liked to laugh. They might lose someone dear, but they still wanted to love.

Willis looked out over the sea, its inky waves visible in the moonlight, and thought of the Scriptures. He imagined the Spirit of God as described in the book of Genesis, hovering over the waters as He brought forth light and land. This must be something like the world that God had generated in those first few days, Willis thought, before He created man to rule over the other creatures of the earth and sea. Before everything went wrong.

Willis felt this way even when the mariners shared stories of great sadness. Of losses and disappointments. To tell your story was to experience a kind of freedom. To be able to share news of your adventures, to name your relations and favorite places, was to be a man.

And so Willis from the South Carolina backcountry became Edward Freeman in Massachusetts. Because words had the potential to remake a man.