I understand now why my mother might have been wary of my reading this book too soon. Maya Angelou wrote of being molested and raped by her mother’s boyfriend when she was eight years old. My mom, who had no idea that my life was being mirrored in this book, likely didn’t want me to read it in an attempt to protect me from an ugly reality I had unfortunately already experienced. Instead of being horrified and compelled to ask incessant questions, I was being introduced to a truth that would forever alter my life. My twelve-year-old mind had not understood that this was a thing that happened to
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