Got sentimental reading this from Ta-Nehisi:
When you're black there's a certain alien-ness you accept. But when you are black in West Baltimore, and your parents are quasi-ex-hippies, the alien-ness is compounded by a factor of three. All your friends are hanging out, and your ass is stuck reading fucking Ishmael Reed. And you're, like, twelve.
Not that his experience was my experience, of course, but my dad did give me that nearly disintegrated copy of Shrovetide In Old New Orleans. This being Father's Day, I lingered on Reed's name. Wrote a New York Press piece in 2005 for Harry Siegel that used Reed as a touchstone, and through him my father. Guy used to take me on long walks through Bay Ridge to teach me about Roman and medieval history, warned me (heedlessly) against throwing breaking pitches in little league, etc...
fitting that you couple Dad & Total Self-Indulgence.
you'll do a better job.
don't doubt it.
Posted by: fuster | 06/19/2011 at 01:28 PM