I want to talk about the relationship between black men and women and our fathers, as I understand it. This means I want to discuss growing up black/brown/yellow/gold-in American and not knowing your own father or being afraid of him or forcing naivete in order understand him or taking him for granted because you landed in a fairy tale and didn’t know he was the author like in Those Winter Sundays or him being one form or another of gone: Iron Mask or Cosby Sweater or Nowhere Man, I want to talk about that. And I want to talk about how that moody, pageanting oracle affects and defects the main arteries running through the whole nation: how when black men are both revered and feared from the inside out by their children as much as by their nation as much as by themselves, how the country becomes a playground for the triptych so-trite fantasy, at once folk hero and folk villain and the rituals and ceremonies therein.

Harmony Holiday, “Alternate Ending/Why We Are A Destiny/ Why Are We A Destiny”

(via Square Dancing with Giants)

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