![]() ![]() He didn’t shame me for what I didn’t know instead, he had led me to my history. I was fresh out of graduate school where I had studied creative writing he was politely stunned that I hadn’t already heard of Wilkerson or her tremendous account of the Great Migration. As I type now, I’m picturing his slender finger gently running down the hardback cover of Isabel Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns. After our first meal together, he walked with me into a bookstore and led me - without detour - to the spine of the book he wanted me to read. Even now, if he called me, I would answer. Unlike me, he loves God, almost as much, if not more, than he loves words, so I knew that whatever we were traveling through or across together wouldn’t take long. ![]() The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America's Great MigrationĪ lifetime ago, I went on a date with a beautiful man whose name means “to travel across or through.” Like me, he is black, gay, grew up in Texas, and loves words. ![]()
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