Forgotten Literature

Hello. I am The Black Experience in Revolutionary North Carolina. Yes that is my name. If you’re wondering why my name is so long it’s because I am a book and I was written by Jeffrey J. Crow. I am a book on Black History and the person I belong to is a young Black male. Today is the third day of February and I should be extremely happy because this is the month for which I should be read and celebrated the most. But the truth is I am not happy. I am actually very disappointed because my owner has misplaced me.

My owner’s name is Frederick and I love that this young man carries that name. It reminds me of Frederick Douglas. When Frederick first purchased me he did so because Black history was very important to him. The first time he ever read my pages he couldn’t get past the first chapter because he was so excited about what he was reading and kept stopping to call his family and friends to share every captivating my pages held within. Somewhere after that first chapter my owner began misplacing me.

I used to sit on the my owner’s desk right next to his television until one day he picked me back up like he was going to read me, but then tossed me into a pile of junk in his closet one night we he had some female company coming over to hang out and from there I just kind of faded into the back of his mind. I would listen to his on goings as I lay underneath that pile of junk in his closet and what I was hearing became more and more disturbing. Little by little my owner was becoming less and less interested in his Black American studies. When we first met it was like reading Black literature was pretty much an everyday thing, or atleast every other day to say the least. Nevertheless the study of my pages and the pages of other Black literature was definite must do for him, but lately it’s like he’s changing.

When he gets home nowadays I can hear him in his room. Of course he’s not paying attention to me, but he’s not paying attention to any of his other Black literature books as well. His habits have defaulted to him coming home, getting drunk, getting high, being sexually active, eating a bunch of junk food and playing video games with his friends. Interest in me as well as the rest of his Black literature has been put on the back burner. This disappoints me very much because so many young African Americans are out of touch with their history and when this young man first purchased me I gained a sense of faith that this all would change.

As dismayed as I am I haven’t loss faith in this young man. I know the hunger for Black History is still in him, he just needs to have it reawakened. So now I hear the front door fly open fast and furiously. It’s my owner and he seems frantic. I can hear him saying something to himself to himself in a hasty tone of worry. Then the room door comes open I can hear him ranting about how he needs to find…me, as he picks things up and tosses them around. Apparently he has a college exam coming up on African American history in North Carolina, so now he’s gonna need me to pass that test. He’s tossing things around and turning them over while frantically asking “where is it? where is it?” I’m actually excited because he has almost found me.

BLAST!!! The closet door flies open and he starts going through the junk pile that I am laying under and now he has found me. He picks me up and dust me off with a smile on his face. He then tells me “I’m sorry I abandoned you for so long. I know now how important you and the rest of my Black literature books are and I’ll never leave you hanging again.” I can hear the tone in his voice is sincere. This had to be a heck of way for him to find me, but nevertheless he has found me and my significance will finally flow through him again.