The prose is lyrical in this memoir written to a 15 year old son. I am grateful to be able to eavesdrop on the meditations on race, on fear, on survival. It is written with the awareness that the struggle changes with the generations, but struggle it remains. The vulnerability of the black body remains.
"You are growing into consciousness, and my wish for you is that you feel no need to constrict yourself to make other people feel comfortable. None of that can change the math anyway. I never wanted you to be twice as good as them, so much as I have always wanted you to attack every day of your brief bright life in struggle. The people who must believe they are white can never be your measuring stick. I would not have you descend into your own dream. I would have you be a conscious citizen of this terrible and beautiful world" (107-108).