I tend to do this a lot; I'll do something horrifically embarrassing, threaten my husband's life if he ever mentions it again, then immediately turn around and tell an entire room of people.
I am powerless against the temptation of a good story.
This, however, is not a "good story." This is not me being daft. This does not involve bodily functions or my daughter screaming about genitalia on a busy sidewalk.
A few months after I moved to the city, my boss summoned me to her office, telling me we needed to “speak.”
Apparently, the only specific allegation was that I’m from North Carolina. Which I am.
|What does this flag mean to you?|
The visceral reaction at seeing those flags, though, helped me better understand the allegations leveled against me more than a decade ago.
My accuser couldn't separate the legacy of enslavement, Jim Crow and the Klan from me and my childhood. To her, that is the Southern heritage.
And that, to me, is heartbreaking. An entire people thrown out with the bathwater.
How do we acknowledge the past and move forward together?