Extemporaneous musings, occasionally poetic, about life in its richly varied dimensions, especially as relates to history, theology, law, literature, science, by one who is an attorney, ordained minister, historian, writer, and African American.
Saturday, February 3, 2018
SHELL-SHOCK
SHELL-SHOCKED
As a child in Canton, Mississippi, in the '50s, Mama pointed out to me a disheveled black man, who passed periodically, in front of our fenced yard, walking on the sidewalk and muttering to himself. She warned me not to say anything to that man.
"That man is crazy; shell-shocked," she said. For a long while I obeyed.
Then one sunny day, he comes along and I call out a greeting to him. Maybe "Hi!" Or "Good day!"
That disheveled man spun on me instantly and uttered a string of unintelligible imprecations in a such a gruff gravely voice, that he scared the dickens out of me!
I burst out crying and ran into the house for my Mama. She dried my tears, hugging while reminding me, never again to say anything to that man. After that I never did , either!