They simply recognized, through an instinct granted by centuries of racial hierarchy, that faced with choosing between Olivia’s genuine affection and their sexualized interest, I would surrender.
It’s hard to overcome the shame, blaming yourself. But it’s not your fault. That’s something that took me years to learn. I’m glad you no longer blame yourself.
Sir, this was an absolutely enlightening read. You did something very rare here. You took the vulnerability of a boy and the insight of a seventy year old man and laid them side by side without a second thought.
The way you wove Olivia’s story, your grandfather’s wisdom, the violence and abuse you endured, and the slow recognition of your own patterns into one clear narrative is exactly what great books are made of. This is not just an essay. This is the spine of a powerful memoir that could help a lot of people understand trauma, race, power, and love in a way that lectures and theory never could. Please consider turning this into a book. The story is already there. The voice is already there. The weight and beauty are already there.
Thank you for your integrity, for refusing to clean up the hard truths, and for granting Olivia the humanity and honor she always deserved. Your willingness to own your failures while still extending compassion to the boy you were is an act of moral clarity.
Your grandfather would be very proud of the man you grew into. You became the kind of man he hoped you would be. A man who sees clearly, tells the truth, and honors the people who shaped him.
The emotions you've invoked with your kind and supportive comments doesn't allow me to publicly say what I feel. I'll message you when I regain my composure.
You are so beautifully broken in this piece. Thank you for sharing that with us.
The kindness in these comments causes me to struggle with how to reply. I'm sorry if I can't give due to the support all of you freely extend to me.
The depth to which you allow yourself to recall the trauma of the past, exceeds my vocabulary.
Thank you for your beautiful words.
I was a lonely child left to raise themselves. I needed to be nurtured. I needed attention, love, affection and validation.
I no longer blame myself for seeking what my heart needed and others took advantage of; I was a child.
It’s hard to overcome the shame, blaming yourself. But it’s not your fault. That’s something that took me years to learn. I’m glad you no longer blame yourself.
I'm speechless... powerfully written from the soul ❤️🍸
Thank you, Missi. And thanks for the martini 😁
Sir, this was an absolutely enlightening read. You did something very rare here. You took the vulnerability of a boy and the insight of a seventy year old man and laid them side by side without a second thought.
The way you wove Olivia’s story, your grandfather’s wisdom, the violence and abuse you endured, and the slow recognition of your own patterns into one clear narrative is exactly what great books are made of. This is not just an essay. This is the spine of a powerful memoir that could help a lot of people understand trauma, race, power, and love in a way that lectures and theory never could. Please consider turning this into a book. The story is already there. The voice is already there. The weight and beauty are already there.
Thank you for your integrity, for refusing to clean up the hard truths, and for granting Olivia the humanity and honor she always deserved. Your willingness to own your failures while still extending compassion to the boy you were is an act of moral clarity.
Your grandfather would be very proud of the man you grew into. You became the kind of man he hoped you would be. A man who sees clearly, tells the truth, and honors the people who shaped him.
The emotions you've invoked with your kind and supportive comments doesn't allow me to publicly say what I feel. I'll message you when I regain my composure.
AGREED!! This is the book from the voice that we need right now.