In a few short words, I’ve been really busy. To add (with more elaboration) I have been busy playing basketball at FEAST – winning, losing, having fun no matter what! Been really busy with school – taking dual credit at PAC also. I’ve been really busy with my piano lessons – trying to finish up this year…practice, practice, practice. And bust just doing normal, everyday stuff like – babysitting, sleeping, eating, going places….so it’s been great!

I have to say though that I am most excitedly looking forward to the summer. No school, less basketball, no piano…and more free time so I’m planning on applying for a temp job…we will see Wish me luck!

CHAPTER 1

As he stood nervously in front of the large, ominous, gray door, Alexander checked the number with the number on the small piece of paper in his hand. It matched. Alexander quickly glanced around him, to see if anyone else was in the hallway he was standing in.  At the far end, a boy and girl were talking quietly as they studied together. ‘They’re far enough away,’ Alexander thought. He cleared his throat and knocked loudly three times. As he waited, he could hear heavy, slow footsteps coming toward the door. The door opened to a fairly tall and large man who looked to be in his mid-sixty’s. As Alexander looked at the man, suddenly he thought that maybe this was a bad idea after all. ‘I should of forgotten about it a long time ago, like mum said….’ Alexander thought, remembering all the times he was advised against exactly what he was about to do at this very moment. All of a sudden, he realized that the old man was staring at him.

“Do you want something?” The man asked roughly. You could see by his whole mannerism that he was a very bitter and angry man. Every aspect of his character would make you want to turn away from the sight of him and leave right away. Looking down I noticed, to my surprise that the professor was wearing slippers with the only other thing on: a bathrobe. To say the least I was shocked and not to mention suddenly very awkward. But that wasn’t all, there was something else I couldn’t put my finger on. There was some sort of certain smell around him, a decaying, musky, putrid odor. It was hard to describe but the best way to say it was that he stunk like rotten eggs.

“Uh, yes, sir. Are you Professor Anderson?” The words finally came out after another uncomfortable moment of stares. This was getting to quite the awkward scene. But he had to know. He had to find out the truth no matter how weird, shocking, strange, or crushing it might be.

“How do you know me?”

“Sir? Um…I asked the librarian…but anyway that doesn’t really matter…are you—?”

“Yes, I am.” He interrupted rudely. “Do you have an appointment? Are you a student here?” I assumed he was referring to the university. I guess I looked like I was dressed to go to an interview in a very important job, I might have just worn a suit and tie. Anyway, I wasn’t that dressed up, but I guess compared to what he was wearing you could say I looked like the president.

“No, sir, I don’t have an appointment and I don’t go to this college, but I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Talk?” The professor asked incredulously, as if the idea was out of this world. “About what?”

“May I come in?” Alexander asked.

“Oh yes, of course, come in.” He moved aside out of the doorway, despite his friendly words, Alexander sensed some sarcasm. This was going to be even more difficult  than he expected. “Sit.” The command came harshly. It was definitely sarcasm before. Alexander did as he was told, thinking it best to be polite no matter how impolite this man was.

“Thank-you.” Alexander said as he sat down in one of the chairs next to the professor’s desk, while the professor shut the door.

“I don’t believe you told me your name?” The professor inquired as he sat down in his leather sofa behind his desk.

“Alexander Woods.” I said, extending my hand.

“Huh.” Disregarding my output hand, he sank back into his black, soft, cushioned armchair, trying to get comfortable I guess. I realized that he wasn’t going to be the one to speak first. I would have to initiate the conversation. Why not? Might as well get down to the point anyway. This man wasn’t going to wait forever.

“My father. I believe you knew him.”

“I knew many men.” He scoffed. “I never forget a face, not even after seventy years.” Again this professor surprised me, he was even older than I had estimated. I don’t know why I had thought he had still been in his sixty’s. Looking at him closer now, Alexander realized all the wrinkles in his face. He had more than he could count. His eyes looked grey and empty, despite all the knowledge behind that comes with old age.  The professor continued, “I remember their faces. I’ll always remember their faces….” As he stared into the emptiness, I had the feeling that he was in a whole different world. A world of the past and it’s distant memories.

“Sir?” I whispered. Slowly, he shook himself out of his reveries, and came back into the classroom.

“Yes.” He spoke suddenly. “What was your father’s name?”

“Desmond. Desmond George Woods.”

The man closed his eyes and began to mutter incompetent and inaudible ramblings. Even though I was beginning to grow impatient, I decided not to disturb his concentration. At last, he opened his eyes and rose from his chair, yet with a saddened expression on his countenance. I knew right away that something was amiss.

“What is it?” I asked, rising from my chair, trying to catch the professor’s eye. “What’s wrong?” I asked again. Realizing only too late that my persistent questions had only agitated his already grim mood.
“Go away, boy.” The professor groaned. His voice seemed empty of all the strength and self-assurance that it contained just minutes before. It was as if the memory which he had recollected had drained the color directly from his face. I had hardly known this man, and yet I knew now that he was not the person he was before. He had changed some way, somehow.

I lowered my voice and softly asked, “Will you please tell me, Professor?”

“No.”

“What?!” I had already lost my temper so easily again.

“No! I won’t!” The man, now seemingly aged to an eternity, checked his anger, “ I can’t.”

I  could not keep back my frustration, and spewed out the hateful words that I knew I would soon regret.  “Why the hell not?? He was my father! I deserve to know! What kind of person are you that would do this?? Torment someone by withholding the only piece of information that they had ever longed to know? What kind of person are you!?”

“It kills me to remember it. To relive it.” The man spoke so softly that I could barely hear him over my labored breathing. I tried to calm my emotions enough to understand the words he was saying to me. “Some secrets are best to remain secret. I am a history professor, I teach of the past. But some things of the past cannot be taught. They are too gruesome to speak of. Too inhumane to be thought of. Some things cannot be uncovered. If they are, the discovery would cause such an incredulous amount of pain, that the curiosity of it beforehand would only feel like a mere itch in your mind. Do you understand me? Sometimes, you have to trust others to know what would be the right path in your life. Sometimes, you have to believe others as they do the right thing for you, whether you think it right or not.” He paused. “Can’t you see that? But, no of course you can’t. You’re young, you have your whole life in front of you, or so you think….But you have to find out everything by yourself, right? It’s this generation of young people, trying to figure everything out on their own. No, it’s not just you, it’s always been this way. I was that way. All humankind is so curious yet so independent. You can’t rely on someone else’s knowledge of the past…you have to figure everything out by yourself.” He stopped rambling and sighed. I could see that all he wanted was for me to comprehend and grasp what he was saying. But I didn’t get it. And I didn’t want to believe him. I wanted to find the truth alone.

“I don’t care how much pain it’ll cause me. I just want to know. Please, professor, tell me.” The man made no answer. Maybe if I went on, I could convince him. “I know that you have secrets, I have secrets, we all do….but it’s wrong to keep a secret when it concerns someone else’s family. I’m not asking for you to publish my father’s story over TV, internet, radio, or anything else, all I’m asking is for you to tell his son how his father died. Honour his memory.” Alexander looked to see if his small speech had made any difference to change the man’s mind. But his face betrayed nothing.

The professor’s eyes were closed as he stood with his face toward the only window in the classroom. His arms were across his chest and as the setting sun shone through the blinds I could see the dust particles in the air. ‘I am not going to leave here without getting an answer.’ Alexander determined. ‘Better give him all the time he needs to make his decision.’ As he thought this, he turned his head away from the professor and the window and moved his gaze slowly  over to the professor’s desk. When Alexander perused all the awards, documents, and certificates, his eye caught on something very shiny. Everything on his desk was covered with a thin layer of dust, but this object. It was a photograph of a young boy. In the picture, the boy’s dark curly hair was blowing loosely in the wind as a very beautiful young woman embraced him tightly, squeezing him tightly to her side. For some reason, I was oddly drawn into the image, and could almost feel the sunshine on my face as I continued to stare into it. I started to pick up the picture in order to look at it better, but before I could get any closer, I heard a noise behind me and turned sharply to find the professor glaring at me. My hand was still reaching through the air towards the picture. Realizing my fault, I dropped my arm back to my side and straightened up.

Professor Anderson growled, “You won’t ever give up will you?”

“Never.” Alexander answered firmly.

“Just like you’re old man.”

My palms started sweating. He was finally going to start talking. I couldn’t keep still in my anticipation of hearing what my whole life had been defined in a search for. My mind went back to the picture. “Is that your grandson in the picture?”

The man’s eyes twinkled and he twisted the question back at me, “Oh, so now you want to talk about my family? Eh?” He looked at me challengingly, then quickly said, “Don’t answer that. Just sit back.” Alexander hesitated then leaned back into his chair, trying desperately to make the metal spine on the back to stop digging into his back. He looked enviously on at the professor as he sat back into his comfortable recliner. Anyway, that didn’t matter now. What was a moment of annoyance over a lifetime in satisfaction of knowing? I didn’t have long to wait before the professor turned to me, “Well then, where should we start? I suppose you’ll want to know everything.”

“Everything you know, sir.” Alexander could not suppress the excitement in his voice and face any longer. He grinned childishly.

The man sighed softly, “So…the beginning.”

I also loved the author’s style of writing and how he combined so many different stories with the same meaning, into one book.

- Anonymous

I found this one day, don’t know who wrote it, but I liked it enough to repost. Hope you like it too.

Racism is an evil that will tear up a person’s soul and always end up hurting you more than the person or people you are trying to hurt. In Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, you can almost feel what it is like to be put down and socially scorned. You can almost feel the hate of some whites who treated African-Americans as if they were less than dogs. You can almost feel the pain that African-American’s felt as their pride was crushed and destroyed. But I can not pretend to know what it feels like without actually living it. Neither can you.

I am regrettably sorry that my great country, America, has ever allowed such criminal acts and injustices to go abroad and unrestrained in the very heart of her so-called “free” soil. And if you are out there, if you feel some slight inferiority towards any other race, read this book. And think, really think, what your reasons are for this mentality. Switch shoes with them and try to see how they see and feel how they feel. Tell me what you think then.

No matter what race a person is, they are still a person. No matter how different they look, speak, or act, each is still a living human being. This book was an excellent fictional work which I admire greatly.

Anger will never help a situation, it will only make things worse. You have to learn to forgive people, even if they are people who hate you for simply being who you are. Especially those kind of people. We need to learn from Christ and love our enemies, as He loved us.

In words of another – “A rags-to-riches story about a poor man who re-invents himself as a mysterious millionaire in hopes of winning the heart of the beautiful rich girl he has fancied ever since they were young. But it’s also about the shallowness of that dream, and about the corruption inherent in it — about the lengths to which people will go for success and acceptance, not necessarily in an admirable way. It’s about the gap between dreams and reality, between reality and perception, and about how modern, status-obsessed America is increasingly on the perception side of the gap. It’s an indictment of materialism, of the thin veneer of wealth which hides the moral decay underneath. And last but not least, it’s a story about what makes us who we are. About how we are shaped by our pasts and backgrounds, and how, no matter how far we run and how hard we try to re-invent ourselves, we are what we are, what we always were. It’s a depressing message for the would-be self-improvers among us, but a true one, I think.”

My favorite quote was the very last paragraph:  “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

Have you read this book? If so, I would love to hear your thoughts.

                                  Great book. Classic. Loved it.

Hope you enjoyed