Intersectional
a poem
Article voiceover
In the 7-11, I run into a high school friend— not a close friend but somebody I'm happy to see after thirty years. We reminisce. We speak of our spouses and kids. We speak of our late parents. My old friend tells me his father was cruel. My friend says, "Honestly, I'm relieved the bastard is dead." I was one of only four Indians in high school and I believed we felt more pain than all of the white kids. But that's not true. Over the years, as I've encountered and conversed with white kids from high school, I've learned that a few, when the school day ended, went home to houses fueled with silence and sparked by incandescent rage.
This is *tonic* intersectionality. Good stuff, Sherman.
That is lovely and tragic. I wonder if teenagers could share their pain earlier, across racial lines, revealing their vulnerabilities rather than masking them and wearing a costume of bravado, if bullying might fade away. Loneliness and misunderstanding thrive in silence. Pain separates us and makes us erect barriers that are hard to transcend. How could schools encourage fuller communication so young people might recognize their common ground: even in a melancholy way, it could bring people closer. Poetry helps. Perhaps drama? Words. Language can be both villain and healer but eloquence such as you wield makes the passage through pain possible. The home "fueled by silence" was the saddest line to me.