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Aaron Was a Black Boy It was a strange kind of courtshipFirst came the words, the actions, the subtle no, not-so-subtle, yelling out the window chink chink chink at the kids who lived in the nice places, with lawns and trees and baseball diamonds. Then turning to easier prey, just two seats away more available, beat down already, from years of stupid fat and ugly stupid calling me a cracker and me not knowing what it meant The long, long run to the elevator and his hand against the safety door, pushing it open, his buddies watching the dull thud of his knuckles against the bridge of my nose It was a strange kind of courtship A courtship of separation, A courtship of connection—his fist against my face A courtship of anger at all the things the teachers must have said to me and not to him If I had known then what I know now, I think I would still be angry —Frances Donovan October 2003
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