Autobiography Of An Ex-Colored Man Essay

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If I were around they would generally call me, and ask me my name and age and tell my mother what a pretty boy I was. My mother was kept very busy with her sewing; sometimes she would have another woman helping her.

I think she must have derived a fair income from her work.

I have only a faint recollection of the place of my birth.

At times I can close my eyes, and call up in a dream-like way things that seem to have happened ages ago in some other world.

I knelt on the seat and watched through the train window the corn and cotton fields pass swiftly by until I fell asleep.

When I fully awoke we were being driven through the streets of a large city—Savannah. At Savannah we boarded a steamer which finally landed us in New York.

I can still recall the thrill of joy, excitement and wonder it gave me to go on an exploring expedition through it, to find the blackberries, both ripe and green, that grew along the edge of the fence.

I remember with what pleasure I used to arrive at, and stand before, a little enclosure in which stood a patient cow chewing her cud, how I would occasionally offer her through the bars a piece of my bread and molasses, and how I would jerk back my hand in half fright if she made any motion to accept my offer.

I can see in this half vision a little house,—I am quite sure it was not a large one;—I can remember that flowers grew in the front yard, and that around each bed of flowers was a hedge of vari-colored glass bottles stuck in the ground neck down.

I remember that once, while playing around in the sand, I became curious to know whether or not the bottles grew as the flowers did, and I proceeded to dig them up to find out; the investigation brought me a terrific spanking which indelibly fixed the incident in my mind.


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