“He revered Madam Harriet, as he’d called her. Honored her strength, resiliency, defiance. She seemed holy to him and I loved him more for it. But, simultaneously, he judged my mother, one of the most admired living Black women in the country, for her defiance and strength of will. She was a Black woman United States senator from Alabama, for goodness’ sake. An undeniable badass. Was that level of reverence only reserved for dead Black women? Or was the inconvenience of being Mr. Mom too blinding for him to see clearly?”
Book:We Are the Scribes