There are certain stories that you hear about only after a parent has died. This is one of those stories.
My first trip was by car to visit my Dad’s relatives in Louisiana in 1973. We embarked on a trip that was familiar to many African Americans who moved north in search of a better life: taking a trip “down South” to visit relatives. That’s what we did: driving from my native Michigan to Louisiana. A year later we had to do it again to see my Dad’s sister, Choletile who was very ill. It was during one or both of these trips that my parents had to wrestle with what the South was and what it was becoming.