You know, I am working hard on my little book project, and trying hard to reconcile the past and today (and they don’t balance, no matter how you do the math.) Regardless of which direction I turn, the ugly visage of my family’s past – their involvement in slavery – it just keeps coming like waves of nausea that I cannot shake.
The one place where I did not expect to see this subject rear up was in the little town where I was born, a place well north of the Mason Dixon, a town more familiar for its large Amish community than for anything else. Coatesville Township in Chester County, Pennsylvania is a small place, a rural town by Pennsylvania standards. A quaint little village surrounded by rolling hills and lovely, neat little farms.
I joke that “When God made me born a Yankee, he was teasing.”
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