From Reading to Comprehending

There are moments in childhood, like the skipping of a tape or CD, when the smooth soundtrack of playgrounds and pretend is interrupted by a shocking glimpse of life in the real, outside world.  To children, everyone is a potential playmate and the world is made for laughter until proven otherwise by an outside influence.  I had one of these experiences when I was about ten years old and read the book, Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, by Mildred Taylor, for the first time.

The story of a young girl, Cassie Logan, then about my age, was something that took me out of my own perspective and opened my eyes to history.  Cassie is a black child living in the midst of a racist South.  Society’s disgraceful mistreatment of her family and neighbors is told through the eyes of a little child, and I understood it as such.  I was shocked, along with Cassie, to discover that not everyone got to go to the same school or use the same books or eat the same food or have the same friends…and that sometimes, people had their houses set on fire just for being different.  I couldn’t figure out why, and that bothered me.  

So I read the book again.

And again.

Each time I read, I found myself comprehending better the motives and injustices of Cassie’s world.  I began to recognize the author making points about acceptance and the need to defend moral values, even when opposed by your supposed friends.  

The principles that I learned early on through Cassie’s struggles stuck with me more than I expected them to when I grew up.  I began to easily see those who were downtrodden and unaccepted by society, and though no houses were burning or midnight floggings were happening, ostracism, disdain, and belittlement were the punishment for those who were unfortunate enough to be different.  Each time I saw that, I think I subconsciously remembered Cassie’s wounds and understood how powerful the soothing balm of acceptance is.  Thanks to Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, I gained my best friends because I knew to look for more than that which is easily seen and only, truly, skin-deep.

 

I love this book not because it gave me comfort or immediate joy, but because it gave me a comprehension of tolerance that matured as I did.  Through lines such as the following, from Cassie’s father, I learned that sins of the past should not be repeated by those, like me, with the power to erase them:

"Still," he said, "I want these children to know we tried, and what we can't do now, maybe one day they will."