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Card Orson Scott Enders Saga Enders Shadow
Card Orson Scott Saga cienia Teatr cieni
Card, Orson Scott Alvin 04 Der Reisende
Bakker Scott R. Ksiaze Nicosc Mysl tysiackrotna
CARD ORSON SCOTT Alvin Stworca
Amber Scott Play Fling (epub)
BAKKER R. SCOTT Mrok ktory nas
BAKKER R. SCOTT Mysl Tysiackrot
Duty Bound Leonard B. Scott
Dziesieciu murzynkow Agatha Christie

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.He took pictures of us.I was fascinated by his equipment, his cameras, lights, flashbulbs popping.I thought, “I can do that.” Camera Man took a photo of me sitting on Daddy’s lap, Daddy calmly looking at the camera.I’m looking off to one side, mouth sprung, seemingly in awe of something, comforted and protected in Daddy’s lap.Secure.I won’t fall even if I fail.He’ll lift me up.I know this.I can look over the abyss of whatever it is I’m in awe of in the photo—maybe it was only Yoki making a face at me—I know my father will not let me go.I can take the risk because he’s there.I trusted him like I have trusted no man before or since.I had the security to be insecure.And then…The photographs remain.He knew they would.Camera Man had a name.Flip Schulke, a photographer for Life magazine, as Gordon Parks had been.Though my father was protective of us at home, didn’t let reporters or photographers in, Schulke came by many times to document.I gave him a nickname.My father gave us names of affection: “Yoki-poky,” “Dexterwexter,” “Marty-bopy,” “Bunny-bopy.” Bunny was Bernice, Yoki was Yolanda, Marty was Martin III, but Dexter was just Dexter.I felt special; I was named after a church, an old, historic church too, which had been pastored by a man named Vernon Johns before our father arrived.I was glad to be named Dexter, after the church.It set me apart.Everybody else was named for a person.Yolanda Denise.My mother had liked that name.Martin was named for my father and my grandfather.Bernice Albertine—Bernice for my mother’s mother, Albertine for my father’s mother, Alberta.Martin and Yolanda were born in Montgomery.People came up to me all the time and said, “Yes, Dexter, I remember when you were a baby in Montgomery; you were named after the church there.” I would never correct them and say, “Yes, I was named for the church, but I was born here in Atlanta.I’m a homeboy.” I would let them get it out and then say, “Well, I think you’re talking about my brother.” Martin III and I were always kind of seen as a unit, interchangeable.Even today.People come up and swear it was me who came and spoke at their school or church, when it was my brother.People say things like, “You should’ve been named Martin—you look just like your father.” I learned not to bristle when I heard this.I learned to say, “My brother and I agree that the Lord often works in mysterious ways.”We were all close as children.Yoki was five years my senior, seven years Bernice’s.I don’t remember her being as much a part of our circle as Bernice, Martin, me—especially Afterward…Martin and I would tussle.He thought he was my father.Mom generally took us to restaurants, shopping, church, on outings.We drew attention, but that didn’t stop our parents from giving us a semblance of normalcy.It was only a semblance, though.We couldn’t do things together as frequently as normal families, because both parents weren’t as available.At times we’d go with friends of the family; we might go with the Abernathy kids, Ralph III, Juandalyn, and Donzaleigh; or with Uncle A.D’s and Aunt Naomi’s children, Alveda, Al, Derek, Darlene, and Vernon; or with my father’s sister, Christine King Farris, and her children, Angela and Isaac.Martin III was three years older than me.Isaac and I were a year apart.Isaac lived in Collier Heights, where professionals, particularly teachers and preachers, lived.My grandparents lived in a spacious house with a yard so big Mr.Horton had to use a Snapper riding mower to cut the grass.Aunt Christine, Uncle Isaac, Angela, and Isaac lived near our grandparents in Collier Heights.Granddaddy still wanted my father to move.Daddy said we were okay in Vine City.My cousin Isaac and me, our relationship started out rocky.Fought like cats and dogs.Out of it came an ironclad friendship.Wasn’t love at first sight, though.Maybe the problem was me attempting to be Isaac’s parent, according to Isaac—trying to be to Isaac what Martin tried to be to me.Most in our family are head-strong.Wonder where we get it from.I think it mostly comes from my grandfather, Martin Luther King, Sr., who cast a long shadow.He was a strong-willed, bullheaded man, and he passed it down; the only one who was able to escape it and establish his own identity was his youngest son and namesake, Martin Luther King, Jr.CHAPTER 2Peace Be StillIsaac and I were in the balcony of Ebenezer Baptist Church, listening to our grandfather deliver the Sunday Word.Being accustomed to the surroundings, Isaac and I were playing around up in the balcony.I could listen to the gospel choir roll out rollicking Baptist hymns all day.We weren’t the only ones Grand-daddy had in the palm of his hand.He was a strong Baptist preacher.Going to church was a chore for us at the time.Granddaddy, affectionately known as Daddy King, was already eyeballing his young grandsons for possible pulpit heirs, and was finding no takers.Who could live up to it? He was a big man, outsized in frame, voice, gaze, everything.We weren’t rebellious—too much fear of him for that—but we sensed we were being studied for suitability.I had a hard time focusing on church activities, being still and concentrating; consequently Isaac and I were most of the time running around at church, in church, around church, outside church— church being of course my grandfather’s tidy, eight-hundred-seat red-brick Ebenezer, at the corner of Jackson Street and Auburn Avenue, where my father was co-pastor.We were not only sons of a preacher man: we were the grandsons of a preacher man, and the great-grandsons of a preacher man [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]