Norris is about my age and, like me, grew up in the Midwest (her Minnesota to my Illinois) in a middle-class family. We're both also the youngest of three girls. Yet, in some ways, our childhoods couldn't be more different. Both my parents grew up in relative poverty and, from a young age, were well aware of the limitations of their class. But my dad never had to worry about being targeted for harassment by cops because of the color of his skin. He never had to suffer the indignity of being called "boy" after serving honorably in WWII. He wasn't automatically assigned to kitchen duty when he joined the Navy. And he never had to watch neighbors avoid meeting his eyes or place a "for sale" sign after he moved into an all-white residential district. I'm sure both my parents, now in their 80s, still carry secrets that, for whatever reason, they have chosen not to share with me. But, unlike those in Norris' family, none of our family's secrets, however painful, were ever even remotely tied to race.
Norris is a fine writer, and I came away from this memoir with a greater understanding of what it is like to grew up black. Far from an angry diatribe about the unfairness of discrimination, this book is, more than anything, a loving tribute to her late father, a postal worker. Despite the indignities mentioned above, Belvin Norris remained an optimistic and proud man who passed on to his children hard-working ethics.
The title of this memoir is also a tribute - to her parents and the other adults of her childhood who kept silent about past indignities in part because they saw little use for sharing them with tne next generation, and in part because they had, wisely, long since forgiven the people behind those indignities.
Norris has made it clear, here and in interviews about the book, that it behooves us to seek out our elders' stories before they are gone forever. There is so much to learn from their challenges and the steps they took to meet them. But she also wants us to see her appreciation of and admiration for these people's decisions to keep their past hurts to themselves. Their silence is grace personified, and it should be acknowledged. She does that here admirably.