Born a Slave
I was born into slavery about 13 years ago in the middle of the year. It was on a summer day in the burning heat of the sun. I’m not sure who my real father is but folks around here say my real father is white because I have a lighter skin color than most Negroes on the plantation. I started working when I was real young. My job, when I was in my youth, was to carry buckets of water from the river back to the plantation. The river was about 4 miles down the old dusty and worn out dirt road. I would leave at sunrise and be back to eat lunch with my family just about every day. I have four sisters and six brothers. I was the middle child; I always wanted attention that my mother never gave me. I never knew what it felt like to be loved or to love someone when I was a just a child but now I’m growing up and in my teen years. I have no proper shoes that fit on my feet anymore, but that’s fine because my feet have calloused over on the bottom causing me to have a thick skin on the bottoms of my feet. I’m now working in the fields picking cotton for the white folks. I’ve heard talk about some Emancipation that might get passed to set us slaves free, but I’m sure that will never happen. All we can do is just pray for something good to happen.