Growing up, I remember my father’s way of communicating was to tell me embellished fables and whimsical elaborated stories. Looking back, I understand that this was his way of transferring the wisdom he had acquired living as a Black man, without shattering my innocence in the process.
For an Afro-Brazilian child of a poor background and living during the 1980s and 1990s, innocence could’ve been costly. My father knew then what I know now (especially after having had three children myself) that a bruised soul is better than a body full of bullets.
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