How I Became Free
excerpt from:  Grandpa's Ashes

          I did not know him. He stood on the block looking straight ahead. He refused to flinch as they poked him, or jerked his body this way and that, or stuck their hands into his mouth to better count his teeth. His arms were pinned back awkwardly, still those who those who sought to own him, were cautioned not to get to close.

He was not of my people. However, even though I did not know him, I certainly knew of him. His was legend across every region of my homeland. He was said to be generous with all that was his, and charitable to all he met. He was said to be slow to anger, a fierce warrior, and one best not crossed. It was even whispered that he was a king. I heard that when he spoke, he spoke softly, and even the most brash of men took his counsel seriously.

          “On your knees heathen!” the man with the whip shouted. He did not move.

“On your knees, damn you!”, this time the man loosed his whip on his back. I had seen many a man give into that whip. He did not. Blood oozed from his wounds as the angry whip kept at him. It ran from his back down his legs were it puddled at his feet. Yet, he stood knees unbent.

          Know the whip would not bend him, the bidding began. He stood tall looking straight ahead. The men with the money bid against each other until finally one had out bid the others. A different man approached. He was big man. He held several chains in one hand, and a whip, with a barbed end, in the other. 

          “Now you're gonna come and you’re gonna come peaceful like.” He said. The King did not budge. The man with the whip looked to another man, much smaller than he and nodded. The smaller man pulled an old black woman into the front of the crowd. The big man with the whip snapped the whip inches from her face, then turned to the King, “Are you gonna come?” The King looked at the old women. Her face was scarred with the shame of being chattel in a world she did not understand. The King stepped from the platform. When he did the smaller man chained the King and the old woman together. The big man said, “We gotta long way to walk. This old thing cain’t walk that far, but I’ll make you a deal. I’ll put her in the wagon and you walk behind. You make a wrong move, or fall behind it’ll be on your head when she falls out that wagon and dies.”

          I was young and alone and bought by the same man who purchased the King. Somehow, even though he was chained to that old woman and walking barefoot in the dirt behind the wagon with the rest of us, he did not look as if he were owned. He wore the same chains we did, but he did not look chained. I glanced at him every now and again to taking note of his countenance. He always held his head high. We tried our best to emulate him. We were not Kings, but he made us realize that we were not slaves either. Like him, we were enslaved. The distinction of that difference was made clear to me as I watched him.