Letters To My Daughter Maya Angelou Pdf

Letters To My Daughter Maya Angelou Pdf – In her latest book, a collection of essays, acclaimed poet and memoirist Dr. Maya Angelou shares life lessons from her experiences. “A Letter to My Daughter” dedicated to the daughter she doesn’t have but sees in everyone around her, reveals Angelou’s path to a better life and a meaningful life. In this passage, she writes about losing her virginity, getting pregnant, and the definition of “home.”

I was born in St. Louis, but grew up in Stamps, Ark. from the age of three with my grandmother, Annie Henderson, and my father’s uncle, Uncle Willie, and my only sibling, my brother. Bailey.

Letters To My Daughter Maya Angelou Pdf

At thirteen, I joined my mother in San Francisco. Later I studied in New York. Over the years I have lived in Paris, Cairo, West Africa and all over the United States.

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These are facts, but facts are just words for a child to remember: “My name is Johnny Thomas. My address is 220 Center Street. All facts unrelated to the child’s reality.

My real growing world, Stamps, was a constant struggle with surrender. First of all, obey the people I see every day, all black, all very, very big. And then succumbing to the idea that black people are inferior to white people, which I rarely see.

I don’t know exactly why, but I am no less than my brother. I knew I was smart, but I also knew Bailey was smarter, maybe because he reminded me of me so often and even suggested that he might be the smartest person in the world. He came to such a decision when he was nine years old.

The South in general, and Marks, Ark. in particular, has hundreds of years of experience in reducing even large adult blacks to psychological dwarfism. Poor white children were praised and licensed to address older blacks by their first names or whatever they could make up.

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“You Can’t Go Home Again,” warned Thomas Woolf in the title of his great American novel. I enjoyed the book, but could never agree with its subject matter. I believe that one never leaves home. I believe that man carries home shadows, dreams, fears and dragons under his skin, in the outer corners of his eyes and perhaps in the hairs of his ears.

Home is a youth zone where a child lives alone. Parents, siblings and neighbors are mysterious apparitions that come and go and do mysterious things in and around the child, the only rightful citizen of the region.

Geography makes little sense to a child observer. If one grows up in the Southwest, desert and open skies are natural. New York, with its elevators and subway noise and millions of people, and Southeast Florida, with its palm trees and sun and beaches, are for the children of those regions, the way the outside world was, was, and always will be. Since the child cannot control that environment, he must find his own place, an area where only he lives and no one else can enter.

I’m sure most people don’t. We find parking and honor our credit cards. We get married, dare to have children and call it growing up. I think we’re basically just getting old. Our bodies and faces have accumulated years, but in general our true selves, the children within us, are still as innocent and shy as magnolias.

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We can act complicated and worldly, but I believe we feel most secure when we come into ourselves and find home, a place where we belong and the only place where we really do.

It was to be the days of Revelation. The days prophesied by the prophet John. The ground shook as the trains rumbled in the black snow. Cars, taxis, buses, surface trains, lorries, delivery vans, cement mixers, delivery carts, bicycles and skates filled the air with sounds, sounds, roars, shouts and whistles until the air itself seemed thick and lumpy. like bad soup.

People from all over the world came to the city to see the end and the beginning of the world.

I wanted to forget how big the day was, so I went to the Fillmore Street 5 & Dime. It was an acre-wide store with dreams hanging on plastic stands. I have walked its corridors a thousand times. I knew its seductive magic. From nylon sliders with cardboard breasts to a cosmetic table with pink, red, green and blue lipstick and nail polish falling from a rainbow tree. This city was brand new when I was sixteen. The day was so important that I could barely breathe. A boy living on the street asked me to be intimate with him. I was in denial for months. He was not my boyfriend. We haven’t even met. It was then that I noticed my body’s betrayal. My voice was deep and muffled, and my naked image in the mirror never meant to be feminine and curvy. I was six feet tall and had no breasts. I thought that if I had sex, my young body would grow and behave the way it was supposed to. That morning the boy called and I told him yes. He gave me the address and said he would meet me there at 8:00. I said yes. A friend lent him his apartment. From the moment I saw him at the door, I knew I had made the wrong choice. No kind words were expressed. He showed me to the bedroom where we undressed. The negotiation lasted fifteen minutes, and I was dressed and at the door. I don’t remember when we said goodbye. I remember walking down the street and thinking that everything was there and I wanted a long bath. I took a bath and not only that. Nine months later I had a beautiful son. The birth of my son gave me enough courage to figure out my life. I learned to love my son without wanting to possess him and I learned to teach him to be himself. , More than forty years later, when I look at him and see that he was a wonderful man, a loving husband and father, a good poet and a wonderful writer, a responsible citizen and a great son of the world, I thank God for giving him. to me Revelation – that day, so long ago, was the greatest day of my life – Hallelujah!

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Chapter Four: Childbirth My brother Bailey told me to hide my pregnancy from my mother. He said he would pick me up from school. I was very close to graduation. Bailey said I had to have my high school diploma before my mom and her husband came back to San Francisco from a nightclub in Nome, Alaska. I received my diploma on VJ, which was my stepfather’s birthday. That morning he patted my shoulder and said, “You are growing up and becoming a beautiful young lady.” I thought to myself, I’m eight months and one week pregnant. After a festive dinner celebrating his birthday, my graduation, and the country’s victory, I wrote on his pillow: “Dad, I’m sorry for bringing shame on the family, but I have to tell you that I’m pregnant.” I didn’t sleep that night. I heard my dad go to his room at 3:00 in the morning, and when he didn’t knock on my door right away, I wondered if he had seen and read the note. I will not sleep that night. At 8:30 in the morning he was at my door. He said, “Son, come down and have coffee with me, by the way, I got your note.” The sound of him leaving was not as loud as my heartbeat. At the table downstairs, he said, “I’m going to call your mother. How far are you?’ I said, “I have three weeks.” He smiled. “I’m sure your mother will be here.”

Nervous and scared are barely words to describe how I feel. My beautiful little mother came home before evening. He kissed me and then looked at me. “You’re more than any other three weeks pregnant.” I said, “No ma’am, I’m eight months and one week pregnant.” He said, “Who is the boy?” he asked. I told him. He said, “Do you love him?” – he asked. I said no.” “Does he love you?” I said, “No, he’s the only person we’ve ever had sex with