I write to encourage others to read for the sake of fruitful conversations.

Identities can be dangerous and paradoxical things. They are the beginning and the end of the self. They are how we define ourselves and how we are defined by others. One can be a “nerd” or a “jock” or a “know-it-all.” One can be “liberal” or “conservative,” “religious” or “secular,” “white” “black or other.” Identities can be the means of escape and the ties that bind us. They direct our thoughts. They are modes of of who we are. They are the ingredient of the self—along with relationships, memories, and role models—and they can also destroy the soul of man kind.

Under the auspices of one individual’s opinion, the alignment of souls is surmountable at the beginning of any conversation, becoming genial with having preordained respect for a fellow human being’s taste/opinion.

Reading for knowledge purposively for me has curated an atmosphere of being a good listener, seasoned with the ingredients of respect. However, when respect is sought and not given in return, the diner becomes foul tasting, causing the stew to be dumpy while it is being cooked at the wrong temperament.

Respect cannot happen when prejudgment is on the recipe, i.e., race, religion, sexual orientation, hearsay etc., etc. Thereby enunciating death ears through body language. Therefore, books have been my melting pot, with history, the ingredients of many souls, past and present, including my book, “Guidance Against the Odds.” It was not written against any taste of authority but about how I evolved under the tapestry of hate and divisiveness. A catalyst for conversation and a beacon of bacon for encouragement for others. “Black Boy” by Richard Wright, “Josiah Henson’s Autobiography” by Harriet Stowe, “Destiny” by Bishop T.D. Jakes, “The Seat of the Soul” by Gary Zukav, “Instinct” by Bishop T.D. Jake, “A Knock at Midnight” by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “The Audacity of Hope” by Barack Obama, and “The African Americans Many Rivers to Cross” by Henry Louis Gates, JR., to name a few, enlarged my coronary.

But “The Measure of a Man,” A Spiritual Autobiography by Sydney Poitier, increased my red and white blood cell counts. He was 17 years my senior, but our lives took a similar course. Maturing during the era of Jim Crow, we both joined the military very young, maturing on a diet of rejection.