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Guest Essay

By Esau McCaulley

Contributing Opinion Writer

Many of us envision a happy holiday as one when nothing dramatic occurs. We avoid religion, politics and other divisive issues like we avoid the questionable potato salad filled with raisins.

Holidays have become seasons of hiding. Couples going through a rough patch hope to make it through the familial gatherings without allowing the tensions to surface. People who have lost jobs put a smiley face on financial troubles. Rumors spread, but no one says anything because, of course, we must be polite.

But a deep loneliness can reside at the heart of forced civility. What good is it if only our joys are worthy of sharing and not our struggles? Underlying that courteousness is the fear that acceptance remains conditional. We worry that if we reveal who we really are, what we really think and the difficulties we endure, then we might be rejected. No more pumpkin pie from Grandma. But what if something essential is lost when we stop telling the truth?

Coyle and Jerry were the two cousins closest to me in age on my father’s side of the family. We grew up together, taking turns spending the night at one another’s homes. We fiddled away our summers playing ball in the backyard during the day before turning to Atari video games in the evenings. Our mothers worked, leaving us to our own devices for extended periods. Three young Black boys turned loose on the world.

The two miles between my home and where Coyle and Jerry eventually moved to created the first real divide. Where I saw addicts in my Huntsville, Ala., neighborhood occasionally, my cousins faced a steady stream of drugs and periodic violence. The sleepovers ended. As high school........

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