Legend of the Valentine
In third grade I remember a boy named Marcus. He was one of the few
African-American children in our class. I don’t remember much about
Marcus except that I didn’t like him. Maybe this was because all boys
were “the enemy.” I don’t remember having hostile feelings towards
African-American kids, but I know I wasn’t nice to Marcus. When he moved
in the middle of the year, I skipped around the playground with my
friends, leading the chant, “No mo-ore Mar-cus” to that “Nah, nah-nah,
nah nah” tune all kids seem to know. Now I only pray that I did this
after he left, so he wasn’t there to hear it.
When I sat down to write The Legend of the Valentine, the character of
Marcus came to me. I decided to set the story in the South in the early
sixties. I was pulled by the heroes of the Civil Rights Movement,
especially the ordinary children and adults who stood for justice at
great personal cost. I read every book in the 323 section of the
Woodinville Library and with great fear and trembling, wrote some early
drafts. But I found that I was blocking on the story. “You have no right
to write this!” my inner critic was screaming at me, “You are a white
woman who has lived her entire life in the Pacific Northwest. This is
not your story to tell!”
I considered calling my editor and telling her I couldn’t do it. That
she’d need to find another author. But by now the story had captured me.
It wouldn’t let me go.
What was necessary was some inner work, some coming to terms with the
white privilege I have no control over, but is a part of me even so.
I went back to my eight-year-old self and wrote my mixed feelings about
Marcus, my prejudices, and the subtle messages I was getting from home.
I wouldn’t show that piece of writing to anyone, but facing myself — my
child self and my adult self, released me so that I could finish the
story. I even included “Kathy” as an extra at the end.
Ultimately it’s Marcus’s grandmother who empowers him by telling him the
story of St. Valentine who was persecuted just as the civil rights
workers — like Marcus’s dad — were being persecuted. Because of this
Marcus is enlivened and inspired to take a great risk.
Marcus, the character, is so real to me. He and his family are only
beginning to teach me things I will be learning for the rest of my life.
Perhaps this is my story to tell because it is a gift. I offer it to
those who have struggled against racism, and those who still feel its
sting.
