It was 1917 when Henry left us. He broke Mama’s heart and planted fear in the rest of ours. All Pa would say was, “Life’s hard enough without a son in the war, when your skin is darker than the souls of everyone else.”           

The grief was tangible. It seemed I could trace my fingers along its wakes from each person, even Pa. Henry had tried to comfort us by mentioning he was helping the troubled world. But his words were unable to hide the underlying truth that we would potentially never see his face again.          

Mama sighed. “Just stay home, Henry . . . please.”          

He gave her a hug and kissed her hair. “Mama, I’m going to make life better for everyone, for every American. I am going to prove that we are no different than the average white man. I’m fighting for our rights, for equality, for respect . . . I’m fighting for you, Mama, and Pa and Thomas. I’m fighting for all of you to have better lives. You won’t have to walk the streets in fear. Thomas won’t get bullied. Pa will be respected at work. The color of our skin won’t keep us from being treated like human beings. I’m fighting to bring true democracy to America, Mama.”          

“I am so proud of you. You have a heart of gold, and I couldn’t be more proud,” she whispered before glancing at the clock. “Please be safe. I love you so much.”          

“I’ll see you soon,” he stated. “I’ll write to you every week. I love you, Mama.” He kissed her cheek and went to Pa.          

“Listen, son,” Pa murmured, pulling Henry to his side. “Don’t lose yourself. You’re gonna face judgement and have the hardest times of your life. The whites have never been understanding, you hear me? They’ve always thought they’re better than us. But you’re strong and brave. Don’t let them change you or discourage you. I love you, Henry.”          

Henry had tears streaming down his face. Pa’s eyes were leaking as well.          

“I love you too, Pa.”          

As Henry came to me, I already felt my eyes stinging and my throat knotting. I tried to speak, but no sound came out of my gaping mouth. Instead, I just ran to him and wrapped my arms around him. He stroked my back as he listened to my muffled cries.

“Thomas,” he said at last, “you are going to accomplish great things. You’re going to go to high school, and you’re going to graduate. You are the smartest kid I have ever met. Follow your mind and your heart too. Don’t let anyone get you down.” He knelt down to look me in the eyes and smiled a broken smile. “Take care of Mama. You’ll do that for me, right?”          

I nodded as I wiped my eyes.          

Lowering his voice, he continued, “And Pa will need some help too. I know he seems like he’s stone cold, and he acts like he knows everyone inside and out. But he’s sensitive on the inside. He’s been through a lot, Thomas, and it’s scarred him. He’s not a bad guy, just a broken one. He’s bitter about how he’s been treated in the past, but deep down he wants to forgive them; I’m sure of it. They are not all bad people. Remember that, okay? Do not discriminate against them like they do to us. I have always tried to help Pa understand that, so now you’ll need to. Can you do that?”          

Once again, I nodded. “You’re going to come back.”

Henry nodded as a large smile graced his face. “I am. And I’ll be back soon, okay? I’ll see you graduate high school.” He wiped my cheeks and pulled me back into his embrace. “I love you, Thomas.”

“I love you.”

Henry stepped back and gathered his bags.

“Do you have everything?” Mama worried as she rushed around the room. “Do you need any food? Do you know where you’re going? Do you—”          

“Mama,” he laughed. “You and Pa have done more than enough for me. Thank you for everything.” He took one last look at his family—his mother, his father, and me—his fourteen-year-old brother. “I’ll see you all soon.” And with one last hug from the entire family, Henry was headed to Brooklyn, New York, to enlist in the United States Army and fight in the World War. 

The bell broke the silence in the classroom. I rose from my old wooden desk and gathered my books into my satchel. All of the students gathered with their friends in clusters as they prepared to go along with the rest of their days. I, however, evacuated the building as soon as possible. As I stepped outside the decomposing schoolhouse, I felt the December air nipping at my bare skin.  

Pa’s job wasn’t everything it had seemed to be. We had migrated from Winston-Salem, North Carolina, to Albany, New York, in hopes of finding better opportunities and conditions. The northern industrial economy was said to be improving due to the war and the demand it created. And while Pa did find a new job with a higher salary and improved working conditions, our family still faced serious discrimination, substandard living conditions, and many hostilities. 

“Hey, darkie!” 

My pace quickened as I heard the threatening shout behind me. Unfortunately, I was still met by my pursuer.  

“I’m talking to you, dark skin. Don’t you know it’s rude not to look at someone who’s talking to you? Or do your people not teach you that?”  

I shrugged, hoping that for once my tactics would work.  

“That means look at me,” the boy said as he smacked my chin up, forcing my gaze to meet the eyes of him, Mikey Wilsh.  

Mikey haunted my existence ever since my family moved here. For numerous years he had found a way to access my vulnerability. Every year he seemingly found a new flaw to pair with the color of my skin, which is partially why I had sheltered myself from my peers. The more of my life I kept private, the less Mikey would have against me.  

“Where’s your coat, huh?” he asked whilst pushing my arms out. “It’s pretty cold out here.”  

I stayed silent as I glanced at my feet.  

“Oh, what’s that?” he mocked. “You can’t afford it? Maybe you should go back to the south where it’s warmer.”  

I tried to keep walking, but Mikey stepped in front of me.  

“What are you learning in Negro school?” he scoffed and snatched my bag. “Well this is nothing. I learned this three years ago.” He threw the book on the ground. “Oops. Here, let me get it.” He picked the book up by a handful of pages, which tore out with a deafening sound.  

Mikey looked at me, expecting to see a frightened look on my face, but instead he was met with a view of the top of my head. I simply looked at the ground, hoping he would retire his harassing attempts.  

“Well, you aren’t too worried, are you?” Mikey broke into hysterical laughter. “You are dumber than I thought! These paper stacks here hold stuff you learn. You need this in order to be, eh, maybe half as smart as white people.” 

I remained silent. I could feel Mikey’s gaze burning into me; its intensity increased as his frustration did.  

“You people are hopeless,” he growled. “You’re all a waste of air.” Mikey tossed my bag into the street before strutting off. “Fetch.” 

I released the breath I had been holding and retrieved my bag and its contents. I scurried around the street to find the scattered pages from the book, appalled by his lack of respect or mere decency. The ignorance he presented almost made me pity him. He would spend the rest of his life getting joy only from the misery of others. And once the war was over, and equality was finally granted, he would live with the bitter memories of the days where he felt superior.  

I shrugged away the event and continued home. The mail was scheduled to arrive, and I needed to hear from Henry. He was my source of hope. I had always looked up to him as a child because he was the prime example of hope. If anyone were to change the nation’s outlook on Negroes, it would be him. 

I found Pa and Mama sitting at the dinner table as I entered the house. In her hands, Mama held the recognizable wax-sealed envelope, one of Henry’s letters. I sat down next to her and stared in anticipation as her trembling fingers ripped open the barrier.

“Please read it for us, Thomas,” she requested anxiously as she passed it to me. 

“‘Dear Mama, Pa, and Thomas,” I began, “things are still the same. We still aren’t sure what we have to look forward to. We’re still facing many racial injustices. We are still nicknamed ‘darkies’ and still looked down on. Many of my comrades are discouraged, like I said last week. They believe that we should be mixed with the whites. I couldn’t agree more. I saw the conditions they get. They’re so much better than ours, and it’s not fair. But I know that after we prove ourselves, things will get better. And . . .'”

I paused. 

“What is it?” Mama whimpered. 

My hands began to shake tremendously. “‘And we have . . . gotten the opportunity to prove ourselves. My division, the 93rd Division, is being ‘loaned’ to France.’” 

“He’s gonna fight in France?” Pa mumbled. I could hear fear lacing his words.  

I continued hesitantly and with a trembling voice, “‘We don’t know what we’ll be doing there. We don’t know if we’re fighting, guarding bases, or just unloading ships. And I don’t know what conditions we’ll have, but they can’t be much worse than the ones here. We should arrive January 1, 1918. How are things back home? Are they better? I really hope so. If not, they will be soon. I promise. How is school, Thomas? I bet you’re the smartest kid in your class. I bet you already know everything. I’ll send you some French books. You can learn the language. I’ll pick it up while I’m there, and then we can talk to each other.’” 

I felt my chest burning. How I missed him. 

“‘Pa,’” I continued, “‘how is work going? Are things better than they were in the South? I hope you’re being safe in the factory and getting the treatment you deserve. You’ll have to show me how everything is made when I get back. It’ll be nice to know more about the weapons I’ll be using.’” 

Pa held the hint of a smile upon his lips. A closer look revealed tears welling in his eyes. 

“‘Mama—’” 

At the mention of her name, Mama had already began bawling. Pa set his hand on hers and tenderly squeezed her fingers.  

After a moment of gathering herself, Mama murmured, “Go on.”  

“‘How are you doing?’” I read. “‘I miss your constant reminding. I think I’ve done a pretty good job at keeping myself together. Sometimes I’ll forget some things. And the other day I lost one of my socks. I found it, though, so it’s okay. I miss you. I miss you all. And I can’t wait to come home and eat a good meal. I need to get everything together. We’re getting on the boat soon. I’m excited to see France. I’m sure I’ll have all sorts of stories to tell you all. Try not to worry about me too much, alright? I’ll write you next week. I love you, Mama. I love you, Pa. I love you, Thomas. I can’t wait to see you again.’”  

We sat silently for a moment, all thinking of our beloved Henry. 

“We should write to him,” I mentioned at last. “Perhaps he’ll receive it when he arrives.”  

Mama nodded as Pa went to retrieve paper and a pen. We then wrote to our beloved Henry about all we had on our minds. 

“‘Dear Mama, Pa, and Thomas, Nothing new has happened this week. We are still unloading cargo from ships and other physical labor acts. I honestly feel a little useless. For three months, all I’ve done is carry boxes. It feels like those years of training have gone to waste. 

'I should be more positive, though. The conditions here are much better! And the French are very respectful, and they believe in equality. They have many colored people in their army. I feel respected here. I can’t wait for the day when America is as accepting as this. The white American military authorities that came along are still disrespectful. They still harass us even though the French discourage it. We’ve even had a few fights break out between colored and white American soldiers. Americans fighting each other. . . . Isn’t that strange? I don’t understand why it has to be like this, but soon it will be over. America will no longer be segregated by skin tones.          

“‘Have you listened to jazz music? There are many jazz musicians in our unit. It’s amazing! It always brightens our moods whenever we begin feeling down. It lets us express ourselves in a way I’ve never felt before. The French like it too. And I believe the white Americans do as well, but they are less open about it. Thomas, I finally found a good language book! I sent it to you. It might not get to you the same time as this, but it should be there soon. I’ve been asking the French men to teach me some, but you’ll probably know more than me by the time I get back. You’ll have to teach me then. Pa, I think I might have bigger arms than you now. All the heavy lifting I’ve done here might have pulled me ahead. Then again, you’re the one making most of this, so I’m sure you’re close. Ma, every day I find a new place that I know you’d love. It’s so pretty here in France—all of it. I need to get back to work now. I’ll write next week. I love and miss you all so very much,’” I read the April of 1918.          

Letters of that caliber were extremely comforting to our family. Knowing Henry wasn’t sacrificing his life in battle provided us with a sense of closure. And it was that perspective that resulted in the suffocating worry that accompanied Henry’s letter that was written May 8, 1918.          

“‘Dear Mama, Pa, and Thomas, Today is the day. They’re stationing us on the Western Front with the French Sixteenth Division. We’ll be in the Argonne Forest. I don’t know if I was supposed to say that, but I’m sure it’s okay. I’m writing this on the way there, so I’m sorry if you’re unable to read what I’ve written. I’ll be in the trenches when we get there. I’m a little excited to finally be in the action and be able to actually fight for what’s right. I’ll be sure to tell you about it when I get home. I bet I’ll have a lot of stories. I’ve heard about the trenches and how awful they are, but I don’t want to worry you with that.’”

A glance at Mama revealed tears streaming down her face in fear. Pa embraced her in an effort to comfort her. Unsure of what to do, my eyes wandered back to the letter.

“Mama, listen,” I muttered. “‘Mama, I know you’re worried, but please don’t be. I’ll be safe. We’ve had amazing training, and I have amazing comrades. I’ll be home soon. I promise. I love you, and I can’t stand the thought of you worrying. Please try not to. Pa, I’ll be alright. I’m going to be able to help you provide for the family soon. Thomas, we’re going to speak French soon, alright? Have you been practicing? Je t’aime. That means, I love you. I’m proud of you, and I can’t wait to see what you’ve accomplished. I must go now. Thank you all for everything. I’m so blessed to have you as my family. I love you all so, so much.’”