My American Life : From Rage to Entitlement asin: 0743496191 binding: Hardcover list price: $24.95 USD amazon price: $16.47 USD availability: Usually ships in 24 hours

I don't generally read memoirs. I decided to review this one when I caught an appearance by Dr. Cobbs on C-SPAN's Book TV while flipping channels. I stopped to see what was up, and wasn't but so interested until he mentioned he co-authored Black Rage. I read Black Rage years ago and was impressed, though it was at a depth I wasn't ready for at the time...it's an exploration where Ellis Cose's The Rage of a Privileged Class: Why Do Prosperous Blacks Still Have the Blues? is a popularization. I found the idea of a peek into his life interesting.

Thing is, it's a memoir, not a biography (I've NEVER voluntarily read a biography)...the story of a life, not the record of a life. So I was looking to understand the stories being told, to see if I could relate. The book is in three sections: establishing his parents, environment and childhood, adolescence to the beginning of his career, and the development of his understanding of Black Rage. I recognized (which is more intimate than "understood") the point of the stories in the third section. I related to the point of the stories in the first...I even learned something useful. Specifically, I found an acceptable explanation for some of the “siddity” behavior I’ve seen over the years. You have to ready the first third or so of the book to get a full understanding of it, but a nice summary follows his description of his mother’s response to the teacher slapping him:

“Mrs. Shields, you slapped my son.”

Mrs. Shields feigned innocence and surprise, but my mother remained calm and sure of herself. She fixed her gaze—or rather her now angry glar—on Mrs. Shields and said in a very assertive voice, “I know that you slapped my son Price a few minutes ago. And I want you to know, Mrs. Shields, that I do not want you to ever lay a finger on him or any of my children ever again. Do you understand that, Mrs. Shields? I am Mrs. Cobbs and this is my son. I will talk to the principal about this, and if you do touch my child again, I’ll bring Price’s father, Dr. Cobbs, here and he will talk with you about it also. There could be the possibility of legal action as well…”

…What got Mrs. Shield’s speechless attention was my mother’s very certain view that no teacher was going to hit me, ever. My mother emphasized this by making sure that Mrs. Shields understood exactly who we were, that my mother was Dr. Peter Price Cobbs’s wife and that I was the son of Dr. Peter Price Cobbs. These were facts that for my mother were always extremely important, especially in situations where our integrity was for some reason in question. One could interpret her particular admonition to Mrs. Shields as being pretentious, but it would be a mistake to think so. If you have little armor with which to protect yourself, you make use of that armor to its greatest effect.

There's a lot in this book I recognized. I recognized the first time being called nigger (by a six year old white best friend, just like him), mom defending me against the school structure (in his case, a teacher that felt free to slap him, in mine being pushed too hard). Mom’s reaction to the school psychiatrist telling her I wanted to be white (as a result of my observation that white kids got away with things Black kids were punished for, and that I wanted to get away with the same stuff). My mother is as color-conscious as his was too.

But we were in a different economic and social class than Dr. Cobbs. My parents were a farmers and laborers. Honestly, one of the repercussions of that was being raised in a “children should be seen, not heard” environment. Another difference is semi-generational. My parents consciously did not discuss race with me. They expected I would be a doctor or something and didn’t want to bias me against white folks (mind you, they were biased…you can't be born in South Carolina circa 1930 and not be). I didn't get to eavesdrop of grown folks' talk either. This actually left me a lot less prepared for The Real World than I could have been.

Still, I did okay, which is proof there's more than one way to stay sane (assuming you agree I qualify).

There's another interesting bit I want to mention, but life being what it is, I have to write it up later.