Back in the day, my sister and I would bicker more than we played Polly Pockets. With only 18 months between us, we butted heads like a couple of mountain goats. You lost my favorite pair of overalls? I'm losing my voice screaming at you. You used my hairbrush? Here, let me rip out a hundred follicles. You ate my Charleston Chews? The chocolate and knuckle sandwich combo is a house favorite.
Sharing a room did nothing to soften our calloused hearts. I can remember reverting to duct tape to divide our periwinkle room in two. Rule number one: my side is mine. Rule number two: your side is yours. Rule number three: your side is also mine. Evil me, evil me. They say duct tape fixes everything. Folks, it does not fix a broken relationship. Our differences seemed to grow with each candle atop our birthday cakes.
Finally 2009 marked the calender, and Jess moved off to bigger and better things. And by bigger and better, I mean highschool (which I later discovered to be bigger and badder). Being at two different schools, my sister and I developed a new perspective on our relationship. We no longer endlessly argued. We had come to accept each other's differences. Through fighting, we learned to love.
As with Joe Louis' match against his white opponent in The Champion of the World, fighting is the Bridge to Taribithea. Erm. I mean love. Fighting is the Bridge to Love. Blacks and whites fought only to conclude with accepting one another. Just as an agreement begins with an argument, love oftentimes begins with hate.
Let's take a walk to love! Rosey hearts and rainbows and unicorns await!
I loved the voice in this piece! :D The parallel structure in the first paragraph made it very humorous. And though I thought that Angelou's piece exposed that blacks and whites still didn't learn to love despite the outcome of the fight, I feel that their relationship in society has greatly improved, and that you had a brilliant point that "agreement begins with an argument." :)
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