When Scars Blossom — A Confrontational Letter
by A.J. Riggins for South Summit 2022
Born and bred in the backwoods of the backwoods.
What we have now is true, but I have a confession. I once hated you…
Let me explain.
I remember being ten years old. Our house sat isolated in the middle of a long dirt road. No other humans in sight. Surrounding us were turkey houses and cow pastures. Those were the neighbors. I would lay next to the window at night and listen as your singers chant. Those crisp and harsh tones carried through the blades of the fan.
Tranquility.
But moments of peace were often followed by your teachings.
Yes ma’am. No ma’am.
Yes sir. No sir.
Firm handshakes and locked eyes.
This education wasn’t a choice. It was expected, mandatory.
I obliged.
As a child, it came with the territory. Growing up here meant a unique understanding of southern etiquette. These rules aren’t documented or spoken, but they are followed.
Like the southern ebonics that flow.
The sugar that dissolves in our tea.
The fatback left on the stove.
That’s just how it be.
There would be times you would make me mad. Like why couldn’t you make up your mind about the temperature? A 40-degree Eve followed by a 75-degree Christmas never made any sense to me.
Still doesn’t.
Despite this, I adored you.
But what happened as I started to come of age? You exposed things that poked at an inner rage.
The warm winters didn’t let the plants lie dormant, so the pollen became unbearable.
I thought all of your children could be friends, but our separation became irreparable.
And I still wanted to adore you, but the education you instilled in me became challenged by the knowledge I gained of you.
The truth is, this was a place where Jim Crow still soaked in the soil as the sun baked on our brows.
A place where white moms with black sons caught gazes of how.
This was a legacy many of us weren’t prepared for. Stories of our ancestors that ran headed North.
Oh. Wait…
This wasn’t what you wanted to hear? A rant about your flaws. The stereotype and truth about the microcosm of America.
I get it. Hold on, please.
In the mirror: “You started off like you said you would but took a turn. What’s wrong?”
A beat.
Damn, I’m caught. Using the objective to vent about the subjective.
Scared? Maybe. Okay, yes, but continue to hear me out.
I fell from a tree of the emotionally aloof. Every trial. Every trauma. I have tatted just for proof. But with you, I felt free, so can you understand how it might feel when you had nothing for me?
I was one of your children from out yonder, left isolated with the mind free to wander.
I waited and waited with my horses held. That is until I had to leave…
During my first year away, I carried a daily fever from the change. A bit shocked by the cultural range.
Remember the education you gave me? Well, deference unrelated to age isn’t a bell you ring. And apparently, I had an accent you didn’t tell me was a thing.
Look what you’ve done to me. Lost. Miles from adolescence, yet still searching for acceptance.
But all wasn’t bad. I enjoyed exploring Mother Nature and eating new foods. Posting them to social media with captions like “New Life Experiences #Thingsweneverhad.”
I began to see the world through a new lens. A perspective I doubt I would’ve gained if I never left you. But little did I know there was a rut that was churning inside.
It became hard to get out of bed. To look in the mirror and smile with emotions I no longer had. I would return to you, but you pushed me away again.
I remember lying in a room. Alone. It’s dark and loud. Screams bellowed from the walls but not a face in the crowd.
The exterior costume became heavier to wear. Taking it off revealed a desolate soul, exposed vulnerabilities and scars from the scare.
That is until the light of story showed me the power of self. Learning to take a passion, a skill, and project it through glass.
As a glorified nomad, I would come back to you again. This time with self-discovery as the plan.
This journey helped me understand what you wanted for me. Through my eyes, you have always been the belle of our land. But the scars endured as a boy needed to blossom as a man.
You also needed time to heal. Vestiges of your haunted legacy that didn’t reflect the values, opportunity, and love you have to give.
We both have learned that legacy doesn’t have to be the baton from previous generations. Our traditions and values can remain intact, but it’s okay to start anew.
The ground has cockled enough from the water flow. You live with me, and I live with you. Smiles are no longer hard to grow.
The scars are now of virtue, like dogwood in the bloom.
My opening words carry weight no longer. The truth is, I’ve always loved you.
A.J.
ABOUT A.J. RIGGINS
A native of North Carolina, A.J.’s work as an independent filmmaker explores the human condition through the lens of persons of color in the South. His professional contributions as a creative producer combine this unique perspective with hybridized skills to help companies build awareness through human stories focused on culturally-relevant moments.
His recent short film, The Boys Outside, is an official selection of the 2021 New Orleans Film Festival and received support from the Filmed in NC Fund. His independent work has also been featured at the Charlotte Black Film Festival and on Film Shortage and Retrospective Jupiter. www.ajriggins.co
This piece was commissioned by the New Orleans Film Society for South Summit 2022. South Summit received critical support from JustFilms, which is part of the Ford Foundation’s Creativity and Free Expression program, and is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.
