It was the year I was homeschooled, 4th grade, that I can recount reading the first “grown-up” book that seemed to captivate my heart and soul. The author was a majestic woman, whose graceful words could even be used to describe even the most painful times within a person’s life. The book I read, and would love even enough to do a book report on in my young academic career was, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. Having too young of a mind to realize that this was her early childhood memoir, I was captivated by the story of a young girl growing up in Stamps, Arkansas who had to with hold a dark secret after moving up north with her mother. The words seemed to literally take hold of me and every page became more and more of a reason for me to hardly ever put the book down. It was at the end when Angelou finally disclosed that those memories were hers, that that painfully experience of being abused by her stepfather was hers as well. But even then I understood Angelou’s tone, and there was never once a hint of defeat in her cool voice that can still be echoed through my mind.
As I grew up I went through high school trying to fit in, never mind that, WANTING to fit in! I never once forgot my love for the writings of Maya Angelou in those simple yet complex years full of school girl drama. When it came time to take junior high English I was kind of excited. I always loved both reading and writing and it was cool to know we’d have a new teacher! But as the school year progressed this new teacher failed, tried…and failed again. After “mysteriously” losing her sense of taste AND smell she left half way through the year. Quite fortunate it was for the 8th period English class full of girls with rolled up skirts and minds no longer on The Great Gatsby but rather on the St. Joes boys awaiting them outside. As one always assumes this dream can not last forever. That was when our new new teacher entered the room. She was tall and rather skinny and with dark wavy hair she gave the radiance of a young college graduate. She was pretty, and immediately everyone took attraction to her.
As the school year progressed the new teacher made sure that what was taught to us was learned, and that included and end of the year biography on one of our favorite writers. That is when I again was introduced to the love I had for Maya Angelou and her work. Immediately I began my research and again I re-read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. It brought back a swarm of emotions, even more than the mind of an innocent 12 year old girl could remember. Now I had experienced life to a deeper extent and the innocence I once had, had slowly begun to fade away, and I knew more about the growing pains of life. During the report I had encountered a famed poem of Angelou’s entitled, Still I Rise. I read it over and over again and each time I felt the strong voice of endurance and strength rise from the page! It reminded me of the voice of my mother, and still it seemed even stronger and even more relentless towards collapsing under the pressure of life. Even after the English project was done, I was known through out the rest of my high school career to fervently recount the lines of Angelou’s poem Still I Rise. At that moment in life it seemed to be a coping mechanism for crappy grades or petty girl moments, it even became a phrase used between my best friend an I and we ALWAYS got a few laughs out of our system.
But now as I find myself once again recounting the work of Maya Angelou in a sophomore college level oral interpretation class, I realize that the fire has not died. I find myself back where I started, preparing to read and excerpt from he memoir I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and I find it almost impossible to capture the voice of this commanding woman. How can I come close to her years of capturing an audience with a voice that could make you feel as though you were in the cool of night in one moment, then the next on the sands of a coastline experiencing a love like never before? I find that writing this helps me to believe that it is not meant for me to become Maya Angelou reincarnate, but to pay homage to a beloved writer to not just myself but to many across the world. I can think of nothing else as a writer than to do such a thing, and I can only hope that this piece is embodied well enough that it lives on for many generations to come.
