Document Information
- Chapter: Chapter 24
- Scene: Grant tells Jefferson what a hero is
- Draft: Early typescript
- File location: Box 10, folder 55
Discussion Questions
- In this draft, Gaines has made a few changes to the text. Namely, switching and adding words. What is the significance of these additions, minor as they are?
“Jefferson, I want us to be friends,” I said. “Not only you and me, but I want you to be friends with your nannan, then I want you to be more than a godson to her. A godson obeys, but a friend – well, a friend would do anything to please a friend.” We were passing the table, so I kept my voice down a moment. Jefferson shuffled along beside me, his cuffed hands hanging below his waist, his shoulders too close together, and his head down. “A friend does a lot of little things,” I went on. “It would mean so much to her if you would eat some of the gumbo.” I stopped when we came to the corner of the room. He stopped, but kept his head down. “Look at me, Jefferson, please,” I said. He slowly raised his head. I smiled at him. “Will you be her friend? Will you eat some of the gumbo? Just a little bit? One spoonful?” He made a slight nod. I smiled at him again.
“Jefferson,” I said. We were walking again. “Do you know what a hero is, Jefferson? A hero is someone who does something for other people. He does something that other men don’t and can’t do. He is different from other men. He is above other men. No matter who those other men are, the hero, no matter who he is, he is above them.” I lowered my voice again until I had passed the table. “I could never be a hero. I teach, but I don’t like teaching. I teach because it is the only thing for an educated black man to do in the South today. I don’t like it, I hate it. I don’t even like living here. I want to run away. I want to live for myself and for my woman and for nobody else. That is not a hero. A hero does for others. He would do anything for people he loves, because he knows it would make things better for them. I am not that kind of a person, but I want you to be. You can could give something to her, to me, to those children in the quarter. You could give them something that I never could. They expect it from me, but not from you. The white people out there are saying that you don’t have it – that you’re a hog -- not a man. But I know they are wrong. You have the potentials. We all have, no matter who we are. Those out there are no better than we are, Jefferson. Those are worse. That is why they are always looking for someone else to blame. I want you to show them the difference between what they think you are, and what you can be. To them you’re nothing but some old n*gger – no dignity, no heart, no love for your people. You can prove them wrong. You can do more than I can ever do. I have always done what they wanted me to do, teach reading, writing, arithematic. Nothing else, nothing about dignity, nothing about loving and caring. They never thought we were capable of learning anything else, anyway. “Teach those n*ggers how to print their names and how to figure on their fingers.” And I went along, but hating myself all the time for doing so.”
We were coming up to the table again, and the ones at the table were quiet and tried to hear what we were saying. I did not start taling again until after we had passed them.