I’m applying for new jobs. One of them asked me to do two things 1) have a kick ass sense of humor (yes!) and 2) create a writing sample.
Here’s a super rough draft excerpt from the latter:
“I remember the day my mother gave me away just as a child recalls all its memories: clearly yet stained by the inaccuracy of youth. She, my brother, and I attended a function in a magnificent building I later came to love and call “Founder’s Hall.” Flags stuck out of the roof like an Afro pick in a freshly picked poof. The marble floors felt fancy beneath my feet and brownness blew around me; dust clouds and tumble weeds in my season of desertedness. Heels clicked then as they still do now. My skin weighed heavy: as I wore my blackness differently then than I do now. It was enrollment day. My mother, a single parent from the Virgin Islands, had heard of a school where you could send your children. This residential school, a Mecca, would pay for everything your child needed through high school and even through college at no cost to the parent or sponsor. “At no cost to the parent or sponsor.” An unintentional and heavy lie still passed down like an urban legend through generations. Attending Milton Hershey School cost me everything.”