Weight

BY JACQUELINE WOODSON

When I was a kid, there was this song that played on the radio all the time. It talked about a road that was long and a brother who had to be carried on it. The singer said the brother wasn’t heavy. That he was, simply, his brother. And that line repeated again and again—He ain’t heavy. He’s my brother. And something about the way the singer’s voice hugged these words, proclaimed them to the world, caught in the back of my throat. Making it hard to move. To swallow. I didn’t know then—at nine, ten, eleven—that this was love. That this was community. That this was about a greater good. If the road is long, it doesn’t matter what you weigh—I will carry you.

As a child, I loved the stories inside of songs. And the poetry. I loved how the music existed as air and water around the words—an energy to help them move deeper and more beautifully into our minds—and from there, our memories.

The road has been long. As I sit down to write this, I am so grateful for each of you on it with me. As I read through the selections in this journal, I am carried back to that place in my childhood—where words stopped me, made me have to remember how to swallow, said Don’t forget to breathe.

And now—here we all are—at this moment, past the many we’ve lost who weren’t able to breathe into this new day. Past the beginnings of a revolution that is now a movement we have chosen to walk beside, to raise our fists up into. Past a country that feels like it’s losing its mind. Past a moment before we had to remember to grab our masks when we grabbed our wallets and keys. And still—ahead of us, the road keeps winding into a place we cannot yet see.

So on we go.

Weight：漫漫长路上的负重前行