It bothered me how much I had in common with this supposedly fictional character, how much he reflected my own feelings, thoughts, and dreams. We both even shuffle for the white man!
I had to dig deeper. I watched the "Spooky" episode 347 times that afternoon. It was full of similar characters, many of whom felt "familiar," as if I knew them, just as the plots felt "comfortable," as if I had already been through their paces. I was home.
Just as I came to terms with these horrific yet arousing changes in my life, I purchased the wide screen edition. Within seconds of watching it, my head began to throb, dully, at the invisible cornrows. At first I thought it was an ocular headache, but it was much, much more.
Much, much more my mediakin brethren.
The more I watched and touched myself, the more I knew that this character, this immaculate character, with his spunky charm, raggedy clothes, and lisping speech, this Buckwheat, was more than familiar. He was ME!
Like a piece of my very own soul acting out my very own painful struggles on the screen. He was a part of me! The best part! And this is where I am now, lost and confused, trying to find an answer to the longing inside me. I never dreamed there were so many others.
I’ll ponder this tonight, touching myself and lisping softly in the dark.