When the car did work, we had
the windows down, sputtering along
and baking in the heat. For my
entire life the dial on that car’s
radio stayed on one station. It was
called Radio Pulpit, and as the
name suggests it was nothing but
preaching and praise. I wasn’t
allowed to touch that dial. Anytime
the radio wasn’t getting reception,
my mom would pop in a cassette of
Jimmy Swaggart sermons. (When
we finally found out about the
scandal? Oh, man. That was rough.)
But as shitty as our car was, it
was a car. It was freedom. We
weren’t black people stuck in the