i don't know how old i was. i think i was at tuskegee university. my parents always used to bring my sister and i with them on cross-country trips where my father attended black nationalist conferences or presented at other black intellectual events. i was in middle school, i think. i remember walking thorugh a large open area outside of the middle rooms. i was still short. the windows were tall and filled the room with natural lighting. i walked passed tables of vendors, stopping at one covered with stacks of books. i was awestruck. a man behind the table- with long locks and silver rings with chunky stones- reached across the table. i saw his hand before i noticed him. he reached across the table holding this book. "you need to read this he said." i took it and looked at it. he told me the author was a great writer. and so i brought my mother over to buy it for me, along with another book, "Gal." now, if i had a similar encounter with him, i would have assumed he was just trying to sell me something. interestingly, the a similar level of passivity and indifference to others and their commands would probably result in a similar outcome. more importantly was the book he gave me: "Parable of the Sower". if my mother realized what i was reading i think she would have been disturbed. here i was- young, reading about extreme violence, sex, and a drastically different world in rather vivid description... but i was hooked. even more amazing was the gift given to me: one of the best pieces of writing i've ever read; a science fiction novel written by a black feminist woman. in many ways this marked my transition to more mature novels that moved beyond ghosts, vampires, and sappy loves stories from the juvenille section of the junction bookstore. i can't believe i read that book when i was so young. it's still my favorite. rest in peace Octavia Butler.