Two things you need to know. One is that I'm African-American. The other is that there are a lot of cotton fields in Arizona. I never saw a real cotton field until I moved to Phoenix. Every time I pass by a cotton field, I can't help looking out there and imagining myself among the bushes, plucking cotton in the hot sun. That was the life of my ancestors and would be my life right now if it weren't for emancipation.
Sometimes, I wish I was the practical joker type. If I was, I would get a bunch of my black friends, dress up in raggedy clothes, and go out and start picking cotton in the fields. Then when the owner of the farm comes out to ask what we're doing, I go, "Just getting back to our roots." Then we all yell out "You're not our master!" And we all run off.