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I agree Everything works out better when people can cooperate and work together. I grew up with 9 brothers and sisters and I learned long ago that when we cooperate we can do much more than when we argue. Maryanne

Barack Obama,Dreams from my Father, A story of Race and Inheritance, Three Rivers Press

The belief that the story of my family and my efforts to understand that story might speak in some way to the fissures of race that have characterized the American experience as well as the fluid state of identity, the leaps through time, the collision of cultures that mark our modern life.

The underlying struggle between worlds of plenty and worlds of want between the modern and the ancient between those who embrace our teeming, colliding irksome diversity while still insisting on a set of values that binds us together and those who would seek under whatever flag or slogan or sacred text a certain struggle set forth on a miniature value in this book,

I know, I have seen, the desperation and disorder of the powerless, how it twists the lives of children on the streets of Jakarta or Nairobi in much the same way as it does the lives of children on Chicago’s South Side, how narrow the path is for them between
Humiliation and untrammeled fury, how easily they slip into violence and despair.
I know the response of the powerful to this disorder, alternating as it does between a dull complacency and when the disorder spills out of its proscribed confines, a steady, unthinking application of force, of longer prison sentences and more sophisticated hardware is inadequate to the task. I know that the hardening of lines, the embrace of
fundamentalism and the tribe dooms us allmy effort to understand this struggle and my place in it has converged with a broader public debate, one in which I am professionally engaged one that will shape our lives and the lives of our children for many years to come.
If I had known my mother was dying so young, I would have written a different book, less a meditation of the absent parent and more a celebration of the one who was the single constant in my life.

The stories his mother and her parents told him when he was a child a family trying to explain itself.

We have all seen too much to take my parents brief union a black man and a white woman , an African and an American at face value.

When people who don’t know me well, black or white, discover my background they no longer know who I am.

Sitting on his father’s grave and speaking to him through Africa’s red soil

This is a record of a personal interior journey a boy’s search for his father and a workable meaning for his life as a black American.
I can embrace my black brothers and sisters whether in this country or in Africa and affirm a common destiny without pretending to or for all our various struggles

Much of this book is based on contemporaneous journals or the oral histories of my family.
Whatever the label that attaches to this book, autobiography, memoir family history or something else, what I’ve tried to do is write an honest account of a particular province of my life.
“It is to my family my mother, my grandparents, my siblings, stretched across oceans and continents that I owe the deepest gratitude and to whom I dedicate this book. Without their constant love and support, without their willingness to let me sing their song and their toleration of the occasional wrong note, I could never have hoped to finish. If nothing else I hope that the love and respect I feel for them shines through on every page..
B arack went to new york city to live. I believe he went to Columbia unidersity.
1983 chic ago community organizer lawyer for civil rights cases.
He went to Kenya his half sister Auma and Auntie Zeditumi met him
Met aunt jane who called to say his dad was dead

What is a family? Is it just a genetic chain, parents and offspring, people like me? Or is it a social construct, an economic unit, optimal for child rearing and divisions of labor?
Or is it something else entirely, a store of shared memories, say? An ambit of love? A reach across the void.
Family seemed to be everywhere in Kenya

I was thinking about how life is so strange. You know as soon as the Old Man died, the lawyers contacted all those who might have a claim to the inheritance. No one seemed to have any proof of relationship except RUTH WHO HAD ALL THE PAPERS TO PROVE THAT THE OLD MAN WAS HER SON MARK’S FATHER.

AN ABSORBING AND STIRING TALE
A MAN TAKES A ROAD TRIP TO THE PLACE WHERE HIS FATHER WAS BORN, LIVED MUCH OF HIS LIFE AND DIED. HE REEVALUATES HIS LIFE
A QUIET, DEVASTATING EXAMINATION OF A MAN’S PAST AND HIS ATTEMMPT TO UNDERSTAND IT

LOOKING BACK ON HIS LIFE AND HIS FAMILY’S LIFE He finds a certain relief reliving times and behavior that had slipped into the undifferentiated past and finally arrives at some kind of understanding

Writing style

\a beautifully written blend of memoir and
When he returned to Chicago he met a woman Michelle, the daughter of the south side raised in one of the bungalow style houses he visited . after their engagement he took her to Kenya to meet his family there They returned to the united states and married.