One of the earliest book reports I ever wrote was on The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I think it was early junior-high school when I did it, so it would have been my early teens. I picked it merely because I liked the title. I had little idea of what I was in for.
When I told the teacher of my selection, she showed surprise and seemed cautiously enthusiastic, like “you sure?” She later ended up giving me an “A” on my report with ‘Wow!” written on the front page along with other comments.
As a young white teenager, the book often hurt my feelings, made me angry, and for awhile I cast it off as rubbish and sought a different selection.
It ended up being a great foundation for a lot of my thinking. It was a good year in school with this supportive teacher. I don’t remember which teacher now. This book is as relevant now as ever.