In the memoir Mississippi Sissy, celebrity journalist Kevin Sessums details his intriguing yet tragic life growing up in The Magnolia State—a life which involved everything from murder to family strife to molestation as he dealt with his own sexuality. The writer of one of the most acclaimed books of 2007 talked with Windy City Times about Sidney Poitier, his lesbian sister and the one sentence in his book that makes him ill.
Windy City Times: How cathartic was it to write this book?
Kevin Sessums: I tell people that it was the Cliffs Notes of my shrinkdom. I sat in my shrink's office years ago and I said, 'This sounds like such narrative. I have such a Southern gothic life,' and she said, 'Maybe you should write it.' I would go, 'No, I think it's such a hackneyed form.' Finally, someone talked me into it and I said, 'Maybe I do have a story to tell—and maybe it'll be cathartic for me and for other people, too.'
WCT: And have you heard from other people?
KS: A lot of other people. That's the best part of this. I [ wrote ] about my book tour on my blog. I [ even ] received an e-mail from someone in New Orleans who thought about killing the sissy within him when he was at [ the university ] The Citadel, and he told me how much the book has meant to him.
WCT: Whenever I see or hear the word 'memoir,' I think of [ A Thousand Pieces ] writer James Frey...
KS: Which is why I wrote all those things at the beginning of the book. ... The way I describe that aspect of it is that it's 'the clothes that I ripped up to put on the real body.' Everything that happens is real, but I admit that the dialogue is my creation, just to make it more interesting.
WCT: Looking over everything—and you've gone through a lot in your life—what would say is the most surreal aspect?
KS: The most surreal aspect is having written the book and talking with you. I'm so used to being on your side of the equation and asking questions instead of answering them.
Truly, I don't think that anything is really surreal. If you're a writer, you understand that separateness and you feel that sense of narrative in your life, and you're able to stand back and watch it. I think that separateness—if nothing traumatic happens to you—can really fuck you up, but if trauma happens to you, it saves you because you're able to separate yourself [ from the situation ] . So I don't know if anything will really seem surreal to me.
WCT: Why did you name the book's chapters after famous people?
KS: It's what I do for a living. It's a tip of my hat to being a celebrity journalist, to use that oxymoronic term. I don't really think I'm a journalist at all—I'd have a real inferiority complex if I did think that. I'm just a writer who's unintimidated by fame, can put a sentence together and know what a narrative arc is. I thought that if I put famous names in there, that's what people expect.
WCT: Yeah, but I wasn't expecting 'Erik Estrada.'
KS: [ Laughs ] That's what draws you in. You think, 'How in the hell is this person going to be woven into this chapter?'
WCT: I'm sure he's very flattered.
KS: I'm sure he's never read the book. [ Laughs ] Although there was a part of me that wanted to track down everyone in those chapters who's still alive and let them know about this book.
I did have an amazing experience in Los Angeles during Oscar weekend. Whenever I have a niece or nephew who graduates from high school, I take them to parties and let them see my Cinderella life: the Vanity Fair party and [ others ] . We were at a picnic and—sitting one picnic table away from me and my nephew—was Sidney Poitier. I said, 'You know what? I'm going to go over and tell him about my book because he is such a big part of my book, because he's such a big part of it.' So I screwed up my courage and went over to him and went over and knelt at his feet—and he's 80 and his back was just as erect as the 'i' in 'sissy'—and told him what a big part he was in three critical junctures in my book. He couldn't have been more gracious. At one point, [ director ] Penny Marshall came over to kiss him 'hi,' and as I was about to walk away, he grabbed my hand and said, 'No, I'm very interested in this thing.' We talked for about 15 minutes. It felt like [ former family helper ] Matty Mae [ who has a pivotal role in the book ] was in heaven guiding this.
WCT: Speaking of Matty Mae, I was going to ask you what you thought your biggest regret is. Is one of them that she left your house essentially because of you?
KS: Yeah. One of the things I wanted to do with this book is not let myself off the hook. There are scenes in this book where I'm not very heroic [ and ] I'm not very nice, and that's one of them. This book is also a love letter to her; I think she's one of the heroes in this book. Even more [ affecting ] than the cotton-field scene is the first time she tells me, 'Don't say the n-word.' After Sidney Poitier wins Best Actor, I look in her eyes and she starts to cry. I [ realize ] that when I was six years old that I had broken someone's heart—and that moment has stayed with me the rest of my life.
WCT: How many of the people in your memoir do you keep in contact with?
KS: Just my brother and sister. [ Laughs ] And Carl Davis, the guy I went to after [ one person ] is murdered; we reconnected. I sent the book to anyone who was alive, and I reconnected with a lot of people. That's a nice thing about the book.
WCT: You mentioned your sister. She's lesbian, correct?
KS: Yes. She lives in Mississippi, with her lover, H.C. Porter. They have a Web site, www.hcporter.com; [ Porter ] is an artist. They were braver than I am; they stayed.
WCT: I couldn't help but laugh during a part in the book where you dressed as a witch...
KS: That's the part I read the book tour. It tends to be a motif in a lot of people's lives.
WCT: Talking about [ your mentor ] Frank, you said that the two words you would use to describe him are 'dignity' and 'grace.' What two words would you use to describe your father?
KS: 'Frustrated' and 'compelling.'
WCT: That locker-room scene was compelling.
KS: My first gay memory. We all live with our first gay memory—and that was certainly mine.
WCT: You don't spare any details in this book, such as playing doctor with the neighbor's girl and being called 'B.D.' in school...
KS: That's the one sentence in the whole book—I've been criticized for saying I have a big dick. That's one sentence in the whole book [ and it's about ] sixth grade.
A lot of people have criticized the book for being too sexually graphic. But—if you don't count the scene with the girl, which is not really sex—there's only one paragraph in the book that's about sex, and that's about the football player. The rest of the stuff that people say is sex is [ really ] molestation; that's not sex. That's a physical act and a perversion of trust; that's not sex. If I don't describe what happens, the reader's imagination can be more graphic than what really happens. I had to own what had happened; if I hadn't written about it, I would have [ bought ] into the shame that you live with the rest of your life after you've been molested. What you're left with the rest of your life if you've been molested is complicity.
There's one sentence in the book that makes me nauseous and makes me cringe. That's when [ the molester ] says, 'Can I see you again?,' and I say, 'Sure.' Every time I get to that sentence, it makes me want to throw up.
WCT: You may feel complicit, but you do realize that you were manipulated.
KS: I know, I know—but you still feel complicit. You can't get over the feeling. Maybe some people can, but I can't.
WCT: Have you forgiven everyone who's wronged you?
KS: Yeah. In the book, I forgive [ the molester ] . You can forgive everyone else except yourself. Forgiving other people is easy; forgiving yourself is the hard part.
WCT: What do you think your father would say to you if he were alive today?
KS: I have no idea. He comes across as sort of tough in the book, but there are some very tender moments. He loved me, but I think he was really scared of me. Plus, my mother told him to come home after he moved to New York to become a [ basketball ] star, and he don't think he ever forgave me—speaking of forgiveness—for being the reason that he had to come home to coach at a podunk school. When he saw me, he saw the reason he wasn't in New York in a Knicks uniform.
He wouldn't have been able to read this book because I wouldn't have written this book. I always think how different my life would've been if my parents had been alive. I always wanted the scene of coming out to my parents—and I never got that.
WCT: One of the many powerful moments in Mississippi Sissy is when you say that you could no longer cry in your father's presence.
KS: Well, we were in competition. I was like, 'I'm going to be a sissy, but I'm going to be tougher than [ his father ] .'
WCT: And your mother helped shape your life.
KS: Oh, she totally shaped me. She left me with a love of language and to turn the word 'sissy' on its head.
Going back to my father, after I wrote this book, I realized that I was living the life that he wanted to live, although I am not a basketball player. I thought I wanted to be Arlene Francis but, on some level, maybe I'm living the life my father wanted to live—completing some weird circle for him.
See www.mississippisissy.com .