c.2023, Well House Books, Indiana University Press                $24.00                             196 pages

It didn’t arrive in a package.

It wasn’t wrapped in fancy paper. It didn’t arrive with cake or candles. And yet, the gift you got, that thing that someone gave you was better than anything that could’ve come in a pretty box. It was bigger than you ever expected. As in the new memoir, “Lucky Medicine” by Lester W. Thompson, the gift was a life-changer.

Born and raised in Indianapolis, Lester Thompson grew up with “rules” that his Southern-born parents instilled in him all his life. Even though Jim Crow racism wasn’t entrenched in the North like it was in the South, such rules were “the frame of reference.”

And that lent mystery to a very curious relationship Thompson’s father had with a white Jewish man, Mr. Goodman. Cal Thompson cut Goodman’s hair in the privacy of Goodman’s home; Thompson sometimes accompanied his father there, but he never fully understood the friendship between the two men. He says “It didn’t occur to me to wonder…”

When he was thirteen, he learned the truth: he was named after Goodman, who was his father’s closest friend. Furthermore, Goodman was Thompson’s godfather and he’d made a vow to pay for Thompson’s entire college education.

That he was going to be a doctor someday was another thing Thompson had known all his life. His father, an authoritarian alcoholic, never left any room to question it. And so, after high school graduation, Thompson headed to IU in Bloomington, Indiana.

It was an eye-opener, in many ways.

An only child, Thompson had to learn how to share. He had to learn to live with white people next door, and how to study for classes that seemed impossible to ace. He fell in love, and fell again. And he watched the world change as the Civil Rights Movement began.

“I will never know what prompted Mr. Goodman to make his gift,” Thompson says. “But in the end, I suppose, all that matters is that he did.”

Sometimes, change can come with a big ka-BOOM. Other times, it sneaks in the back door and sits quietly. That mixture’s what you get with this unique memoir, “Lucky Medicine.”

Unique because while racism figures into author Lester W. Thompson’s story, it’s not a very big part, considering the mid-last-century setting. The Movement is barely a blip on the radar; only a handful of troubles with white people are mentioned, and they’re not belabored. So, racism is in this book, but only at whisper-level.

Instead, Thompson focuses on his relatively insulated life, his parents and friends, his studies, and the mysterious, still-unsolved relationship his father had with Goodman. And that’s where this story glows: Thompson’s tale is nostalgic and mundane. It’s not overly dramatic. It doesn’t shout or beg for attention. It’s just warm and happily, wonderfully, ordinary.

Be aware before you share this book with an elder that there are four-letter words in here and a rather eyebrow-raising, too-much-information bedroom scene inside. If you can handle that, though, “Lucky Medicine” is a one-of-a-kind gift.

c.2023, various publishers, $26.99 – $29.00, various page counts

By Terri Schlichenmeyer

The last two apps you downloaded were for diets. Ugh.

Friends say that you’re perfect but you’d like to lose your flabby arms, your thick thighs, and a few inches from your belly. You imagine what you’d be like if you were a size 6. You wonder if you could wear skinny boots again. But before you download another app, read these books about Black women’s health and body image…

There’s not just one, but at least two books out this spring that ask if it isn’t time for Black women to reclaim positive self-images about their bodies.

“It’s Always Been Ours” by eating disorder specialist Jessica Wilson (Go Hachette, $29.00), looks at the politics of Black women’s bodies. You don’t need to be told that this isn’t a new thing but the true history of Black women and the harm such negativity has done may still surprise you; Wilson also pulls in the works of novelists, friends, influencers, and others to get the best, most interesting look at the subject. If you want a call to action, this is it.

Along those lines, author Chrissy King says that body liberation is what Black women should strive for, and in “The Body Liberation Project” (Penguin Random House, $28.00), she offers ways to achieve body freedom. What sets her book apart from the Wilson book is less history, more personal tales and thought-provoking question-pages to get readers thinking about how they’ve been thinking about their bodies. Again, there could be surprises in what you learn about yourself.

With these books, King and Wilson advocate for the individual as well as for all Black women and if it feels difficult for you to pick between these two books, then don’t. Read them together or concurrently and you’ll be happier.

But okay, you love your body. Your legs, your arms, your shoulders and hair and smile — so how do you keep all that gorgeousness healthy? You can start with “Black Women’s Wellness” by Melody T. McCloud, MD (Sounds True, $26.99) and learn. Indeed, even if you’re feeling well and looking great, this book explains how to keep yourself that way, starting with what healthy looks like for a Black woman. From there, McCloud touches upon things like cancer, HIV, heart disease and diabetes before moving on to reproductive health, sex, relationships and mental health. It’s written in real language and everything is in simple, easy-to-understand, authentic terms created for grown-ups.

Beware that “Black Women’s Wellness” isn’t a replacement for your doctor or clinic, but it’s a nice question-answerer and a good launching point for knowing your body.

If these three books aren’t exactly what you’re looking for, be sure to ask your favorite librarian or bookseller. Admittedly, there aren’t a lot of modern, new books out there about body image for women of color, but a bookish person can help you find what you need. They’ll be able to put the book in your beautiful hands, your soft arms, for your gorgeous eyes.

There’s no app for that.

c.2023, Legacy Lit Books, $29.00, 256 pages

By Terry Schlichenmeyer

Everybody’s looking at you.

They’re wondering what you’re going to do next, because you often surprise them. They don’t know what you’re about to say because you’re never predictable. So stand up, throw your shoulders back, let them watch and learn a thing or two. As in the new memoir, “I Am Debra Lee” by Debra Lee, represent.

Back when she was still in grade school, little Debra Lee’s father decided that she would be a lawyer someday — and so she was. Though she often pushed the envelope and was her own person, it was hard to even think of disappointing the Major, a man who always admonished Lee to be a “nice girl.”

Back then, Lee “lived and breathed Black culture,” a feeling she carried through law school and into her first big job at a law firm that “treated its associates well,” and where she instinctively found a mentor who helped her in her niche. He passed along to her a few choice clients, which eventually led Lee to a life-changing introduction to Bob Johnson, who was then the CEO of Black Entertainment Television, or BET.

It was a soul-searching time for Lee. Personally, she’d had a pregnancy she didn’t want, and an abortion, then a marriage that failed. Professionally, the law firm she worked for was no longer a good fit. Johnson offered her a job and a title, but it involved a considerable salary cut, which was tough to take. Still, Lee looked at the long picture and leapt at the opportunity.

The job had its downsides, specifically, eternally long hours and an overwhelming workload with no work-life balance whatsoever, but Lee was undaunted. She learned about the industry and herself, found her limits and sailed past them, and enjoyed the chance to befriend people whose names pepper the tabloids.

She never seriously considered reaching for the stars until she was named COO, with a public face to maintain, a reputation to uphold, and a list of things she’d never do.

And then she did one of them…

For readers who are unfamiliar with the whole story, let’s just say that you’ll want to be prepared. “I Am Debra Lee” contains a big ka-boom.

Leading up to that, though, is a treat: the inner mechanics of a media empire are told side-by-side here with the story of a long, exhausting journey and the personal sacrifices it demanded. It isn’t presented as a burden, however; instead, author Debra Lee holds her tale with a steely grip and no apologies, making sure that she’s clear on the extra work it took being a Black woman in a mostly-man’s world. There’s not a single ounce of poor-me in that but rather, a series of subtle lessons to accompany the outright advice that Lee scatters about.

And then there’s that ka-boom. Read about it from this first-person point of view, and you won’t be sorry. If you’re ready for an absorbing, fascinating memoir that pulls no punches, “I Am Debra Lee” is absolutely worth a look.