I can’t believe that this month is half gone and I haven’t been bombarded with Black History emails. You know the ones that talks about all that we've invented, etc. Is it because we have an African American president that Black History has now become hush, hush? Don’t get me wrong I do get tired of seeing the same old emails every year; however the other side of me is honored that “my people” did this or did that. It scares me that Black History may become the flip side of Christmas – you know it’s there but we don’t openly celebrate it for fear of insulting someone. Could it be that it will be expected that we put Black History on the shelf because we now have President Obama in the White House?
During Black History month last year I was one of four, out of thousands, that entered the Tom Joyner Morning Show Black History contest. The topic was something about what does Black History mean to me so I sent in one of my articles, “Mammy,” it was selected and I won. I was so excited to have been chosen; even though I missed hearing my name announced on the radio. Winning this was confirmation that my writings are truly a gift because I know that thousands of people listen to the TJMS & could have won. I’d completely forgotten that I entered until my friend Deirdre called me asking if I’d entered a contest on the TJMS because she didn’t know I had.
As I thought of something to write for Black History 2009 this year is a little different; that’s why I’m not bothered by the lack of commercials, school projects, emails, etc. This year as I think about Black History I’m not thinking about all of my fore-mothers and fathers, the great achievers that made things possible for us today. I’m not thinking about the many ancestors that are looking down at our new president with smiles on their faces and pats of we finally did it on their backs. My focus this year is honoring Black history. When I think about the people that made it possible for me to live a richer, fuller, better life I think of my ancestors. I think of my grandfather that used to drive the cab of his truck down my street and blow the horn for me and my friends. We were like Nettie & Celie running after the train in The Color Purple. I think about how he would let me put hair grease (and hair grease back then was no joke) and sponge rollers in his hair. My grandfather had the prettiest and curliest grade of hair that a few of his children and grandchildren were blessed to get. I’ll never forget my grandmother fussing at him for greasing up her sofa as he nodded off a little tipsy with a head full of grease and rollers. Loving him taught me the value of a hug. History... My grandmother, wow, I've learned so much from my grandmother. She exposed me to life that people fought and die for. I didn’t realize it then but as I look back there was a purpose to her plan. My grandmother was a classy lady always looking and dressing the part, with a kind spirit for an attitude. She cleaned houses for a living but she had more class in her little finger than the people whose houses she cleaned. She taught me a lot about myself and I learned a lot just by watching her. And even though she cleaned houses for her money two things were for certain – she had a credit score of 800+ and she shopped at only the finest of stores for her clothing. Loving her taught me that money doesn’t buy class and that we are nothing without God’s grace. History… My uncle Billy, the prodigal son. When life became good for him he distanced himself from the family, probably afraid that someone would want something from him; years later I moved away. It wasn’t until I returned home and saw how my grandmother lit up when he came around that my heart softened. We became really close as the years went on. Loving him taught me how to forgive. History… My aunt became my confidant, my counselor, my mom after my mother died. It was when she visited me in Fort Hood that I realized how much we had in common; from that we grew closer with each phone call. From her I learned that jewelry makes the woman and that diamonds speak for themselves. Because losing her last March is still fresh for me I must move on. Loving her taught me how to be a strong, beautiful, confident black woman. History… My second uncle Willie Alvin – he and my mother were two peas in a pod but they cursed each other out every time they were around each other for too long. He’d storm out of the house with his famous, “I’ll never need you” or my favorite, “You’re my color but you’re not my kind.” Did I ever tell him that I learned how to crack an egg with the shell mostly intact from him? I was special to him but he wouldn’t admit it; Cassandra was the name that he would have given his daughter, which turned out to be a son so when I came later it was given to me. Loving him taught me not to worry what the world thinks of me. History… My mom comes next. What can I say…? She loved me unconditionally and my heart is still broken. Loving her taught me that you can’t take people and life for granted. History… My uncle Larry, the baby boy. I can’t listen to the Commodore’s song, Zoom, without thinking of him. As kids we had so much fun – he tortured my cousin and me and made us laugh like hyenas, especially when my great-grandmother yelled, “hush all that noise.” My cousin usually got a whipping because he didn’t know how to stop laughing especially when Larry made a face when we were supposed to be quiet. He was 8 years older than I, but I remember that you never saw him in wrinkled clothes or without a woman and you NEVER saw him in a dirty car. He used to spend hours washing his car; the windows were so clean that you thought they were rolled down. Larry taught me that you have to take your time if you want to look good. Loving him taught me how to laugh. History…
When I think back to all of the years that I celebrated the history of my people; Sojourner Truth; Harriet Tubman; W.E.B. Dubois; Martin; Malcolm; I never stopped to think of where my true history comes from. Now that they are all gone Home to Glory I often sit back and wish I had those days back. I wish that I could turn back the hands of time so that I can tell them all what loving them means to me. I wish that I could tell them how they each have made a great impact and a difference in my life. I wish that I could tell them how much I’ve learned from them; how their good made me great and how their mistakes made me better. I wish that I could tell them that I realize that without them, there is no me. NSBIG
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