Being Black

Beauty and The Black History Extravaganza

February is Black History Month.  Once a year for the entire month "everyone" celebrates the accomplishments of African Americans or as I prefer the accomplishments of Blacks in this country.  I love this National recognition of my ancestors and I do my best to celebrate this year round.

However this year was different for me.  I wanted to expand one small town's celebration.  In my mind, this was a great idea, and I was completely thrilled at the opportunity.  Of course I have spoken during Black History month numerous times, but this task was different.  This "Black History Extravaganza" would be the "talk of the town".  I planned to expand this program beyond the boundaries of the U.S.  "My Black History Program" would be a full production including food and music from other cultures outside of the U.S.

So when my dream became a reality, my dream was more like a nightmare.  The event was set to take place on a college campus.....a private, Christian campus where black students are few.  To my heartbreak none of the students wanted to participate.  Sure they gave me a solid yes when I initially asked them to participate, but when it came down to it, all of them backed out except four.  With each student that backed out, my soul ached.  My souled weeped.  I did not understand why they would not want to celebrate the lives of those who afforded us the social freedoms we now enjoy.

My aunt, Lottie Bell, dropped out of school in the second grade because she had to start working in the fields.  I grew up in a town where everyone with the same last name as me was white because my last name was the name of my family's former master.  I carry this weight with me daily.  This weight is heavy, but I carry it with pride because I know that freedom is not free.  I carry this load with a smile because I know the value behind the load.  But apparently everyone doesn't, not even aspiring college graduates.

This pain I felt began to swallow me whole.  One night while I was in bed I began to cry from this pain.  It hurt to think that my ancestors blood was being taking in vain by my own.   While in bed I thought about Dr. King, and the journey he took.

I grew up in a town near a place where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. made several trips.  Sadly though, his final trip there he said he would not return because the people of Albany did not desire the change he wanted to bring.  You see Dr. King in his day disrupted the normalcy of the south.  And not all blacks were thrilled to see him because of that.  Granted I am far from being a Dr. King or any other great civil rights leader, but I can now relate (to some degree) of their inner frustration.  Not everyone is ready now.  Eureka!  Here is where I found my peace.