I’ve had the privilege of growing up in the 80’s and 90’s in rural Louisiana. If you knew me personally, you would know that this is a huge statement coming from a person like myself. But I would admit that growing up in a small town where everyone knew one another had its blessings and its curses. One blessing that was apparent in my observation was that I never had to assume what was and wasn’t important about my blackness. And as a black person, Black History Month was extremely important. My school, my church, my community celebrated the history of Blacks in America so well that I thought that this was normative behavior. As a young student during this month, I felt included in this land of the free and home of the brave. We participated in educational programs at schools and similar programs of inspiration and enlightenment at church and we were so proud of our heritage in this one single month.
This same thread continued into college. I was black, and proud. However, there was one slight difference. This wasn’t normative behavior, in fact there where individuals that felt this month was useless. This is when I began to question my loyalty to the ideals of Black History. Did I feel marginalized? Did I really need a month to instill pride in my identity? College was a place that I began to explore more deeply the black American experience, except now I was in a predominantly white environment. Being a part of organizations like NAACP Collegiate Chapter, and Black Student Union, I somehow thought I needed to apologize or dumb down the knowledge that actually got me to college in the first place in the presence of my white friends and classmates. The closer to graduation I came the more lost I became. (In my heritage, I must interject. )
Today, I must admit that I most humbly live the life of a urban dweller. I am constantly weaving in and out of different cultures that I don’t often reflect how I have somehow morphed into a different mindset. I have a renewed passion for Black History Month, even though I work in places that don’t necessarily throw open the door to discussions on the matter. But how I make it important to my life and ministry matters. Funny thing I’ve learned along the way, this post is mostly about my feelings and learning. It’s not really that important as it pertains to the history. Many people that came before us had more than themselves to think about. The founder Dr. Carter G. Woodson was concerned that many blacks would never know the heritage that linked them together. He was determined to educate, liberate, and encourage another generation. Also, this month doesn’t belong to black people. It belongs to America. We all need to become apart of this time to remember the achievements of a few that benefited the many. Am I black and proud, sometimes. My lostness wasn’t in and through my blackness per se, however I have been found in Christ to be a reporter that proclaims the whole truth about humanity, about God. And often, it’s wise to proclaim a full story so that its author can get the glory.
Rants and Ramblings 