This is Black History Month, and I’m going to tell you what events have transpired through the past 60 years to become MY black history.
These are the earliest photos of me that I’ve seen. I was about 15 months old in the upper left one. I was born into a family that knew how to love deeply and unconditionally, and still does. The society into which I was born wasn’t so accepting. I was born in 1957 in rural America. The integration of schools had already been ordered, but segregation was still alive and well. There were unspoken rules and boundaries. There were certain restaurants and stores you knew didn’t welcome your business. The owners and patrons might smile and speak to you on the street, but that congeniality disappeared if you dared to darken their doors…so you just didn’t. I wouldn’t learn about those things until I was a few years older and experienced them for myself. You see my parents, and my aunts and uncles as well, didn’t teach segregation to me, my siblings and my cousins. We were taught to treat people well, treat others the way we wanted to be treated. That was the standard we were expected to follow without fail. My early childhood was spent skipping around a huge yard that was home to cherry trees and spirea bushes, playing with beagle puppies and kittens, and singing chorus after chorus of “my Bonnie lies over the ocean”. The troubles of the world weren’t found in my yard. Life was good. ❤
#MyBlackHistory #HerBlackStory #QueueItUp #DailyDoseComing