Black History Is 365

When I was growing up, I remember February always being a very busy month.  Because it was Black History Month, we were always on the go.  There was always a church or community event or program my family attended.  My parents took me to countless plays, presentations, exhibits, and speakers throughout the month.  I remember participating in a Black History quiz bowl competition with some friends of mine when we were in junior high.  Even though I attended a predominately White school district, the high school made an attempt to have a Black History assembly every year ... even though several students chose to skip that day of school.  (That's really no surprise considering I grew up in South Carolina, but I digress.)

February was a month of celebration.  It was a month of reverence.  It was a month to remember and reflect on the sacrifices of our ancestors, to remind ourselves of the contributions we’ve made to America and the world that aren’t included in school history books or classes, and to re-dedicate ourselves to keep blazing the path for future generations.

February was indeed a very busy month, but it wasn’t the only month my family celebrated or studied Black History.  The way my parents saw it, we were Black 24/7 and 365.  Therefore, Black History didn’t come and go in February.  It was an everyday thing. 

My parents never missed an opportunity to teach or expose me to Black History.  Like many Black households back in the day, my parents kept subscriptions to “Ebony” and “Jet” magazines.  If there was a movie coming out or a play nearby they felt had any cultural or historical significance, they took me to see it.  They shared with me their personal stories, experiences, and memories of growing up in the South during the Jim Crow / Civil Rights era.  And if there was something I heard about that I wanted to learn more about, if my parents didn’t know about it themselves, they gave me all the tools I needed to research that person / place / thing / event for myself.  My Mama worked at a library.  If she wasn’t bringing me books to read, she took me to the library and turned me loose to explore, read, and learn.  (Those were the days before Google.  J)  The way my parents saw it, you can’t begin to know yourself if you don’t know your history.

My son Randal at the MLK Memorial.

I plan on doing the same for my children that my parents did for me.  Every chance I get, I will expose them to their rich cultural heritage and history.  They will know our history didn’t begin with slavery, and there are more Black heroes besides Martin Luther King, Harriet Tubman, and Rosa Parks. 

Randal at the slave burial area at Mount Vernon.

Randal at the Frederick Douglass house.

Randal at a Negro League Baseball exhibit.

The thing I love about Black History is that it’s so abundant that I’m still learning things that I can pass along to my kids.  While I was thrilled to hear the stories of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson and share the movie “Hidden Figures” with my son earlier this year, a part of me is a little upset that I didn’t know about these Black sheroes or their contributions to NASA until I reached my forties.  It makes you wonder what else and who else don’t we know about.

And as a parent who loves sharing Black History with her children, it makes my heart burst with so much pride when they show interest in what they are learning.  My daughter is only three years old, but she loves the books my husband and I read to her by Black authors and about Black historical figures.  When my son asked me to take him to see “Birth of a Nation” last year, I couldn’t get him to the theater fast enough.  We saw it opening weekend.

My daughter Sydney and I on a Gullah Tour bus in Charleston, SC.

Sydney with Ms. Louise.  Ms. Louise makes hand-sewn baskets in Charleston.

The whipping house in Charleston, SC.  This is the place where Denmark Vesey was held,

whipped, and eventually killed for planning a slave revolt.

(If you ever get the chance, you MUST go on the Gullah Tour with Mr. Alphonso Brown in Charleston.  My family loved it, and we learned so much,)

The date on the calendar says March, but today is just like yesterday or any other day at my house.  If there’s a lesson to be learned on Black History, we’re all in.  Black History is 365.