It is a privilege to honor the men and women who have been soldiers in removing the barriers that once fragmented this great nation ,like shattered glass, into many tiny pieces. Because of these indelibly brave men and women, I am proud to be an American and doubly honored to be an African American woman with a dream that was inspired not only by
Martin Luther King, Jr. and other national civil rights figures, but by many others, such as
my own father, Mr. Isaiah Grant, a man ahead of his time who, at the age of nineteen and still a student at Hampton Institute, designed a weapon for national defense and received a monetary award and commendations form President Franklin D. Roosevelt via his wife, first lady Eleanor Roosevelt, now one of my long list of heroines;
my mother, the late Mrs. Madeline Lewis Grant Blanding ;my phenomenal grandparents, both maternal and paternal : the late Charles and Emily Lewis and the late Willie and Marie Crawley; Rev. Curtis Harris of Hopewell, Virginia; Mrs. Juanita Chambliss, my 6th grade Biology teacher; Ms. Brenda Pelham, council woman of Hopewell, Virginia and many others too numerous to name, but are nevertheless, held close to my heart.
Yes, Black History Month is special and personal to me because it is not just a month, but a time and spiritual place to reflect on "how I got over" and the ones who helped me actualize my dreams: my personal "Black History Heroes". It is a time to give thanks for all the people in my personal life who contributed to where I am now: my personal station in life, a place of gratitude, strength, hope and victory. As I look back, I think about Hampton Institute, the first college that I attended. It was there that I developed the courage to speak up, the inclination and encouragement to follow my dreams and pursue goals that I didn't even know that I could pursue.
I reflect back on more of my
personal heroes: my brother: Calvin Leon Grant ( who also attended Hampton Institute and graduated in only three years); Janice Smith Roane, Laverne Boyd- McGuire, Carl Ellis, Roland Tisdale, Karen Winston and Gail Dixon Rose, just to name a few. I remember when Gail talked me into entering the Miss Black Virginia Contest. I thought that she was delirious at first. Me? Entering a beauty contest was the furthest thing from my mind, but Gail saw something that I didn't see. She saw a beauty that did not necessarily radiate from the outside, but she could see beauty in the spiritual sense. She could see beyond the shy exterior and began to speak to the queen in me.
When I asked what I would do for talent, she responded without hesitation, that I would write a poem. So I did, with reluctance , enter the contest and recited the poem that I was inspired by Gail to write: " I am the Black Child", and in 1976, something happened that would change my life forever: I was crowned Miss Black Virginia . That one event gave me the courage to forge on and be who God called me to be. Since that time I have gone on to have one of my poetry books used as a supplemental text for English 211, a creative writing class at Virginia State University and poetry published in Essence magazine and I am still evolving, and as I evolve, I dare hope that I am encouraging others to find their voice, discover their gifts, and yes, reflect back on those who recognized their worth and pushed them from comfort zones of complacency into the vast frontier of personal destiny! As you reflect on your own personal Black History heroes, I hope that you will experience as much exhilaration and gratitude as I have!
In honor of Black History month, I present to all who have the courage to dream:
"I am the Black Child"
I am the Black Child.
My soul is a legacy in itself
My heritage goes back as far as the waters of the Nile.
I am golden hued, honey brown and ebony black:
I am the Black Child!
I am of the same stock as Martin, who finally reached that mountain top!
I am of the same genealogy as Myra Angelou:
I know why the caged bird sings.
My mother is the earth.
Her tears flow down to her bosom bathing me in their cooling medicinal flow
as I cling to her breasts.
My name is Kunte Kinte'; they changed my name but never my mind
for I am the Black Child.
My name is Imamu Ameeri Baraka;
my words are the medium for the message to my people.
I am alone
for God Almighty is my only comfort!
My forefathers sang "O Mary, don't you weep!"
while my grandmothers shouted " Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
I am the Black Child.
I carry a heavy burden for all people of color, but I shall walk strong
and lead all people to that land of equality and true brotherhood
for I am......
I am.......
I am the Black Child!
