Climbing rocks, playing in parks, walking around after dark as life spirals around the wonderful activities of our childhood. We played tag, red light-green light, and had water gun fights with our cousins, siblings, and friends on our neighborhood block during the hot summer days as our parents hung out. Hearing our laughter, running after one another, and seeing your gummy smile, I felt excitement, safety, and innocence. We attended school together, although we were in separate classes, we always found a way to connect. My parents know your parents, your grandparents know my grandparents, our entire family knows one another generation after generation. 

Years go by. We’re “grown” now. Two different paths that we took. On my way to school, I see you hanging out on the corners with people our parents told us to stay away from. Once in a blue moon I finally get a chance to speak with you, outside of the streets. While you tell me you’re proud of me, I beg of you to please be safe. The heavy metal gun you tote, the money you flaunt, and the gang signs that you now identify with, ring alarms in my head when I’m around you. Your innocence and gummy smile are no longer there, and you have become what I was told to stay away from. These days, I wonder if the connection of generations will continue or will this be the end of the line. I worry for you, my friend, my cousin, my brother. I love you always, please be safe. 

Divine sights of an infinite light, inspiration takes flight as a free bird.

Demonstrated the acts of possible strife, fearful of unknowing ability. 

Dashing through, escaping from a limited time of apprehensiveness.

Decorated wildly as words burst through my brain like flowers after a heavy rain. 

Delectably sound, felt, and mostly loved, yet the words don’t erupt onto a page.

Defeat strikes like lightning striking a blooming oak tree.

Desire for the possibility of an impossible perfection ignites.

Delicate arrangements of words, like fine jewelry, an admirer from afar one can only hope to ever achieve such beautiful capability.

The curry goat’s powerful, spicy aroma was cut through by the heaviness of cigarette smoke. I watched my grandma struggle with the broken zipper of my coat as I stood rocking lightly on my toes. Her roots’ new growth showed the lovely natural gray tone, opposed to the black dye at her ends, that reflected how much experience she had living in this world. She had four braids around her head as a result of my cousins and I playing with it earlier that day while she watched her morning TV shows. She finally gets a hold of my zipper and zips it all the way up, her eyes following till her thick, coarse hand touches my chin. My older cousin, who was on the couch with my younger cousin watching TV, is called as she brushes her hand on my jacket. My grandma reached into her handbag and pulled out a 10 dollar bill as my older cousin came to stand beside me, dressed to go out. Picking up the lit cigarette that sat in the ashtray on top of the stereo next to her she swiftly brings it to her lips. She instructs my cousin and I to go to the corner store, get a pack of Oreos, some Haagen Daz vanilla ice cream, some butter pecan ice cream, and one candy apiece, and that’s it. She spoke clearly and precisely. She gave the cash to my older cousin while resting her cigarette between her lips and giving each of us a serious look. My cousin and I dashed to the door as soon as she spoke those three golden words, “Go on, now,” we couldn’t wait to leave. We hurried down the steps, racing to be the first one outside. We approach the front door, swinging it open as chilly wind whipped against my face, and then sprint down the four steps, halting just before the curb. All around, the sounds of the night could be heard. Raccoons chattering, people returning from parties, drinking and smoking by neighbors on the corner, and loud music emanating from apartments. The darkness around us was illuminated by the bright lights from the convenience stores and street lamps. In anticipation of our grandmother’s cue, we turned around to her window that faced the street. We observed as she checked the road to make sure no cars were coming before giving the okay to us.We hurried across the street, stepped inside, greeted the owner, pet the kitties, gathered everything we needed, and double-checked that we had Grandma’s precise change before saying goodbye to the owner and exiting the store. Grandma was still sitting at the window, keeping an eye on us. We waited for her signal once again, and when she gave it, we crossed. Running back inside the building, we rode the elevator up while chatting about the events that occurred while we played outside with our friends that afternoon, as well as the treat we would be enjoying once we got back upstairs. Grandma is waiting for us at the door leaning on her walker as we enter through the door. She takes the treats and change from us and instructs us to get ready for bed so we can enjoy our cookies and ice cream before bed. The perfect way to end the night off.

For Gma.

One topic that has been continuously discussed on social platforms and apps is the American educational system; the falsities like Christopher Columbus discovering America and what has been purposely omitted, like black history and its place in American history. Recently, this topic has been at the forefront of political and social conversation, due to various states banning the teaching of critical race theory, black feminism, and African American studies. In January of this year, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis officially banned an AP African American Studies class to prevent “Pushing an agenda on our kids.” (The Real Reason Florida Wants to Ban AP African-American Studies, According to an Architect of the Course). Reading and having been a part of these conversations always left me frustrated with the educational system; however, after reading the essay A Talk to Teachers by James Baldwin in my AP Language class in high school, I recognized elements of America’s educational system are not meant to teach an all-around experience for everyone. (A Talk To Teachers)

In 1963, the Saturday Review published A Talk to Teachers in the essay, Baldwin thoroughly expresses that the intended reason for education is to influence and teach a person to analyze and question the world for themselves. However, he further acknowledges the inconsistencies within the education system when it comes to teaching African American children. Baldwin confronts and criticizes his audience, stating that the system and curriculum they teach does not teach African Americans to think and live freely for themselves because they were never intended to do so in the first place. One thing Baldwin pointed out that has stuck with me is his metaphorical use of schizophrenia to describe how being black while living in America is like living in a social paradox. The American educational system teaches black children a white American lifestyle which guarantees “liberty and justice for all,” while black children grow up in a black reality that tells them their past is “a record of humiliations gladly endured.”

Words are not innocent; they have meaning and are presented for a reason. Words are the very essence of our society, and if society is not working for everyone in it, it is broken and has to be fixed. We have to rearrange and reconstruct our words, phrases, and meanings to understand and include everyone. Baldwin had a simple solution that resonated with me: teach African American children reality and not a lifestyle; educate them culturally and emotionally. Baldwin wrote his essay in 1963; we are now in 2023, sixty years later, when states have banned Baldwin’s solution to the problem within the educational system. Instead of being frustrated with the educational system I think it’s now time to question it, “Why?” “What’s the bigger picture?”