William Spivey and Clay Rivers, KUDOS for putting together a great series. I am grateful for the opportunity to share my views in such a therapeutic manner. In the beginning I vacillated on the concept, the limitations, and yes - my own participation. Writing about how I felt about Black History Month allowed me to uncover various truths, lies, purpose and eventually the necessity.
Thank You!
FEELING NINA SIMONE
Today is Eunice’s Birthday, and although she passed some time ago, Nina exists. When I think of Nina Simone I cling to the black and white keys under her influence. Sometimes elegant and sophisticated and later in years raw with emotion, uncontrollable and often darker than her cocoa brown skin.
I can go from song to song, and something binding; “Black was the color of my true love hair…” lingers when love is failing, and nothing inflicts the truth of our discourse with racial divide like Mississippi Goddam. So many soul-stirring, get-in-your-face legendary recordings, and performances, her…
BLACK HISTORY MONTH
Plus the legacy of Dr. Carter G. Woodson
When I was asked to write a piece for a Black History Month series, my internal receptors instantly faced off in conflict. Surprised, appreciative, proud, but most of all, I felt bothered — uncomfortable, and over the weeks, it weighed on me as to how to address this topic. After the question was posed again, I agreed; although the uneasiness still existed, I felt that this was my opportunity to state my issue with this concept.
Coincidently, about the same time, I was also asked to be a part of a panel for Black History Month for a professional female…
Being Carol in plan view
As a child, my favorite place was a seat at my grandmother’s table, where I quietly lingered — prolonging my meal, so that I could observe life.
As an introvert, it took a while for me to find my voice, and when I did; oh wow, you can say there is never a dull or quiet moment.
My family had varying degrees of artistic talents, that we privately enjoyed. I painted at night when the house was silent — so that I could feel, uninterrupted.
It was in high school, under the direction of my high school homeroom teacher, I…
