I have never liked the idea of the backstory, the rags to riches tale that every minority or person of color who garnered any success had to have in order to prove to White people that no matter what the odds, we could improve our lot if we just tried hard enough.
I grew up in East St. Louis, Illinois. Started out in the projects next to the high school where I would eventually graduate in one of the top ten. There is nothing spectacular about that because it was expected of us. In a town where more than 95% of the population was Black, it was the norm. Because of the flavor of our family, I didn’t really see or understand what true racism was.
We moved from the projects across town into a beautiful home that had been owned by a banker. He was a participant in the “White Flight” movement. Within the year, my neighbors on both sides of us (also white) would move. I loved my life, new home and making new friends. I didn’t realize that the childhood I enjoyed was an oddity. Everyone had two parent homes, friends of different ethnicities, relatives who had children out of wedlock.
M first years on the planet were fairly reckless so I learned later in life. Retrospect is a beautiful thing. Over the next year, I will discuss some of the things I’ve learned on my trips around the sun. I will share my work, my loves, pieces of my life and tales of people who made an impact. There will be politics, religion, arts and crafts, family, whims, fancies and idiosyncrasies, I hope you enjoy the perspective of one who has survived herself. Happy Birthday to me.