At A Moments Notice...

The little Negro whose name was Roy Williams began to choke on the blood in his mouth. And the roar of their voices and the scuff of their feet were split by the moonlight into a thousand notes like a Beethoven sonata. And when the white folks left his brown body, stark naked, strung from a tree at the edge of town, it hung there all night, like a violin for the wind to play. ~Langston Hughes, excerpt from The Ways of White Folks

How does one celebrate Black History Month and not feel a sense of anger? How does one look back and not feel cheated? How does one honor the lives of too many black men and women whose existence was senselessly, never mind needlessly cut short? How does one honor those history has purposely forgotten? How?

For a little over three weeks I have been contemplating how I will acknowledge my history, your history, our history. I have struggled with the complexities of Black History Month, and my responsibilty as a Black Man to ensure these days don't go by unannounced, and/or under-appreciated. But how does one capture the attention of a people forgotten? How does one channel the heart, mind and soul of a people who have long abandoned the desire to learn? About their history? About their future? About their chances?

But, it wasn't always like this. I remember when I was a kid in elementary school Black History Month was a big deal. The entire month was spent honoring those who came before us, while at the same time recognizing the new leaders who were paving the way. Each year we would put on this huge production, where every class would find some way to recognize their selected hero. Once I had the honor of playing Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and man did I belt out the part of the speech that went: When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last! Free at last! THANK GOD ALMIGHTY, we are free at last!

*Smiles* I remember the look on my moms face when I belted out that final stanza. If she could, I know she would've mounted that stage with an urgency unheard of before and hugged me something awful. That night, was probably the first time I realized how proud I could make her...from then on, MLK became my right hand man, because I always wanted to make my mama proud.

Since becoming a man however, Black History Month doesn't seem to hold the same type of importance. For many of us, it's just another month. Just another 28/29 days where work, family, and/or prior obligations take precedence. And while the shortage of time in each of our lives is obvious, we should make it an obligation during the month of February to reflect, remember, and re-educate ourselves, and our loved ones of our history.

So, having said that, for just a moment, think about how you will celebrate the lives of our ancestors, and those making a difference today during our month, Black History Month.

How will you celebrate?