sadness I saw was heart wrenching. I tried to reach out to her with my eyes to let her know that I understood what she was going through.
Â
She gazed at me for a moment, and seemed to nod as if she understood my concerns, as she continued to be the victim of his insults.
Â
She stood every bit of five foot four and he was at least six foot two. He looked down at her as he told her what he was and was not going to do for her.
Â
She had a child in her arms, one in a carriage and two stood on either side of her. It was their fatherâs face that they had and it looked as if he had given birth to each of them himself.
Â
I sat helpless, staring at her, while he continued to browbeat her with his words. She looked up at me once again and with my eyes I tried to communicate my thoughts to her. Stay strong. Take care of you. Donât let him hurt you. It wonât last forever.
Â
She gave me a faint smile as my train pulled out of the station, and I wept in silence, for she reminded me of my past.
Â
She was me a long time ago.
----
I will safeguard my power and not give others permission to make me weak and helpless. These are my affirming thoughtsâ¦
----
Journey to Womanhood
I fully love myself in shadow and in light.
âQueen Mutima Imani
In Honor of Our Elders: Wisdom Along the Way
B Y S HIKANA T EMILLE P ORTER , P H .D.
âAn Elder is more than a prophet.â
âGa proverb
M y wisdom-purposed journey toward womanhood commenced a little more than ten years after the landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision. In the beginning, there was a second-grade teacher, Mrs. McClain, a tall, slender, African-American woman with brown-sugar skin who wore black horn-rimmed glasses. She was gentle, kind and smiled as if she really liked us. It was Mrs. McClain who determined that my best friend, Rachelle (another cute little chocolate child), John (a chubby, cheerful Asian boy who loved to stretch out his arms and pretend he was an airplane) and I were to be assigned to the mentally gifted minors (MGM) program. Being placed in this category would lay the foundation for an educational path marked with enrichment, even though I often felt guilty because we were set apart from the other children. It did not seem fair that a different learning style determined who would be destined to less intellectually stimulating classes.
Then there was a fourth-grade teacher, my favorite teacher, who taught with passion, creativity and style. She, too, was tall, played the guitar and taught us how to use chopsticks. When I was nine years old and five feet six inches in height, it helped to have a role model who stood three inches above me and said out loud that it was âbeautiful to be tall!â Mrs. Knudsen conveyed much respect for me and reinforced my love for learning. She had speed-writing contests and my new best friend, Lisa, came in second to me every time. At the end of that school year, Mrs. Knudsen predicted that I would become the editor of Ebony magazine. These wisdom-based moments at a school âhigh on a hill by the mountains, far above the seaâ¦â left an indelible mark on me.
On another significant pathway, there was a professor, my favorite professor, Dr. Danny L. Scarborough, who insisted that I call him Danny. Every lecture was a perfectly choreographed experience with drama, class and deep knowledge. He pierced my soul with introductions to poetic renderings from Mari Evans and Maya Angelou.
My development as an African-descended woman was shaped by the power of Nommo (a Swahili term referring to the generative and productive power of the spoken word) experienced in that classroom. When Mari Evans came in person to read from her book I Am a Black Woman, my dramatic interpretations were vigorously enhanced. Furthermore, Danny captivated me with his profound expressions and visions. He insisted that Zora Neale Hurston wearing a red hat had come into the room
Â
She gazed at me for a moment, and seemed to nod as if she understood my concerns, as she continued to be the victim of his insults.
Â
She stood every bit of five foot four and he was at least six foot two. He looked down at her as he told her what he was and was not going to do for her.
Â
She had a child in her arms, one in a carriage and two stood on either side of her. It was their fatherâs face that they had and it looked as if he had given birth to each of them himself.
Â
I sat helpless, staring at her, while he continued to browbeat her with his words. She looked up at me once again and with my eyes I tried to communicate my thoughts to her. Stay strong. Take care of you. Donât let him hurt you. It wonât last forever.
Â
She gave me a faint smile as my train pulled out of the station, and I wept in silence, for she reminded me of my past.
Â
She was me a long time ago.
----
I will safeguard my power and not give others permission to make me weak and helpless. These are my affirming thoughtsâ¦
----
Journey to Womanhood
I fully love myself in shadow and in light.
âQueen Mutima Imani
In Honor of Our Elders: Wisdom Along the Way
B Y S HIKANA T EMILLE P ORTER , P H .D.
âAn Elder is more than a prophet.â
âGa proverb
M y wisdom-purposed journey toward womanhood commenced a little more than ten years after the landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision. In the beginning, there was a second-grade teacher, Mrs. McClain, a tall, slender, African-American woman with brown-sugar skin who wore black horn-rimmed glasses. She was gentle, kind and smiled as if she really liked us. It was Mrs. McClain who determined that my best friend, Rachelle (another cute little chocolate child), John (a chubby, cheerful Asian boy who loved to stretch out his arms and pretend he was an airplane) and I were to be assigned to the mentally gifted minors (MGM) program. Being placed in this category would lay the foundation for an educational path marked with enrichment, even though I often felt guilty because we were set apart from the other children. It did not seem fair that a different learning style determined who would be destined to less intellectually stimulating classes.
Then there was a fourth-grade teacher, my favorite teacher, who taught with passion, creativity and style. She, too, was tall, played the guitar and taught us how to use chopsticks. When I was nine years old and five feet six inches in height, it helped to have a role model who stood three inches above me and said out loud that it was âbeautiful to be tall!â Mrs. Knudsen conveyed much respect for me and reinforced my love for learning. She had speed-writing contests and my new best friend, Lisa, came in second to me every time. At the end of that school year, Mrs. Knudsen predicted that I would become the editor of Ebony magazine. These wisdom-based moments at a school âhigh on a hill by the mountains, far above the seaâ¦â left an indelible mark on me.
On another significant pathway, there was a professor, my favorite professor, Dr. Danny L. Scarborough, who insisted that I call him Danny. Every lecture was a perfectly choreographed experience with drama, class and deep knowledge. He pierced my soul with introductions to poetic renderings from Mari Evans and Maya Angelou.
My development as an African-descended woman was shaped by the power of Nommo (a Swahili term referring to the generative and productive power of the spoken word) experienced in that classroom. When Mari Evans came in person to read from her book I Am a Black Woman, my dramatic interpretations were vigorously enhanced. Furthermore, Danny captivated me with his profound expressions and visions. He insisted that Zora Neale Hurston wearing a red hat had come into the room
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