MIGHTY ACTS OF BRAVERY!
Darren approached me after I delivered a presentation on his campus entitled, Who Am I? I covered thousands of years of history during that talk, connecting the dots from Africa’s predynastic times to first-year university students like Darren. Toward the end, I told a story about a group of young people like them. “Imagine this group meeting in a cold, drab basement,” I said. “Picture their room dimly lit with a naked lightbulb dangling from the ceiling as they sat in a circle. The only known movement in the room was the oscillating fan and spider webs that fluttered intermittently. Some people sat on the floor, others in rickety, wooden folding chairs, each worn to near collapse. The group ended their meeting by answering a charge. So will we,” I said. “Their question was something like, ‘What are you going to do to help the struggle?’ As everyone took their turn, each person answered more boldly than the one before. Confident. Then, one woman, less sure than the rest, owned her confusion. I’ll paraphrase her remarks. She said, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do. I have no power, no position, no money. But I will do whatever I can.’ And when her moment came, that woman we now know as Rosa Parks did not give up her seat on the bus and sparked a movement.” The bottom line is that your presence should serve as leadership. Whether it is passive or active, it is still leadership. Therefore, my question for you to answer for yourself is: What will you do to exercise your power?”
Many students shook my hand as they filed out of the room. Only a few shared their answer. Again, telling me their answers was not an expectation. With our right hands in a handshake clinch, Darren shared his answer. “I will say grace,” he said.
“I’d like you to explain that with more detail if you don’t mind,” I said. Darren nodded, and I pulled him around until he stood next to me before letting go of his hand. He waited until only a few meandering students chilled and a group of administrators were having a side conversation across the room. We stepped away from the door. Then, Darren pivoted, pulled down the corner of his lips with his thumb and forefinger, cocked his head to the right, and looked toward the ceiling. I got the impression that he knew what he wanted to say but searched for the right place to start. “What you’re about to say is obviously deeper than blessing your food, I said. “Just give it to me straight. “This is embarrassing,” he said. “Here it goes. I’ve never second-guessed how I moved as an African American. My neighborhood, school, church, even the local grocery stores were primarily Black. Now when I go into the dining hall, I feel judging eyes on me. So, I pass on the chicken or greens. Lord knows I skip the watermelon. At first, I thought I was silently protesting stereotypes. Until I didn’t say grace before eating because nobody else did. What I thought was protest was shame. I was ashamed of who I was.” His eyes had a wet shine to them.
“You settled my internal drama surrounding fitting in by showing me how much I had to be proud of. I looked at his hand, extending slowly. The move signaled that our final handshake would take as long as whatever he had to say. “I’m going to be myself in everything I do,” he said. “And I’ll say grace from now on.”
I can still see Darren’s face, wide-eyed and full of promise. Perspective restored. Remembering his story reminds me that embracing one’s identity and being proud of who you are, are mighty acts of bravery.
