Black Is Beautiful

“Everybody can be great...because anybody can serve. 

You don't have to have a college degree to serve. 

You don't have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. 

You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.”

~Martin Luther King Jr.

Picture a petite, very blond, nine year old girl as she walks into her fourth grade classroom. The year is 1971. She is wearing a plaid dress with a bow tied in the back, red knee socks, and brown "school shoes." She is also wearing a large, gaudy pendant on a  long, faux gold chain. On one side of the pendant is a drawing of the continent of Africa. On the other side (the side proudly displayed for all to see) is the bust of an African woman and the words "Black Is Beautiful."  A shy girl, she takes her seat and waits nervously for her teacher to notice her pendant and love her for it.

In fourth grade my world expanded. That was the year I learned that Jewish people didn't celebrate Christmas. This was mind blowing news to me, not on religious grounds per se, but at nine years old, I simply could not conceive of a faith devoid of Santa Claus, Christmas trees, and presents. Fourth grade was also the year of Miss Young, my exuberant, inspiring, African American teacher, the first African American person I knew personally. Growing up in Santa Barbara, California, where there are still only a smattering of African Americans, Miss Young captured my attention and my imagination right from the start.

When Miss Young walked into the room, you knew it. First of all, she was likely to be the only black face among a sea of white faces, but it was much more than that. She was a large woman who wore colorful African dashikis and turbans. She swayed gracefully when she walked and had a warm, enveloping laugh. And she was on a mission. She wanted her mostly white class to learn, really learn, about black history and the civil rights movements.

I'm sure Miss Young taught us some multiplication tables and the difference between a verb and an adjective in fourth grade. But what I remember vividly are the stories she told us about Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman, and Martin Luther King Jr. I remember learning about a brave young girl named Ruby Bridges who had to be escorted to her newly integrated school by the National Guard, and whose presence emptied the school of its white students for a time. I remember thinking the underground railroad to free slaves was a real railroad and wondered how it was built. And I remember listening to Martin Luther King Jr. exclaim, "I have a dream" for the first time.

With these stories Miss Young opened up a world of everyday people turned heroes, of courage and principles, of triumph and devastating loss and tragedy. For the first time we learned that right and wrong were not always clear cut, and that sometimes you had to break the law to do the right thing. As the daughter of a law enforcement officer, this was hard for me to grasp. But I got it. I could not find what was moral and just about laws that forced people to give up their seats on the bus, use separate entrances, attend separate schools, and drink from separate drinking fountains simply because they had black skin. 

While my world was expanding in fourth grade, it was also shifting off its foundation. This was the year my parents separated. As my father packed to move to his new apartment he gave me small treasures he came across in his closet and dresser drawers: A coin from the US Mint, a black and white photo of him making a speech at the local Kiwanis Club, and a large gaudy pendant on a fake gold chain with the words "Black is Beautiful" emblazoned on it. My father was a narcotics officer. It is likely that prized pendant of mine came from a drug bust. But I loved it all the same, because I knew Miss Young would love it, and me by extension.

Timid though I was, I wore that great big pendant to school with pride. And when Miss Young told me it was beautiful, I lit up inside. She was everything I wasn't: Bold, proud, confident. And black. She was solid in a world that was often unpredictable. I wish I knew where Miss Young was today. I would like to thank her for the lessons she taught me about fairness, equality, justice and courage. She taught me the importance of standing up for what is right. And that love is stronger than hate. I may not have memorized my multiplication tables in fourth grade, but I memorized these lessons. Thank you, Miss Young.