The Black Hands that Have Shaped Me

In honor and celebration of Black History Month.

My life had been shaped by the strong black hands of three incredible black women throughout my life. Mrs. Green was my kindergarten teacher at Boynton Beach Elementary. She taught us about the importance and strength of diversity by introducing us to her black heroes. Even at the age of five, she instilled in me an awareness of my privilege as a white female and my duty to use that privilege for good. I loved her because she cared for all of us as if she were a surrogate mother. Her passion for equality and fairness was inspiring, and I felt proud to be part of such goodness. Living in South Florida, I was surrounded by a balance of races. Not everyone looked just like me due to Florida’s abundance of diversity. I grew up feeling lucky to be part of such a kaleidoscope of people, ideas, and cultures.

Mrs. Green planted a seed within me at an early age that continued to be cultivated by other strong and brilliant black women throughout my life.

My second-grade teacher, Mrs. Jones, was the first to foster my budding interest in storytelling. She shared wonderful books that influenced her as a girl and always told me my words were important. She taught me that we each have a voice and what we have to say is essential. She introduced me to a world where people’s voices brought change to the world, especially during the civil rights movement. I felt powerful, as if I could do great good in the world using my voice.

In college, my African American Literature professor, Donna Weir-Soley, opened me up to black literature, a realm of struggle, courage, violence, beauty, and the will to carry on. She was incredibly welcoming and eager to help us discover and explore these masterworks. I always felt included, cared for, and wanted. I was so inspired by the class and her brilliance I did a minor in African American Diaspora during my undergraduate studies. My eyes were opened to the terrible smear campaign the entire race endured throughout history. But I was also exposed to the black community’s beauty and unbreakable spirit. As a white woman, I was always a minority in these classes. Yet, I was drawn into the bosom of the class culture with no hesitation. Welcomed. Valued. In all my life, I have not felt such a connection since. There were moments during my studies I was brought to tears, a catharsis of my historical ties to the plight of the black community and the present, still present ignorance, bigotry, and hate.

The black hand that shaped me molded me into an empathetic, compassionate, and resilient woman. My deep connection to the black community is a gift that I treasure and use to fight the good fight through my words. I am damn proud to call myself an ally. I am deeply grateful for these black hands that shaped my life. I think about them nearly daily and do my best to be white hands that shape the next generation to carry on the torch of empathy, resilience, and advocacy.