for the love of mississippi. part i.

I remember when I told my mothers side of the family that I’d accepted an internship with Dr. John Perkins and had to relocate to Jackson, Mississippi for one year. Some questioned if this Chicago girl would adjust to seeing chickens crossing the road. I told them I’d give it a try. I’m ashamed at how ignorant we were of the state that I now reverence as the foundation of my lineage. However, I would later discover that my paternal side of the family carried our roots with us from the South to the North often referring to ourselves as “Mississippi Mud”. Read More…

Sometimes It’s Hard Being Black & Christian

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She told me about the business her father owned and my mind automatically began to wonder. I wasn’t playing the victim or having a pity party, but as I listened to my White friend talk about her father’s endeavors as an entrepreneur, I couldn’t help but to think of the potential entrepreneur stories that my father and grandfather were robbed of. My grandaddy came to Chicago from Mississippi, during the Great Migration. He worked 3 jobs to provide a better life for my grandmother and their 4 boys. He worked until cancer claimed his life. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, because my father has the exact same work ethic. I’m proud to come from a family of hard working Black men. It’s who they naturally are, because they want to be. However, it’s who they HAVE to be as well. There’s no happy ending consisting of the playing fields being leveled, receiving 40 acres & a mule, or tokenism-free opportunities. Read More…