Mind Boggling...HerStory

Going through my daily conversations with individuals i have come across the fact that I as an African American does not know anything about my past. Not only I but my peers and other African American around me. It actually kind of hurt that I can not tell you who I am. Since My forefathers and ancestors was brought here on slave ships stripped of their names cultures and was forced to leave everything they knew behind I am left IGNORANT. Ignorant of what my name could have been if I my ancestors were not stolen from their country. Ignorant of values and morals that could have been instilled into me. I listen to Others say Oh I have a Scotland or English or Italian or German etc background and I can not name any of that. I do not even know my own grandfathers or other family members let alone know who I am How could I be so lost. I have let these feelings hide for so long it kind of feels great to get it out. Although, many can say who they are and where they came from, I am proud o...

As a child I remember wanting to be a teacher when I grew up. It was my third grade teacher Mrs. Rice who inspired me. She was small in stature, and always wore a smile. Her body size is what intrigued me the most. She was so tiny, however she could handle us unruly children. It was that primarily why I became interested in teaching. I believed that since I was tiny liker her, I could be a good teacher and handle my students as well as she did. As I aged my interest in teaching faded, and I found my gift. I was blessed in the 6th grade to come have Mrs. Weave as my 6th grade teacher. Though at first I didn't realize the impact she would have on my life, I do now. She instructed the class to write three poems after a class lessons. I wrote "What A Beautiful Day", "Friends", and "At Night". What a beautiful day,                                               ...