Black Girl Unlimited: Lessons 15–19

“I really did let my ego get to me, but I’m sure you’ll be a great valedictorian. I’ll do my best as your salutatorian wing woman. And I’m happy for you. I hope we can all be friends again.”

At once I feel excited, afraid, euphoric, unsettled, and deeply out of place.

I respond with short, curt answers to most of his questions, willing him to stop asking me things so the attention can shift focus.

“Black people, especially black people of the diaspora, can only be truly educated and supported at black colleges and universities,” he says.

You have to know that you will never be able to fully integrate into historically oppressive institutions founded on the pillars of white supremacy.

“What about the plight of the black woman?” I ask him.

“Besides, talking about sexism and patriarchy is just a tool the white man uses to divide the community,” Davante says decisively.

I am not fooled by his professional demeanor and credentials.

After dinner, when no one is looking, I hide in the bathroom trying to choke back my tears and the sense of alienation from being around “proper” black people who laugh at my degradation.

He will gaze over at me with a smirk on his face and say “Hmmph” so nonchalantly, so flippantly, it will take me several moments to process his underhanded dismissal.

He will gaze over at me with a smirk on his face and say “Hmmph” so nonchalantly, so flippantly, it will take me several moments to process his underhanded dismissal.

And I need a target, a place to aim my resentment for how badly I have been treated by the men in my life.

My mother tells Tiffany she can swim here and that she should go give it a try. “Nah, dat’s okay,” Tiffany says with trepidation.

The seventeenth lesson of wizard training is that forgiveness is inescapable. We are all destined for mistakes, transgressions, and impossible circumstances beyond our control.

Still, disappointment stains his voice and mires his forced smile.

Sometimes, even Ms. Jannie, who is still a fervent Christian, at least on the surface, comes and sits with them during their late-night talks.

I rise, run to school, run to class, run to the Cleveland Clinic, study for final exams, wait on pins and needles for college acceptance letters, order my cap and gown, write articles for the school newspaper, and search for inspiration for my valedictory speech, which I have been struggling to write for weeks.

The turmoil of it tears me apart inside, but I don’t know how to heal my wounds and mend the gap.

I especially love that the brochure says, “At Dartmouth College, we truly value inclusion. Our students come from diverse backgrounds and communities around the world. Like the Statue of Liberty, we also ascribe to the creed of ‘Give me your tired, your poor,’ and we will provide a first-class education so that they might go out and become lighthouses in an often challenging world.”

The admiration with which all your teachers speak about you (and several of them wrote letters for you even though only two were required), the depth of your perseverance despite truly untenable circumstances, and the humility with which you describe your own efforts ‘to just keep going and to find a way to rise no matter what' brought me to a complete halt as I read through your application.

The admiration with which all your teachers speak about you (and several of them wrote letters for you even though only two were required), the depth of your perseverance despite truly untenable circumstances, and the humility with which you describe your own efforts ‘to just keep going and to find a way to rise no matter what' brought me to a complete halt as I read through your application.

I smile and look back up at Jesus’s new position, which is him coyly smacking his teeth and pointing his finger like in my dream.

Hope you don’t end up accidentally enabling the patriarchy and misogyny.

There we were “...watching our loved ones succumb to devastating addictions, and dealing with struggles no child should ever have to deal with."

The black man, like the mighty African redwood tree in the forests of Angola, like the powerful beanstalks of Namibia, like the vast cotton in the fields of Alabama, and like the stout sugarcane in Jamaica, the black man rose up proudly, resolutely out of this earth.

The black man, like the mighty African redwood tree in the forests of Angola, like the powerful beanstalks of Namibia, like the vast cotton in the fields of Alabama, and like the stout sugarcane in Jamaica, the black man rose up proudly, resolutely out of this earth.

And now a penance must be paid, brothers. For breaking our own hearts. A penance must be paid, the score must be settled, for when the glory comes, you gotta be right in your soul, brothers.

I scour around the church, trying to read more words inside more hearts as Pastor Eweku continues speaking.

Brethren, the time to apologize is long overdue. The time to atone for our own sins is now. It’s always now brothers.

Brethren, the time to apologize is long overdue. The time to atone for our own sins is now. It’s always now brothers.

I look down at my mother and Mrs. Delaney in confusion, but they are both so enthralled with what’s happening, they don’t notice me trying to get their attention.

The mood shifts from jovial anticipation to pensive focus as everyone crafts their own personal message on the sides of the pots, except Jessie, who instead draws a picture on the side of his.

Choose not to be a host to any negativity or pettiness.

They are all Christians and talk about how they can’t wait to go to Bible study together. They ask me what denomination I am when they notice the picture of white Jesus, who I have brought with me, hanging over my desk.

I notice Mr. Delaney looking wistfully across the room. I ask him what he is thinking about.