To Settle in a Profound and High Place
Representation mattered to me before I even knew it did. My mom has often humorously recalled how when I was very young I'd become excited, verging on frantic, whenever I saw another little black girl. I'd run to her, do my best to befriend her, and not leave her side until I was dragged home. Already, before I had a grasp on the spelling of my last name or what my dark skin meant to me, I knew my difference intimately and was so desperate to commune with those like me and feel our sameness together.
My becoming as a black girl and now a black woman has always been punctuated with moments of realizing that difference. As those differences became glaring it was the ability to recognize myself in other black girls and black women that made settling into who I was becoming feel alright.
So often, the routine of frantic excitement and gradual settling took place at school among my peers and under the watch and instruction of the men and women who stood at the front of my classrooms. I had so many teachers, the majority of which were very different from me, that made the greatest impacts on my life and who helped me manage that settling and embrace my becoming. Mrs. Eastwick made me feel able to do and be all things, Mrs. Simchak taught me to love writing and appreciate learning for the sake of it, and Dr. Dudrow fostered within me a love of history and the skills to critically analyze my work and the world around me in a way I previously hadn't known how.
Even so, it was the black women whose classrooms I occupied that added a bit extra to my maturation. From just knowing Ms. Cato, a woman who reminded me of my aunts, existed in the pre-K classroom next door to my own, to Ms. Spain who in Kindergarten was one of the first to ever advocate for me, and then Mrs. Turner in fourth-grade Geography who allowed me to take space in her world by sharing her life with me and who kept in touch long after I left her classroom. There was also Mrs. Williams-Berry in fifth-grade English who was the first to teach me black literature and who was so beautiful, poised, and accomplished that from the age of ten all I've ever wanted was to be like her. And of course, Ms. Hill and Ms. Purnell, the orchestrators of my most formative years, whose office doors were always open to just talk and joke, ask me how my family was, and make sure I was conditioning and oiling my hair. I can only imagine that all of these women recognized my difference before I even could, and knew what it would mean to have someone, who at the very least looked liked me, inspire and push and enable me to become the Nadia who at that time was far from complete. Their eyes turned towards me and others like me, simply and uniquely because they had each been a little black girl some years ago, too. They knew that before we even had the chance to become ourselves, we'd be marred by the implications of our difference and feel lost as to how to proceed. I credit so much of who I am to the diligence of their guidance and the steadfastness of their presence.
A black woman, Cindi Gibbs-Wilbourn, has just been appointed as the new Head of School at my elementary school, Beauvoir. Though I doubt I would've been able to grasp the significance of her appointment while still a student there, I can only imagine what it would've meant for me and the few other black girls who worked through pre-K to third grade alongside me to have witnessed a black woman steering at the helm of our school. Representation by those who have lived out their callings authentically and well, and who offer children a glimpse into new worlds within which they've already lived and learned, is the best thing we can do to help girls and boys of every color and place reach their potential. Undoubtedly, this will bare the most incredible weight for their maturation and evolving sense of self. Knowing that I was able, just because the people who looked like me were able, continued to push me along the path to becoming the person I'm proud to be today. In that vein, I believe the most important step to helping others live authentically is granting them the opportunity to recognize that a path has already been forged for them to accomplish all that they can and become all that they have the potential to be.
So, I'd like to conclude with a formal thank you to those black female educators who, aside from the women in my family, made the most profound impact on my life. By your example, you all allowed me to witness my difference occupy some profound and high places. Further still, you recognized the need to reach down and hold on to me so that one day I could experience those places with you. Thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.
