November 2004 --
During my lesson on Canadian Human Rights, I had cause to share with my students the story of living in Trois Riveriere (small town Canada) as a nine year old (my sister was 5) when my mother was learning French at the college there. We were the only black family in the whole city it seemed like. The black girls in the class were definitely feeling me when I described my mother's face when she would arrive to pick us up at the babysitter after we had been swimming in their pool, two ashy picaninies with hair in every direction. Just as the laughter was at its height, the Principal walked by and stuck his head in the room to see what the hell was going on. He actually left and came back to sit through the rest of my lesson. Even though my first feeling was one of being checked up on, what I noticed about the experience was for a brief and rare moment the black students and I had an unspoken connection. A truth that only we knew. It happened so quickly that I almost missed it. We totatlly knew what was going on and th white people in the room were on the outside looking in trying to figure it out. What was present was an experience that we had all shared as black people and in that moment, I felt free. For the first time since I came back from Africa, I became conscious to what motivated me to do this everyday and it was a great moment. I hope it happens again tomorrow!
