ACCOMPLISHMENT

I was sitting next to his mom. I found out his name is Gavin. He's her youngest son. When the candidates came into the room, she picked out my daughter. "She's beautiful! That's my son right behind her!" 

It was so ironic that her Dad and I would be seated nest to Gavin's parents, and our daughter next to their son. As a matter of fact it turned out that most of the Black families somehow migrated to the same side of the courtroom. I don't think we did it on purpose, but the atmosphere was full of pride and gratitude. (I wonder if anyone has ever done a study on that phenomena?) We didn't know one another--didn't arrive on the same minivan or anything-- but it was hard to tell. In a way, we WERE together, not just celebrating our own child, but every child. You could see it in all of our eyes; in the way we greeted one another, hugged, tapped on shoulders, shook hands, and smiled-- a sort of secret code smile that said, "Don't tell us what our children can't do".
"Son or daughter?"
"Isn't this wonderful?"
"God is so good to us."
"Someone just sent a text. They can see us online..."

It was like a thousand Christmas mornings. There we were, strangers, chatting as happy tears welled up in our eyes. There were so many pleasant exchanges between people who knew exactly how each other felt. Our babies had done the work, but we felt it. We were the cheerleaders. shooting down naysayers and doubters; praying more frequently and fervently than we had ever prayed in our lives. "Lord, help my baby."

We had been given "The Speech" when we were younger: 

"You have to work twice as hard; be twice as good, twice as smart".

There were our children, sharply clad in business attire, about to be admitted to the State Bar. They'd decided to attend law school. They'd remained on task. They graduated. They sat for the bar exam and passed. They passed character tests. They were our children, and we were all gathered at an impromptu Black Family reunion. 

There were two African American men on the Court of Appeals bench that day. One was the honorable Chief Justice Robert M. Bell, the first Black man to hold the position. One stern. One lighthearted, but both, I'm sure, beaming on the inside just like we were.

We took photos of, and exchanged information with strangers who were a part of the vast village. Our hope was renewed. We weren't the only ones who instill values and the importance of education. There are still mothers and fathers who might disagree about other things, but when it comes to the welfare of their children and the critical nature of education, they present a united front. There are still parents who go the extra mile-- and then some. Listening to the history of the place in which we sat made the whole occasion more poignant. Our babies were making history themselves.

We have a long way to go in America. We were born here; so were our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. We're still, however, tasked to pass tests we didn't create, and leap over ever-rising hurdles. We're still proving ourselves, and determined to succeed, fit in, show that we CAN do, and demonstrate that we belong. We're still showing that we can be an asset, that our minds are sharp and our abilities are varied and excellent. We're still being questioned, though. Our intelligence and integrity are still being challenged. We're still gazed upon when we show up in places where many don't think we deserve to be. It's okay, though. None of it mattered on June 15, 2011.

I knew when my baby emerged from my womb that she would accomplish great things. God answered every prayer. I couldn't be more proud. 

I only wish my Mom could have been there. She finally got her attorney.