September 7, 1982
As I wake up this morning my journey to becoming a man is at hand, for I am starting my freshman year of high school today. As I put my clothes on that I laid out last night I am beginning to feel anxious and somewhat nervous, for the time is drawing near for me to begin my journey. After putting on my clothes I grab me a bite to eat, but my nerves are making it hard for me to ingest the nutrition that is needed to begin my journey, but I shall press on. After arriving at school I find out that my first class will be History, and I am thankful, for I am blessed to have an earthly father that knows the importance of me knowing “My Black History” and the atrocities that continue to plague us people of color. The anxious and somewhat nervous feeling that I once felt, I feel no more, for I am ready to further “My Black History” education. As I enter the classroom I see a stack of books on a table, I grab one, I then proceed to find myself a desk. I choose a desk in the front row, for I want to be up close and personal with “My Black History.” In the midst of getting my desk in order, a short, white, balding man walks through the door. “Hello class, my name is John Peterson, I will be your History instructor for this semester.” To be honest with you, I do not recall any words said before: “I will be your History instructor for this semester.” I am now in a state of perplexity, I am puzzled, I am confused. I must be in the wrong class I thought, this is not my class, this is not “My Black History.” As panic begins to settle in I grab my History book and I frantically flip through the pages, but there is no mention of people of color, nor is there any pictures within, so I gather my belongings and I make my way to the door……
“Excuse me, class is about to begin, is there anything I can help you with?”
“Yes, I am in the wrong class, this is His-story, I am supposed to be in “My Black History.”
“There is no black history.”
My Black History…..