The Journey to Springtime

More on becoming the Women of our Dreams.

I grew up in Mims which is a quaint little township in northern Brevard County, Florida. Mims is located on one of the only still undeveloped stretches of coastline along the Atlantic Ocean. The first thing you must understand is that there is Mims and there is East Mims. East Mims is about one square mile that, while I was growing up, was wildly rural, boasting densely wooded areas and yes, even dirt roads. I remember there being a rather large dip in the dirt road in front of my mother’s home. When it rained, we, as children, considered it a wading pool. We came home wet and muddy and always, always before the streetlights came on.  

Back then when I climbed the trees in my back yard, which I often did, there were orange trees as far as my eyes could see. In springtime, they would deck themselves out in delicate, white blossoms and perfume the air with their thick, cloying heavenly scent. If you’ve never smelled orange blossoms imagine a deeper, richer magnolia scent wafting through the air. The hotter the sun got, the stronger the aroma. Between that scent and the balmy ocean breezes from the Atlantic, Mims was a child’s paradise. It was only made more perfect by the occasional roar of rocket launches from NASA’s Kennedy Space Center located just across the Indian River. Every launch rattled the windows in my mom’s home and sent us running outside to see what looked like a bright star climbing into the heavens – man’s feeble attempt to touch God.  

East Mims was populated 100% by black residents. Black churches. Black barbershops and beauty salons. Black corner stores. Black Easter Parades. Black pride. Black dignity. Everyone knew everyone. If you “acted up” anywhere in Mims some adult was liable to witness it and before you could get home your parents had a full report of your insolence, disobedience or general impudence. That was not a good day.

For the youth, growing up in Mims was like being in a chrysalis. Our Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Lewis, our youth choir director, Mrs. Smith, and many other well-educated, well-spoken, well-intended adults took it upon themselves to make sure we knew that our faults and failures were not acceptable but that, flawed as we may have been, we always were. It was a cocoon of safety and security. At the time it didn’t feel like it, but looking back with the understanding of an adult, I know their steadfast dedication to us was the very definition of love.

But when I stepped out of the cocoon into the real world, that sense of security was shattered. Everything that I was taught about myself was tested and challenged. In Mims it was ok to be chocolate brown – almost everyone was. In the larger world, showing up wrapped in brown skin meant you were prejudged, categorized, and dismissed before you spoke your first word. Thank God, our community worked to hone down our rough edges because the larger world was no place to display them. At all times, whatever you did or failed to do, you were representing the community. And that was a heavy weight for a child, especially a teenager, who needs room to fail in safety in order to grow.

I remember the first time I was called the n-word – it was in elementary school. In high school, I remember hearing us called “Mims mental midgets”. I still regret that I stood in shocked silence when one of my fellow cheerleaders, a Mims girl, was told in a heated exchange that she’d be pretty if her “nose wasn’t so wide”. I remember being encouraged to do comedy when I joined the forensics club because black people do well in comedy. I remember being told that I’d be pregnant before I graduated high school. I remember being dismissed and underestimated by the larger community – expected to amount to nothing, become nothing, to fail.

This begs a question – if the circumstances were different; if I hadn’t experienced so much hostility…

Who might I be?

But here’s what my detractors failed to understand. They could persecute me, but I will never be forsaken. There is a Light inside me that will categorically, unequivocally refuse to be extinguished. I am absolutely indefatigable – I might be cast down, but I will never, ever be destroyed.

They didn’t intend for their bitter cruelty to be lessons. I learned anyway. I learned young to spin every negative vision they cast – every curse they spoke over my life into gold. They labeled us, “Mims mental midgets”, so I aced their advanced placement and honors classes. When they said, “she should do comedy”, I won their pageant’s talent award for a dramatic recitation of Nikki Giovanni’s Ego Tripping. (If you’ve never read it, click the link to get the full effect of the words that were spoken into that oppressive atmosphere.) When they said, “she’ll be pregnant before graduation”. The Light in me said, “Not so!” I gave birth to a precious angel, my first child Simone (featured in the photo above), a year after I was married and after I earned my bachelor’s degree.  

And who might you be if not for the difficult, arduous road you’ve traveled? My answer is you’d be a lesser version of yourself.

So, sis, bless the journey! Because but for the fertilizer of their disdain and the watering of your own tears, you would be deprived springtime. And after all you’ve been through, girl, you deserve a springtime. I am praying you’ll come with me into our season. There, decked out in magnificent blossoms, perfuming the air with splendor, and flourishing in the Sun, we will grow into the Women of our Dreams.

-Much Love, Karen