I am from a large family with tight-knit values, solid to the core.
I am from television, illegal cable, pay-per-view fights, Super Mario, and Nintendo 64.
I am from a plastic runner protecting my mother’s precious pink rug- thats actually mauve.
I am from the beat of my dad’s drums played daily outside my room; he’d often improv.
I am from the ol’ days of Canarsie, Brooklyn, which provided us with apple and peach trees we’ll steal from our neighbors to throw at each other for fun.
I am from a backyard with a crooked basketball hoop that’s been slammed dunked on a ton.
I am from the berry-stained sidewalks and a one-level house on a block lined with trees.
I am from sleepovers and basement parties that provided shelter for my friends and me when we had nowhere to be.
I am from Seaview Park, Canarsie Pier, and Avenue L- home to Yummy Taco, Original’s Pizza, and $5 movies.
I am from misty morning dew, with a mixture of birds chirping and the sounds of Caribbean music playing in the air.
I am from “Old” Downtown Brooklyn, where the smell of roasted peanuts and incense greets you as soon as you emerge from the Jay Street Train Station stairs.
I am from “Just For Me” perm boxes and the scent of newly straightened hair.
I am from foods that feed the soul, like Baked Mac and Cheese, Sweet potato pie, and Cherry Red Kool-Aid, that I can never get right.
I am from the ancestors who watch over me, such as James and Miriam Little, Lillian Grayson, and my angel baby Summer, smiling down, shedding their light.
I am from New York, New York, and It is so nice they named it twice!
I am from Brooklyn, Queens, and Harlem by way of Virginia and South Carolina.
I am from streetball, red, light green light, hide and seek, and “tag; you’re it!”
I am from the era of voicemail machines with recordings of your favorite song followed by “Holla back-1,” which is short for “One Love,” and everyone said it.
I am from giving my dad a standing ovation every time he made it home, where “clapping it up for daddy” is now a family staple even though he’s retired.
I am from St John’s Hospital, where I entered the world prematurely, interrupting my mom’s Memorial Day Cook-Out, where the tale of that day never gets tired.
I am from photo albums I scanned that are now on Facebook for the World Wide Web to see.
I am from Madam CJ Walker, Malcolm X, Aaliyah, and Beyonce,
my childhood heroes who made me who I am today.
From my mother’s teachings, I can still hear clear as day: “Your words and your choices create your world,” she’d often yell.
I am from name corrections and pronunciations: “Her name is Mee-Shell-Lay, Not Mi-Chelle!
I am from charades, family sing-offs, and Sunday Dinners.
I am from big teeth and giant smiles. From full foreheads, thick curly hair, and an appetite that won’t make me thinner.
I am from a family that prays and keeps the faith even in the most traumatic times.
I am from the NICU, where my baby girl took her last breath, and of tears, I cried;
I am from the unimaginable, where the worst words ever spoken: “I’m sorry, Ms. Grayson, Summer didn’t make it.”
I am from depression, and my mind, I nearly lost it.
I am from a healed place where my sorrows and grief don’t make me who I am.
I am from a story of power, resilience, and hope that I share on Instagram.
I am from the sun, where my baby lives.
I am from the warmth and heat of the beautiful rays that she gives.
I am from love, joy, and peace, where God holds me close to his heart.
I am from 2024, a new year, a new me, and a brand new start.
