I grew up on collard greens

A depiction of My Values

For many who know me knows how much my culture is a representation of who I am. It is the epitome of my being and no matter what I do, everywhere I go, everything I do has a piece of my past in the present, inadvertently as well as very intentional. I love the way I was raised. In an Afro-Caribbean household with a little too much structure but nonetheless, very cultured. I’ve traveled more than any of my friends and have had opportunities somehow, presented to me through the success and hard work of my brothers, and mother. The good ole home cooking came from the third generational upbringing, and my spiritually nonetheless must be accredited to them as well. My grandparents demonstrated what it was to have faith lead them and not by sight. The following is a poem that commemorates how my families culture impacted me, my vision, and my outsight of the world we live in today. I’ve performed this a couple times, once in my college Clubs art show and again at Scholastics in front of over 500 children, some of which I went to school with. Each time the experience was different, and this time with my words written down, I have a good conscience that it will be around for far longer than just a few minutes. nothing makes me more content than knowing my culture, my upbringing, and my foundation can be cultivated through my perspective and stay omnipresent in a safe space, consumed by good people. Enjoy

I grew up on collard greens, rice and pea’s mac and cheese, turkey wings, cornbread. Enough said I am African American. Emphasis on African because while we both may be American, we share different dreams. You want the white Pickett fence and I want white supremacy to be nonexistent. Yea, you’re going to school because that’s what your parents would like you to do. And as for me, it’s not a choice. But I digress.

I grew up on Sunday’s best, that Easter press, curvaceous women, curry chicken, such as that but despite the fact. I am the Caribbean. But you see sandy beaches and sunny seas but I know that my grandmother came to America at 19, with a suitcase full of hope and dreams and recipes. In fact, she landed and it was a far cry from mango trees and warm breeze, instead, she got her first taste of reality. Her first bite of struggle, her first swallow of inequality. Her lungs burst at her first breath of insubordination in the freest nation.

I grew up on don’t talk to strange men, don’t have your character condemned, use your common sense, Master Lock your innocence, someone’s always looking. I am from Brooklyn. But that doesn’t mean that I do not speak articulately and can hold a conversation amongst scholars but if need be I can snapback with a Snap Back and snatch you up from under your collar. Please don’t underestimate me. Please don’t mini-me I mean belittle me. I mean box me into little categories don’t best describe me.

I grew up on stop combing out your fears and embrace your hair. Wipe those tears, or else “imma give you something to cry for” Honoring the essence my ancestors died for. Feeling guilty in school thinking maybe I should’ve applied more. Or more guilty that I've crept through a couple of side doors. That I've had my insides explored before I had insight on man minds. Risky night calls on landlines. Digging for roots you can’t find.

I grew up on collard greens, rice and peas, mac and cheese, turkey wings, cornbread. Enough said.