This was never a holiday for my family when I was a child. There were never any celebrations in my community. We did not watch parades or hear lectures about why this was a day of significance. No mothers, aunts, or grandmothers were in the kitchen exchanging gossip while preparing baked macaroni and cheese, mustard-based potato salad, macaroni salad, baked beans, or candied yams. The hearty, boisterous laugh that only a black uncle can make after he has had a taste in the morning before he mans the grill did not register in our backyard. None of the black families that our family knew in Minnesota celebrated Juneteenth in the 80s or early 90s. Juneeteeth was not a holiday, event, celebration, or excuse to have a cookout. To be fair, we were all trapped in the Dream during this epoch.
Lets grow together
Once upon a day in Melbourne. It was Autumn. It was lonely without a significant other. But wait! Am I not that significant other?…