The Black Family

I was part of the village where I raised a child.

I was the harbor that provided a place to anchor for multiple generations.

Children and old folks connected and cared for each other, within me, while those in the middle labored to provide.

I coddled young ones, gave them sustenance, taught them skills for life.

I was the daycare, the old folks’ home, the place of comfort, love, and protection until the celestial passage.

Commerce in the new world interrupted my duties.

They forced me to blend with others.

This is, after all, what herders do with their cattle. 

For a while I lost my step.

They threatened my stride by using me as a breeding ground, selling my young as if they were cattle.

When I thought a better day had arrived, they forced my head to leave so I could receive government crumbs of assistance.

Stereotypes of my character have been on display for decades, examples of what I shouldn’t be.

But my character remains intact.

I was the first social institution created by God.

I am the base from which all others are fed. 

I’m sound, God ordained, not without stain.

I have withstood countless threats to my existence, but I persist because I’m necessary.

I’m the Black family. I’m old and blessed…hope you will be too.