Last weekend I attended a mini family reunion with relatives from my dad's side. My little sister traveled up from Charlotte and we packed into my cousin's car and headed towards Baltimore for part one of the festivities. Family members from the Henderson branch of the crew planned to gather at The National Great Blacks in Wax Museum before heading to the planned barbecue. As we approached the old corner building, I had a nostalgic reaction to my surroundings; I recalled taking a trip to this museum during my childhood. While waiting in the lobby for the remainder of the family to arrive, I anticipated that the museum experience would feel quite familiar in spite of the length of time since my former visit.
Once we paid and commenced the tour, with uncles, aunt, and cousins in tow, it wasn't minutes before I realized that this experience would truly be like the first time. The museum guide started us off with a briefing about the history and intent of the museum, and introduced us to the first items in the exhibit. As he pointed to the wax-figured replicas of slaves being force-fed and brutally abused it was as if the emotional response that welled up inside of me gave life to the images I witnessed...And then we walked onto the ship. Stepping down into the lower deck, my body recalled my experience as a cast member in the MAAFA; as I walked forward I could literally hear the rattle of chains and echo of the tour guide's reminder that our ancestors endured anywhere from 45-60 days of this barbaric torture.
I proceeded through this experience with an attention I don't recall paying to any other museum experience I've had in my life. Being there with family members of different generations made it that much more significant. I watched my older cousin carefully teaching her 6 year old daughter about the meaning of each exhibit, from the middle passage, through lynching, through our contributions to civil rights, our artistry, our entrepreneurial accomplishments, our determination to survive. My uncles followed us closely through the museum and gave life and meaning to what we witnessed in a different way; for many of the items and figures that we saw, they had personal stories to share about their, and my dad's, lived experiences from childhood. Uncle Jim talked with us about the days when they earned meager wages from arduous work picking cotton; it was beautiful to be among these important men in my life, and observe them not take lightly the responsibility of sharing history with us. They unapologetically displayed emotion while providing covering over us as we made our way through this gut-wrenching, provocative, and inspiring experience.
While I will definitely remember the fun of the more traditional reunion festivities that took place later in the day, my re-experience of the museum will really be etched in my mind. When I wish to complain, I will recall the images of those who endured the Middle Passage. When I start to lose motivation, I will remember the legacy of Cripple Caesar, a feet and hand amputee whose sheer determination helped him crawl his way to freedom after being captured several times while trying to escape. When I get hesitant about my call to leadership, I will remember Henry Box Brown who shipped himself from Virginia to Philadelphia in a box which he then used to speak out against slavery. And finally, in instances when my faith wavers, I will recall the image of the two school children who, in spite of being approached by a Klu Klux Klan member with a noose in hand, boldly declared "We are not Afraid".
When I finally returned home at about 2:15 the next morning, I lay in bed and reflected on the day with family. While I absolutely enjoyed the time with my relatives, at several points during the day I was saddened by the reminder of how much I miss my dad, one of my newer ancestors. When I turned over and realized that the normally empty space on the right hand side of my bed was occupied by my little sister, I didn't feel as alone as I might have, and I found some comfort in remembering that my dad was probably there with us all day long.
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