Legacy Building

Back in 2009 I recanted an unbelievable historical event that I shared with my middle child (Maya).  It was inauguration day, January 20th 2009.  We witnessed the swearing in of the first Black president of the United States. Living History – Lady J. Duchess 

Looking back, I remember the pride I felt – the joy of experiencing something life-altering and I was blessed to share it with one of my children. Just so you know it wasn’t a fluke of some kind, the country re-elected President Obama for a second term in 2012.  That election was equally exciting and this time, I got to experience inauguration day with my youngest daughter, Nayda, along with one of my best friends, Rozzi.  True to January weather, once again, it was frigid outside – 21 degrees with temperatures reaching a high 25 degrees by noon. This time was even more challenging not just because of the crowds of people and the frigid temperatures, but it was also a time when I had major back issues. I was in crippling pain but I was determined to be part of history.  I can say, yes, I was there!!! I had taken every pain killer available to me at the time.  There was no position that was comfortable for me. I tried standing, sitting, laying down – still no relief.  By the time President Obama was sworn in, I was in so much pain that I barely remember hearing the speech. What was even more daunting was that I still needed to fight the crowds in order to get home. Of course, we had to walk such a long way to get to Union Station.  I was beginning to feel like Forest Gump in the number of miles I put in that day. Similarly, I too, was on a mission!!!! I decided I would run as far and as fast as I could and when I could not stand it any longer, I would sit down on the ground.  Once sitting on the ground, I was moaning in agony.  It got so bad that a policeman who spotted me groaning in agony offered to carry me the rest of the way to the station. By this point I could actually see the station, but it seemed that the closer I got to the station, the further and further away it seemed. With dogged determination, I finally made it to Union Station and subsequently back home. I was so proud of myself for persevering. Not only was I an integral part of history, but both of my daughters were as well.  As my mother did before me, I was able to not just tell them, but to experience with them what I’m sure will become more than just a bleep in the future history books.  

Well, that leaves my son (Yamil). My opportunity came just recently. Upon visiting with him, his fiancé and their brand-new daughter (my third granddaughter), in Brockton, MA, it happened to be the weekend of one of the largest “No Kings” protests. I had been watching on TV the tens of thousands of people who had participated in the first nation-wide “No Kings” protest. From small towns to big cities people braved the elements, in some cases sub-zero degree weather, and came out to peacefully express their opposition to what I will call the destruction of our precious democracy. As I watched daily the inhumane treatment of citizens and noncitizens alike, I felt that I had to do something, no matter how small, to demonstrate my opposition to what is becoming one of the darkest times in our country’s history. We made our plan and off we went to participate in the “No Kings” protest in Boston, MA. Of course, it was cold, after all this was Boston in March. The good news was that the sun was shining brightly and that helped. It was great to see people of all ages coming together in opposition to the direction our country is taking – to the inhumane treatment of immigrants by ICE, to the un-provoked war in Iran, to the dismantling of civil rights to the building of so many large detention centers (I call them concentration camps). Exactly who are those centers that can hold thousands and thousands of people being built for? We were among the throngs of people standing on a hill watching and listening to public officials speak out and among them was Elizabeth Warren. I was so excited to have shared that experience with my son. 

The seasons of life can sometimes be a little tricky.  You really do not want to spend your life preparing for your demise; however, there comes a time when you consider your legacy.  In my case, I reflect on the things that my parents left me (and trust me, it definitely wasn’t money!). And you know what, that’s perfectly ok because what they left me was much more valuable – integrity, a sense of responsibility to take care of others, a love of country and the wonder of possibilities. The willingness to stand up for what is right and just. From demonstrating for equal rights, to experiencing the passing of the voting rights act (my mother was an avid poll worker), to marching for the desegregation of schools; I now look back with pride and admiration for the things my parents endured, for the life they lived, for the love they exhibited. Love is indeed an action word, and their lives demonstrated their love of humanity. It is now my turn to pass some things on to my children – life lessons that will come in handy long after I’m gone. I often wonder what they will remember about these times.  My hope is that sometime down the road each of them will remember with pride, with appreciation, the partaking in history-making events shared with me. If I can pass on that bravery, that tenacity, that perseverance and spirit that is connected to the ultimate source of power, that connection that is able to move both the small and big mountains in their lives, my living will have not been in vain.  

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” Galatians 6:9