Through the media, America has often portrayed the African American family with assumed stereotypes of our culture: single-family homes, absentee fathers or out of wedlock children. While the assumed stereotype may be the story for some it is not the story for all. Living this story is also not the end. For most it is a beginning. This is the beginning of an extension of what ever part is needed to make the family whole. Historically African American families help to create any necessary extension.

Thanksgiving 2009, the Neves family had a reunion of the ages. The John and Albertina Neves family consists of seven children; they are survived by five remaining siblings varying in age from 63 -72 years. They live in different parts of the country and all came together with their families to be reminded of what Neves family love is truly all about. The gathering was a reunion that included all aspects of community and family. There were aunts, uncles, first cousins, second cousins, third cousins, nephews, nieces, grandparents, godparents and friends of the family that attended. Even though they all may not have known each other well, they all bonded with each other knowing they were part of the love passed on from their ancestors.

Entering the hall where the reunion took place there was an immediate smell of home; macaroni and cheese, cornbread dressing, collard greens, gravy and sweet potato pie. The room had all of the memorable smells of a perfect Thanksgiving. Aside from the smell, the room was filled with the magic of seeing a relative who had your eyes and your smile, a cousin who looks like your sister or seeing an aunt who looks like your child. All are constant reminders of a shared lineage. It was a night of never-ending hugs and kisses and cameras flashing as though the paparazzi had gone mad.

Day two was the icing on the cake of this wonderful weekend. The family planned a surprise birthday party for Joseph Sr. who turned 70 this year. Sister Lolita spearheaded the plans with her sisters, and all of the other relatives that lived in Massachusetts. Much to everyone’s desire, Joseph Sr. was truly touched and surprised. Joseph Sr. traveled to Massachusetts from Austin, Texas with his family for this reunion. He was roasted and honored for many things, his children shared fond memories of their past with their father, grandchildren sang to him and nephews noted what an influence he was in their life and how much admiration they had for him. Joseph is a fine example for his children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews to look up to. He has been a wonderful husband; father, brother, uncle, grandfather, mentor and friend to all. The night ended with a circle of love. Stevie Wonder, Dionne Warwick, and Gladys Knight sang “That’s what friends are for” overhead on the speakers. Family members slowly joined a circle that was wound tight and held together by warm embraces, held hands, and the spirit of their ancestors interwoven like a strong thread holding the family together. It is the connection and love of family that continues to thrive in this family. It was the wholeness of the African American family that was seen and felt this weekend.

While lifting weights at the gym one Friday morning, it became difficult to wrap my fingers around the bar of the barbell. I looked at my fingers and noticed they looked bigger than usual. I experienced moderate pain as I closed my hand to make a fist. Puzzled about this newfound pain, I soon left the gym since I wasn’t getting much accomplished.

Over the weekend, things became worse as I “just didn’t feel right.” I called into work sick Monday morning which turned into a two-week absence from work. During this time, I visited the clinic several times as I was in so much pain that I couldn’t sleep but an hour or so every night. I also repeatedly looked at my fingers as I was “willing” them to return to normal size thinking the pain would simultaneously go away. Several months later, the diagnosis came. I had lupus.

For a couple of months, I was in denial. Initially, I didn’t know much about the disease, and I really didn’t care to learn. Researching and learning about lupus would have been admitting I was indeed sick. I was not ready to accept that fact, mostly because I felt I was too young to be saddled with a chronic, and sometimes fatal, illness.

As the months progressed, I became increasingly sick. The pain in my fingers eventually spread to all my joints: wrists, elbows, shoulders, knees, ankles, and toes. Most of my hair fell out, and I began wearing baseball hats when I left the house. I developed rashes on my face, legs, and back. I started experiencing memory loss, developed mouth ulcers, and became very sensitive to the sun. I lost my appetite and would only eat an apple or ½ a can of soup for the entire day. I quickly dropped 25 pounds.

When I finally accepted that these symptoms weren’t going away, I scoured the internet for information on lupus. Basically, it’s an autoimmune disease that affects your organs and tissues. In other words, my body was attacking itself. The first medication I took was Prednisone, a type of steroid. After a few months, I started taking other meds in an attempt to wean myself off the steroids because you shouldn’t take them long-term. At one point, I was taking 12 different medications. One of these included Vicodin, the painkiller. For many months, I was popping the painkiller as often as I was allowed, every four hours. Sometimes the Vicodin worked, and sometimes it didn’t. When it worked, I had absolutely no pain for a few hours. When it didn’t, I’d spend the night sitting in the middle of my bed writhing in pain.

Going to work became very difficult. When the alarm rang every morning, I’d struggle to walk to the kitchen for a cup of milk so I could take a Vicodin. I’d then get back in bed for 20 minutes waiting for the pill to kick in. Getting dressed took forever. I eventually stopped wearing jewelry and makeup on most days because the effort to use the mascara brush or fasten my earrings was simply too great. I could no longer wear button-down shirts because I couldn’t fasten the buttons. I stopped wearing tennis shoes because I couldn’t tie the laces.

As I became sicker, I started working from home three days a week. My employer was absolutely wonderful during this very difficult time. There were days I’d sit at my desk with my head down while I waited for the Vicodin to perform its magic. Other times, I’d go lay down in the backseat of my car for 15 or 20 minutes because I could no longer sit up. Co-workers playfully teased me as I slowly walked through the office. Others didn’t hesitate to tell me I looked “frail”, “bad”, or “like you’re dying”. When I felt I couldn’t take the pain another day, I told my manager I was taking a week’s vacation to simply lie in bed in hopes of feeling better. That same day, my Human Resources manager told me we’d discuss short-term disability when I returned from vacation.

Because lupus attacks your organs, I was sent to every specialist imaginable for testing. In plain terms, I’ve seen kidney, lung, and eye specialists. I’ve also had sonograms taken of my heart as well as electric shock performed by a neurological technician. (For the record, getting electric shock is the most intense and severe pain I have ever experienced.) At one point, a friend suggested acupuncture treatments. I immediately dismissed her as I couldn’t imagine countless needles being stuck all over my body. Four months into my illness, I became “desperate” and gave in to acupuncture, horrible-tasting herbs, and the adoption of a restrictive diet. I also took up swimming and Pilates because I read they are good for joint pain.

For all the physical aches and pains I experienced, the toll the disease took on my mental health was just as taxing. I went from a very active lifestyle to evenings and weekends spent on the couch. Before I became sick, I hit the gym six days a week, jogged 30 miles a week, and averaged six softball games a week (do you know how hard it was for me to email my softball friends and tell them I could no longer play?). I became “jealous” of people with good health and physical mobility and “angry” at others who chose to lead a sedentary lifestyle. Before my illness, I was in my best physical shape. But when I lost weight, I also lost all the muscles it took me years to develop. For the first time in my adult life, I became dependent on others, a tough pill for me to swallow. For example, I had to ask friends/co-workers to open up my bottled water and food containers because I could not bend my fingers.

As previously stated, I spent a great deal of time on my couch or in my bed. I would try my best to stay asleep because being asleep meant I didn’t feel the pain. I was taking things one day at a time and on really bad days, I felt like I was living hour by hour. Before bed every night, I’d ask God to let me be back “normal” when I awoke the next morning. Nevertheless, I’d wake up the next morning feeling worse than the night before. I could not see myself living like this the remainder of my life. I felt I didn’t have the strength to continue like this on a daily basis with no quality of life. Therefore, I began to pray to God, although I’m sure my prayer would seem selfish to some people. (But, no one else knows how I was feeling or what I lived with on a daily basis.) I told God I’ve lived a very good life to this point, one with wonderful travels, experiences, and love. I told Him I was “okay” with dying, that I was ready to leave this earth. Simply put, I wanted to stop the pain…forever. I knew my parents and siblings would eventually be okay if God were to take me. But, one person caused me to pause…my then nine-year old niece. I thought of her, and I immediately smiled. She is, without a doubt, my “mini-me”. So, the thought of her losing me and having to deal with a close death for the first time caused me more heartache than all the physical pain I’d experienced. I didn’t want her going through that, and the thought of her in pain brought on a rush of tears.

I then asked God for forgiveness. I no longer wanted to take the easy way out, and I resolved to beat this. I refused to accept this as my lot in life. I felt I had more to offer than a life of pain and inactivity. I believed God didn’t want me to live like this on a daily basis, and I believed he would heal me. So, I began to pray for a healing every time I thought about it. I threw myself into healing scriptures, recited them over and over, and eventually memorized them. I cried as I listened to gospel songs. I regularly watched television broadcasts of Bishop Jakes and Pastor Osteen in an effort to increase my faith.

If memory serves me correctly, I was extremely sick for about eight months and moderately sick for about two years. During that time, I had wonderful people in my life that made things easier. Mom would call every other day to check on me. And, I could expect a weekly get-well or encouraging greeting card. Once, after I complained how dirty my house was, she asked my brother to drive her to Austin for the weekend so she could clean my house from top to bottom. Only a mom! Dad was great, as well. He readily listened to my gripes and understood my issues as he experienced some of the same symptoms (Dad suffers from MS). My big sister would also call regularly to check on me and did something only a loving sister would do: clip my fingernails because I was too weak to use the clippers. My little brother, in his early 20s at the time, would email me weekly to ask how I was doing. And, he always told me he was praying for me to get better. Mom laughed when I told her I didn’t know my little brother prayed! And, I can’t leave out “Mini-me”. Every time I talked on the phone with my niece or saw her in person, she always asked the same question, “Aunt Kitty, are you still sick?” And, I would always reply, “Yes, Sweetie, but I’m getting better.” She was so amazing to me. One particular time, she got down on her knees and fed me sliced peaches as I lay on the couch. Another time, she offered to fix my sandwiches before we left the house so I could use those few minutes to lie in bed.

I also had wonderful friends and co-workers with whom I had memorable experiences. One friend sometimes took me to UT baseball games with her and her husband, knowing full-well they’d have to assist me in climbing stairs or getting out of their truck. Another friend would drive approximately 100 miles to visit and check on me. No matter how much weight I had lost or how pale my face looked, he always told me “Melissa, you’re looking good.” Another friend surprised me with a delicious homemade breakfast one morning and encouraged me to use her swimming pool anytime I wanted to aid in my physical therapy. Because of my special diet, another friend always made sure to ask me what I could eat before we went out to dinner. And, I simply can’t say enough about a very special co-worker. I could go on forever, but the things I remember the most are he’d retrieve anything I needed from the kitchen so I wouldn’t have to make the painful journey, walk to the corner store every day for months to get me an Icee because nothing else I drank tasted good, and play Mr. Handyman by fixing up my flower bed and fixing things around my house. He even followed me to the corner store one Friday after work and pumped my gas because I was too sick to stand up and pump it myself.

It has been 4 ½ years since I first noticed the swollen fingers. I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but one day I realized I no longer felt joint pain. I feel almost as well as I did pre-January 2006. I honestly believe my faith turned my situation around. When I started BELIEVING I would be healed, I feel that’s when God used my faith to change my circumstances. Day after day, I told myself “God has healed me”, and I didn’t let myself think otherwise. It’s been over two years since I last took a painkiller. Yes, I still take two medications daily, and I still have occasional flare-ups when I don’t get the proper rest and exercise or when I’m stressed and eating poorly, but I feel I am healed. I have an active lifestyle again that includes jogging, weightlifting, softball, and stints with soccer. More importantly, I am honored and privileged to share my testimony of God’s grace and mercy. To God be the glory.
By the way, I never did go on disability.

I graduated from high school nominated the “Wittiest Girl” in my class. When I look up the word “witty” it is defined as someone who was full of or characterized by humor. Looking back I realize there is nothing in the definition of witty   that says superhuman with extra strength and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound… This really amazes me because that is what I ended becoming after high school. Over the years I became superwoman!

I started college right out of high school with the intention of becoming an engineer, in the school of business. My sophomore year in college I decided to pursue the path of education and that is where my real journey began. On my journey to become an educator is when I began my actual journey on the road to life. It was during that time that I became pregnant. Being pregnant and not married was a whole new education within itself for me. All my life I was told how important education was. All I ever wanted for myself was to have a degree and pave my own path in life. Now that the path had a stumbling block I had to decide what route I needed to take next. I knew that my path would be motherhood, so now what? Would all the hard work that I had to do to get into college go to waste? What about marriage and creating a life for the new family I was about to start? To my surprise I was encouraged to drop out of school from all of those that I loved at that time. My mother and the father of my child kept encouraging me to drop out of school. They reminded  me of  the need for me to work full time and take care of my child. My head and my desire to create a good life for my child made me continue my education. For our future I needed to finish college and get my degree. I wanted to have choices in life for me and my child. I knew this sacrifice would pay off for me in the long run. Getting a degree would give me choices.

I grew up with a mother and a father. I always believed that both parents were needed to have a well balanced family. I eventually married the father of my child and very shortly had my second child a year later. Although it was tough to juggle a family, work and college I never stopped going to college. There would be semesters in which I had to vary how many classes I could actually take. There never seemed to be enough time in the day. All the hours of classes I took started to add up to the degree I needed. My marriage however, was not the happy ending I had hoped for. Three children later, I found myself once again living the life of a single mom. I had a lot of weight on my shoulder at this point in my life. I think this fueled the fire in me even more and encouraged me to work that much harder to finish school. I was single with three children, going to school and working full time.  Even with all that was on my plate I never lost sight of my goal which was to get my degree. Everyone I dealt with at school was great, and wanted me to succeed. I still remember taking my final exams two days after giving birth to my third child. I took my newborn child with me to class. My professor held my child for me as I took my final exam. It took me seven years to earn my degree. Against all odds I proved to everyone in my family I could do anything. It was at this point in my life that I started to see the superwoman cape appear on my shoulders.

My strength and what I had accomplished somehow made me appear superhuman. I had nieces, nephews and other relatives move in to live with me and my children. With this new title of “superwoman” came more unexpected responsibility and more demands and needs from those around me.  The excitement of me finally becoming a teacher was strongly overshadowed by the needs my children and I had. Unfortunately the salary for teachers did not provide enough money for a single parent with three children to survive comfortably. I loved my job, but as a teacher I found it a challenge to provide for my family. My children were getting older and had more costly needs. My household had expanded and our family was now beyond the average nuclear family. Our family now consisted of my mother, my children and my nephews. Knowing that I wanted to provide the best for my children and family, I knew I needed to make more money. After much thought, I came to the conclusion that I needed to get another full time job. I taught  full time and worked the night shift full time at another company. I really was becoming a “super” “woman.” I was a teacher by day, and call center supervisor by night. I did this for three years! I don’t think I slept much then. During those three years I also had to come up with ways that I could be there for my children as a mother. I spent 5 days a week at work all day long. We discussed as a family, that the weekends would be our time to catch up. We used the weekends to do things together and be a family. My extra income gave us the ability to do so.  SeaWorld, Six Flags and Chucky Cheese were our weekend destinations. We did it all and have fond family memories because of it.

My love for teaching really showed at the school where I taught. Because I was a mother I understood the kids, and felt very comfortable with them. They felt comfortable with me as well.  My students respected me and looked up to me. To my surprise I was nominated as teacher of the year. That was one of the most touching and meaningful moments of my life. This just confirmed to me that I was in the right job. As my children got older and started their pre-teen and teen years I went back to school part time to get my masters. I wanted to make sure that I did not limit myself in the field of education. As a mother I knew the importance of being a good teacher, and a good administrator. I received my master’s degree and my certification to become a principal to pursue when the time is right.

I look back and am so glad I took the road I have taken. My children have seen through me, that where there is a will there’s a way. My children are now all grown and are all attending college themselves. My life now is my own. I am working currently on my doctorate. Life feels back in order now. My only worry now is what my next adventure will be? It seems for all the sacrifices I made the reward is priceless. I have retired my superwoman cape. I know that at a moment’s notice if  needed, I can pull it out again!

Samuel and Emmanuel Acho

Matthew 5:13-16:

You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? … You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hid… Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.

Our parents, Dr. Sonny Acho and Mrs. Christie Acho were born and raised in Nigeria, West Africa in a village called Isuikwato. They spent their childhood, went to college and lived their early life in Nigeria. Everyone in Nigeria wants to come to America to live the American dream. Our dad made his way from the village of Nigeria to America and brought our mom along with him. They developed a home and a life in the United States, went to school and became pretty successful. Our mom worked as a janitor at a high school, and our dad went to school and worked two jobs to try to make ends meet when they first moved to America. That’s how it all got started. After the birth of our sister, our parents moved a few times and ended up in Dallas, Texas. Our mom and dad eventually established careers in the medical field and started a Home Health agency. Our dad also went to Dallas Theological Seminary and has been a pastor for over fifteen years. Currently our dad is the Pastor of Living Hope Bible Fellowship Church. This allows him to be able to touch people’s lives in the United States.

We know we could be less fortunate but, thanks to God we have been blessed to live the lives we live and we give back with open hands. For the last fifteen to twenty years our family has gone overseas to Nigeria in the summer to do positive work. For two weeks during the summer we donate, help and give our time.  We take to the village 40 doctors and nurses along with doctors and nurses we meet in Nigeria to perform different medical procedures. We supply the people in need with glasses, medicine and any other medical assistance they might need with money raised in the United States.

Our parents raised us as children loving and serving the Lord. We have two older sisters Chi Chi, 26, Stephanie 23 and then us Samuel 21 and Emmanuel 19. We don’t think they could have raised us any better. We went to church every Sunday and our parents lived the life outside of the church. They not only went to the services every Sunday, but they would also come home, live the life and be examples for us. We don’t remember one time we ever heard our parents argue with each other or fight. Every time our dad would come home from work our mom would go to the garage door, meet him and take his bag upstairs. As we got older she would take his bag and give us his bag and we would take his bag upstairs. Our dad would come home from work, change his clothes and our mom would have dinner made for him. We would all spend time together whether we were eating a dinner at the table, doing homework or attending or doing after school activities.

We were involved in activities whether it was sports they put us in or other school activities. Growing up we played basketball for the same team in a SVAA league. Our parents emphasized having us both on the same team so that 1) we could grow closer together and 2) so that they would be able to attend both of our games and support us in any way they could. This would also keep us active. Being in sports helped us grow and helped us to stay focused and stay centered. Sport was always a way to keep us focused and kept us from getting into trouble. There was definitely a strong family household. Any time we had a chance we would take a family vacation. We would never have separate family member vacations it was always the entire family. Our parents modeled the lives of a husband and wife and parents to us as kids. This happened every single day and it taught us how the husband wife relationship should be. They told us how to live. Between showing us how to do it and telling us how to do it, they gave us a great example of how it should be done. They let their words and actions back up each other. It all started with faith, trust in God and the instilment with him being our total happiness.

Our parents helped us place our priorities in the correct order with academics first. We both attended St Mark’s School of Texas which has a 100 percent graduation rate. Most of the kids from St Mark’s continue their education by attending Ivy League schools. We were sent to St Mark’s to get a great education and see what God had in store for us. Our dad sent us there because he knew that no one can take away your mind, and education is the most important thing. Our parents never planned for us to play football or any sports in college. As we got older God revealed the gifts in us athletically. More doors started to open up to different colleges and different schools.

Thankfully we have been privileged enough to come to the University of Texas and be given this role that we have now, and we are trying to live it out to the best of our abilities. Growing up if we did not make the grades that put a smile on our dad’s face he would take us out of sports – just like that! He really taught us the correct disciplines. He did not let us get out of line and lose focus of the task at hand. As the saying goes “They can take away your body, but no one can take away your mind.” He made sure that we knew that. He made sure we put education first before anything else. Academia was always number one. At the same token no one can ever take away your faith and what you believe in and your beliefs. Being raised the way that we did our parents really instilled solid beliefs in us and in the Lord. Our parents did not force anything on us, the word says (Proverbs – Chapter 22:6) Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it. We feel we are not departing from that because our parents did such a great job of raising us.  We understand right from wrong. Growing up they taught us the way we should go and they would discipline us when we did wrong and rewarded us when we did something good.

We take pride in our family name. One of the most important things that older and wiser people always told us was, “You should never embarrass your last name; your family’s name.”  Now in every decision we make, we take into account our religion first which is what we believe in – the difference between right and wrong. We also consider, “How does this make us look and how does this represent our family as a whole?” Each decision and every action we take does not just represent us the individual but it also represents everyone who bears our same last name. This really helps in decision making because we then have to truly decipher between right and wrong we can’t just make a decision on a whim. Taking that pride in the last name “Acho” has helped us as we have come here not to disappoint or let down any of our loved ones.

It is one thing to make good grades and become an academic all American for ourselves, but knowing the joy and happiness our parents receive, gives us more motivation in everything we do. Halfway through the football season we both were players of the game and we both had really good games. It was one of the biggest games of the season for us. People always tell us how proud our parents are of us; that evening we did not believe how unbelievably proud our parents were of us. Our dad told us that evening how proud he was in what we were doing, it makes him so happy and that is what keeps him going. Our dad emphasized that pride for us is what brings the extra enjoyment and excitement in our parent’s lives. Our parents pride comes from the pride in the Acho name and the pride in this family that we have.

Sometimes when we are here in college and we may not make the smartest decision, our parents make sure we are back in line. Our parents will say, “I know you’re in college but…you’re still a part of this family,” “I know you’re in college but…you’re still an Acho boy,” “I know you’re in college but…you’re still representing your faith in the Lord.” They didn’t let college be an excuse for us, they definitely maintained that relationship. The pride that we bring to our parents is definitely what keeps us going and brings us that extra joy, that extra excitement and gives us that extra “want to.” Our parents give us that extra “want to,” to succeed on the football field and off the football field.

We try to not only to talk the talk, but also walk the walk in our own lives. As our parents did for us we now try to do for our teammates and our peers. If we somehow are able to touch a coach or faculty member here or there then maybe we can do the same as our parents did for us. It is not for our personal gains and it is not what we can do personally that matters, it’s how we can touch those around us. It’s about – how many lives can we truly touch? If we see a friend or a teammate that’s down we think about a word of encouragement we can try and give them, or just a smile we can put on their face on a rainy day.  It’s more than living our life for ourselves, but living our life for the greater good. It’s about living a certain way to represent Christ to the best of our abilities.

Our parents set a prime example for how life should be lived. We already have a blueprint laid out for us. Our parents were immigrants from Nigeria – one of the poorest countries in the world. They were able to come to America, get their degrees and doctorates and live the lives they live. There is no excuse for us to fall short in a sense because we have had a head start in the game by being born here. Having a blueprint mapped out for you paves a pathway for you. If we can work like they did, and we assume they worked tirelessly, we hope to be able to accomplish and achieve the same goals growing up and eventually be able to give back as they have. As we have been blessed, we hope to be a blessing to others who are less fortunate.  Matthew 5:13-16 says “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world. We try to represent Christ and be the light of the world the salt of the earth. Salt is meant to preserve. By being the salt of the earth we are trying to preserve what is on earth and be the light that shines in darkness. That is what we are trying to do on this campus and at this university and thanks to our parents who have put us in a position to do that we attempt to do that every day.

My name is Eric Jeffries.  I was born in the little town of Springfield Missouri, to a Bonnie Elaine Moore and fathered by Harvey Jeffries. I come from a single parent home where my mother, Bonnie Moore, raised me and my other siblings. I had  three sisters and two brothers. There was no father present in my early child hood, so I am a byproduct of a fatherless home that helped to create the type of person I would end up being. My experiences over the years looking back were dictated quite a bit by the lack of my father. My friends that I hung out with all had fathers, so special events in which a dad would normally be there present with his son – I did not have that. My influence came from looking and watching others. At the same time it created within me a desire to be something different – a type of father that would be there for his kids.

I entered into fatherhood at an early age. I had my first child when I was 17 years old. As you can see, I was in the process of recreating a fatherless household in that I was not married when I had my first child. The influence of me not having a dad at home was recreating in me the same thing that I wished to escape, and that’s to end up leaving a child without a father.  My thirst and my desire to be a good dad did create the environment in which I found myself struggling and fighting for parental conservativship of my first born child.

My first born child was a daughter who I gained custody of when she was four years old. Once I gained custody I began to embark upon trying to be a good dad. This was also a time in which I was chasing my own personal goals and my own personal dreams. I was an athlete, and coming out of high school I got a special opportunity to get a scholarship to play football with the University of Texas. Accepting the scholarship would make it pretty difficult to maintain a family and to be able to take care of a child.

I decided that I would not be much good to this child if I did not have an opportunity or did not provide an education for myself – I knew that I could better myself. I had to make some sacrifices – would it be academics, would it be athletics, or would it be parenthood? All those things, as you would imagine, were very important. One without the other didn’t make sense. I found myself struggling; struggling to fit in with my teammates and struggling to fit in with my classmates. They did not have the task of trying to be a father during their college days. One was supposed to have the happiest times of their life in college and yet I had a child. There were times in which I remember my daughter having to go to class with me, and having a professor look at me like – why do you have this child in class? I was on a scholarship but didn’t really have money and didn’t come from a family with money. I was just getting by. As I search memory now trying to figure out how I did it, I really don’t have an answer for it. I can only say that I did it by the grace of God, and also by the support of a young lady who was there for me, and helped to support me during that time. I ultimately ended up marrying this young lady – my wife Cheryl. She was very involved and was a very crucial piece in me being able to be the type of father that I wanted to be.

As you view a picture of my daughter and see her picture with me, there was much sacrifice involved with that relationship. I learned from my own personal lack of relationship with my father, the importance of trying to be there. I learned the importance of trying to give time to a kid that just needed to have this male figure around. I knew that a kid  was going to have a longing for this male figure. I have always heard the statistics and people talking about the black man not being there for his child. I was always disturbed by that because I never ever in my mind could see myself not being there for a child. I was looking to break the cycle of having a kid come up without a dad.

Now, there’s a lot that has happened between now and then, there is a lot of space and time, but the one thing that stays consistent with me is the fact that I realized the importance of being a dad through this early relationship with my first born child. I am now the father of many – some biological and others of those of which I choose to try to have some influence on their life. I figure now, that there was a purpose, and there was a reason I didn’t have a father in my household. There was a reason why I didn’t have person I could call “dad.” It has helped to shape and make me who I am today. It has helped to put me in a place where I can impact young people in the sense because I know what’s it’s like not to have that father figure.  I know the struggles that are involved with not having a dad.  I can relate and not only can I relate, I can also offer solutions. I now understand what it means to try to break the historical cycles that our families and our African American community relationships have, or lack thereof relationships that we have with our fathers. I can speak to that. I can speak to it because I have been a part of it; I have been on both sides actually.

I had another daughter shortly after my first. This was a daughter I was not  a father to on a daily basis because again, I was not married. She was raised in a different household so I had to find a different way to have involvement with her. She did not live with me on a daily basis. I understand the challenges from a kid’s perspective and I understand the challenges from a father’s perspective. When a father has a desire to be there for a kid, it’s a tough balance. With God there is a way to prevail. There is a way to nurture a child and give them the love and the attention they deserve and need from the male figure. If you can see the eyes of my child in the photos of myself and my child, you will see that she is all the better for my presence. I thank God for the opportunity to be a dad. I thank God for the chance to continue  to work to try and get it right.

By no means am I perfect – I have made many a mistake. I have been a part of this cycle. I am trying to train my son so that he will not create the cycles that I have created in having children out of wedlock. It is a task that I hope to be successful at. I have many years to find out the answer to that. I will continually try to work to make a difference with children to help them to know that there is a different way to do it. I personally have found that God is my way. I am now relying on God to give me   answers to help me make better decisions and to make better choices. I am praying that happens. I don’t know that it will but I am praying for and keep searching for his voice – because he speaks to me. He speaks to me so that I may have the opportunity to talk to others that they won’t make some of the mistakes that I made. For the pain that it causes…an everlasting pain that it causes for a young person is beyond what’s necessary. There is no need for it. We just have to find a way to ask God to give us answers that we make better choices and that we make better decisions, and that we involve ourselves in relationships that will be healthy, and relationships that when we bear children that we would be there to take care of them. If you learn anything from me it’s just the spirit of keep moving forward to be the best that you can be. Know that you have influence on others. You have the unique opportunity as a dad to affect someone else’s life,  and we have to take that seriously.

Thank You

By Deborah Roberts

My story is not unlike millions of others who have dreams of achieving goals not quite slated for the life they were born into. To understand my journey let’s start from the beginning; I am the fifth child in a family of ten. My parents were hard working class people and provided a reasonably good life for us.  When I was in third grade I realized something, I wanted to be an artist. I didn’t even know what that meant – In fact I still don’t. I was eight years old and I drew on anything that moved. I was very creative, I drew on paper bags, walls, floors, sidewalks and even books, oh yes I said it, books. If I chose a book and it didn’t have a picture in it I drew one or if it had one I drew a better one, according to my sister.

No one could stop me; my mother would spank me and demand that I not leave my mess lying about the house. My father would tease me about my work and declare it would never amount to anything – it did. Now, I am not blaming my parents for the harsh reality they were exposing me to. They wanted me to be objective; the notion that I would be a professional artist in their minds was ludicrous. They had never seen a black artist before nor had they heard of someone making a living “coloring within the lines.” I now know as an adult that they wanted the best for me, but I was eight years old, and at eight there are no absolutes.

My mind was made up, no amount of teasing, doubting or physical persuading could turn me around. Family support is crucial and mine came around eventually, but support was not the determining factor. I drew because I loved to draw. It is as much a part of me as my arms and legs. The odd thing about it is that I cannot give a persuasive explanation of why I needed to be an artist. I guess I’m flawed in that way, but I have experienced the greatest of highs and have traveled to places simply because of my art. The message in this story and many others is we must live our lives in the spirit of that eight year old. Be adventurous, fearless and even defiant, if that assists you in your journey.

According to Sigmund Freud, “Reality passes its own verdict.” The reality and verdicts of our lives can be complicated and cruel. We live in the real world and some things are simply impossible. We are constantly adjusting to the ups and downs life throws at us daily. We must guard daily against complacency and laziness in order to achieve ones goals. The true measure is that we must stay diligent in our quest for success.  I don’t live in the shadow of “what ifs’ or “because” I have taken chances with my work pushed boundaries of what is comfortable and safe. I still try and embody the spirit of my younger self; on many occasions I open the door and simply leap!

Reflections on My Hometown

Huntsville, Texas

By

Burke Reed, Jr.

With the historic and orderly transfer of power from George W. Bush to Barrack Obama, the first African American President, this nation opened a new chapter in its ongoing development and once again showed the world its greatness.  It is a greatness that did not come easily.  It is a greatness that came about as a result of the pain, abuse and injustices suffered by those who would dare question an inherently immoral but legal system called segregation. Like many small towns in the south, some of that pain, abuse and injustice took place in Huntsville.

Forty-five years ago I was a young Black teenager growing up in Huntsville at a time when the city, the state and this nation was being challenged to stand and make good on its obligation to insure equal justice for all of its citizens.  It was a time when challenging the “status quo” often came with a terrible price to be paid.  For all of those brave persons, Black and White, who gave their lives fighting for our civil rights, we must never forget their sacrifice and at this moment in history offer to them a special prayer or words of Thanks.

For many others like myself, we lived to see in President Obama the fruits of the seeds that were planted years ago. Seeds that go back to a time in Huntsville when the Texan Café and the Raven Café were for white only patrons.  Seeds that go back to a time when the Walker County court house had white only drinking fountains and restrooms. These seeds of change took root because a few individuals in Huntsville, Black and White, decided to stand and fight against segregation, the system that perpetrated inequality.

As a teenager involved in the first organized voter registration efforts and the protest demonstrations in front of the Texan and Raven cafes, my gratitude is extended to the many Whites that joined our efforts and were often time physically abused because they supported the movement. Without their organizational skills and participation, the movement may have failed.

Because of my involvement in the movement, my senior year at the all Black Sam Houston High School and thus my future was threatened by the White superintendent of schools in a profanity laced tirade that would have made the most hardened individuals blush. Try to imagine what it was like to be a Black 17 year old high school senior with a full athletic scholarship getting cussed out by the superintendent and being told he would not let you graduate if you continued the voter registration efforts and your involvement in the civil rights protest movement.  I chose to continue my participation and I thank God he did not follow through with his threats.

After I went off to college, my younger sister, nieces and nephews continued in the movement. In his book, “If Not Me, Who?”, Wendell Baker wrote: “County Judge Amos Gates, who judged them delinquents for “repeated unlawful assembly” sent six girls to the Crockett State School for Girls and three boys to the Gatesville School for Boys.”

Four of those nine students incarcerated were my younger sister, a niece and 2 nephews. My sister and a nephew are deceased but to the four of them because of their bravery and the injustice they suffered, I dedicate this commentary.

So, as a Nation and as a Race of People we celebrate, some with glee, the election of our first African American President.  However, as we enjoy this historical moment, let us never forget the people and their sacrifices that helped make this moment possible.  To all of them, this nation is indebted.

My name is Joe Neves. I was raised in Austin, Texas. I graduated from Del Valle High School in 1981 and attended the University of Texas. How I ended up working with children and living in a totally different environment and culture is a story within itself.

My father was raised in a city in Massachusetts named New Bedford. The City of New Bedford was the world’s most famous whaling era seaport and is currently the number one fishing port in America. This city is a wonderfully diverse, culturally rich community with a proud present, past and future. The city is populated with Irish, French, Portuguese, Cape Verdean and African-American descendants.

One summer while on semester break from the University of Texas, I contacted a cousin to find summer employment for me in New Bedford. Off to New England to work on a beach for the summer! How could you beat that! It seemed too easy and it was. After I had arrived in New Bedford, I was informed that the job that was promised to me was given to a State Senator’s son. I felt politics working firsthand in the wrong way. Now, what was I going to do? I turned down summer financial aid at UT to have a fun summer working up north and it was now all gone. I looked everywhere for jobs. I found a part time job working at a grocery store, but I needed more income to survive and to save money for school for the fall semester at UT. Another cousin that worked in a Day Care program offered to hire me to work as a substitute at a summer camp. My first thought was no way! I am nobody’s babysitter and I was going to school to become an Accountant. Children were not an alternative to work on a beach for the summer! Reluctantly, I went for a day to see what it was all about and really to see if I could tolerate the kids and collect a paycheck.

They say, “Things happen for a reason”. This is one of those reasons that people believe in that quote. Mind you before that summer, all my jobs during the semester breaks were retail and business oriented. My thoughts were to learn how business worked and use that experience to further my education in the accounting field. I went to the Day Care program and basically was told to walk around and just mingle with the children. Mingle with kids that I didn’t know or were related to? Yeah, this was going to be boring! Then it happened… All these children came up to me and started talking, laughing and listening to my every word! These children were interested in me and were happy that I was interested in them! Words can’t explain the uplifting joy this gave me. At the time, I didn’t understand it; but these children just wanted someone to listen to them and not judge them. Later I found out that a lot of these children came from broken homes and were involved heavily with Social Services. I remember being advised that if I showed them respect, they would respect and follow my lead. What an understatement! I felt like the Pied Piper! I ended working at the camp for the summer and then decided to take a semester off and work the Day Care Program in the fall. It was a hard decision, but these children affected me in ways that they will never realize. It wasn’t the fact that I felt sorry for them; it was the fact that they had someone that believed in them, no matter what had transpired in their lives. I had become a role model and did not even realize it!

The fall was over and I had promised my parents that I would go back to school for the Spring semester at UT. I left New Bedford with a heavy heart, but I was going to be an Accountant! Make money, drive a nice car, live in a fancy house, and be the one to make a difference in the financial world! My children from the Day Care would send letters to keep me updated on their lives. I read them but I wasn’t part of that anymore. I was trying to get back to the reason that I went to UT; get a great job in the Accounting field. I was torn. As a minority, I always wanted to make a positive difference. I thought by being this Accountant, I would have all that I wanted.

One day I’m walking on campus at UT, and I see this group of children on a field trip. I look at these children and I wonder what their lives would be if they didn’t have the support to become the best that they can be. My children up North know only know New Bedford and their neighborhood. They only know what they can’t do; they need to know what they can do!

To make a long story short; twenty four years later I am still doing what I set out to do while at UT-as a minority, make a positive difference! I am the Director of an Afterschool Day Care Program in New Bedford. I have been the Director for the last 22 years. At the age of 24, I was the youngest Director of all the School Age Day Cares in the city of New Bedford. The greatest reward is to see these children succeed and to have their children attend my Day Care Program. Throughout all of this I have figured out that teaching children social skills and self-esteem is the greatest reward. Some people prefer fancy cars and fancy houses. I prefer the satisfaction of a child becoming an adult in the right direction, giving back to his/her community, and staying positive. Someone once said, “People may doubt what you say, but they will believe what you do”. At Dennison Memorial Community Center we do! Below is a brief synopsis of the Center.

Dennison Memorial Community Center has served the children and families of inner-city New Bedford well for over 183 years with a host of active programs and positive direction. Initially called the “City Female Tract Society” (1826), in 1857 the child, youth and family service agency was established to care for the poor and needy families of the city’s South End. In 1868, the institution was formally incorporated.

First organized as a women’s health center, programs were eventually developed as the agency grew which focuses primarily on helping immigrant children and adults to assimilate into the new country, culture and community. In the 1800’s, Tristan B. Dennison firmly established the human service agency by leading it for nearly 40 years. As the years progressed, the mission of Dennison Memorial Center evolved and became more directed toward serving troubled, at-risk children. Dennison then broadened its scope by reaching out to immigrants, disadvantaged children and the families of seamen. Today, the agency is exclusively devoted to providing child and youth programs.

THE MISSION: The mission of Dennison Memorial Center is to address the educational and social needs of children of lesser circumstances between the ages of 6 and 17.

To accomplish its objectives, Dennison Memorial Center offers social, education and recreation services from its inner-city facility. Dennison’s programs are structured to guide children and adolescents into maturity through wholesome programs and activities. The programs are aimed at increasing each child’s self-esteem in order to assist them during periods of difficult choices. At present, an estimated 250-300 predominantly minority children from low-income families are member of Dennison Memorial Center.

In light of the demographics of New Bedford’s South End and the serious need to serve higher numbers of socially-challenged children and adolescents, it became apparent to the leaders of Dennison Memorial Center that the 1904 program center had to be demolished and a new and more functional facility constructed. Due to the poor and unsafe condition of the upper floors, activities for the children were limited to the ground floor of the old building. Rather than renovating the 1904 building, the leaders of Dennison Memorial Center concluded that it would be more economical and cost-effective to erect a new center next to the gymnasium.

Upon demolition of the 1904 building, the new two-story Program Center was built on the same site. The cost of the new building was $900,000. All funds for the building were procured through donations and grants from numerous foundations.

The South End of New Bedford

Dennison Memorial Center serves one of New Bedford’s most economically-challenged and socially-underserved neighborhoods. There are few single-family homes in our community. Street after street of 3- and 4-story tenement houses blanket the South End, and most of the families who reside in these old wooden structures are low-income and disadvantaged. Most are at-risk. A high percentage of the primarily Latino, African-American and Cape Verdean families are headed by single parents.

Social discord is high in the South End. In fact, the highest rates of drug traffic, domestic violence, gang activity, unemployment and juvenile crime can be found in the many resource-poor neighborhoods immediately surrounding Dennison Memorial Center. Although some children are bused to Dennison from other parts of the city, most of the agency’s 450-500 young m embers reside with their families in the immediate vicinity. Dennison Memorial Center stands in the middle of the lowest economic census tract in New Bedford.

The Children of Dennison

The boys and girls of Dennison Memorial Center come from lesser circumstances. An annual fee of only $5 makes a child or teen a member of Dennison Memorial Center. However, due to the poor economic condition of most of the parents, only a rare few pay the annual fee. An estimated 77% of the children are minority with Latino’s (52%) comprising the largest group. Girls represent 50% of the 450-500 members. Other ethnicities include African-American, Cape Verdean, Azorean and Portuguese Caucasian children account for less than 23% of the members.