Recently, my brother shared a story our father never told us. As a young boy in the Jim Crow South, my father was forced to ride on the hood of a speeding car while white men tried to make him let go. He held on for dear life. If he hadn't survived that day, I would not be here. This is the story of Black fathers' legacy: the silent sacrifices, untold pain, and extraordinary courage that became the foundation of our freedom.

When Strength and Grace Carried Me Through We are not alone. Strength arrived when exhaustion said, “Sit down.” Grace whispered, “Stand up.” The show had to go on, and it did. There was a set to build, a book table to decorate and prepare, and a story waiting to be told. Since December, the flu virus had left my body drained. Being tired or afraid of being tired had not been an option. The Tuesday before the Friday night Zora Neale Hurston performance , I finally surrendered

After reading Zora Neale Hurston’s Barracoon, something inside me shifted. I realized the most important Black History I can celebrate is me. I Am Black History because I carry the DNA of survivors — men, women, and children who walked 200 miles barefoot in chains, survived the horrors of the barracoon, and endured the Middle Passage where up to 15% never made it. My DNA was packed like cargo into the belly of ships. It arrived on Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina, only to f

Celebrate Zora Neale Hurston legacy: Reflections on her grave, restoring her home, acceptance practices, and free events for peace and resilience. Join the journey thru gratitude and healing.