Nothing like February to bring out the Black History in the States. I used to make a point to read books written by Blacks during this time, but my life has become so complicated with schedules that I’m happy to read a little of everything in my current stack of books and magazines. I just trust an article or two must have been written by a Black person.
Nonetheless, I especially take advantage of the events that happen to fit into my schedule such as the Black History program that took place at my school this past Thursday. There are seemingly only a handful of Black students at my high school; so I wanted the few who did attend to see that there are Black teachers at the school. Moreover, I made a point to shake hands with the school’s namesake. He didn’t remember meeting me previously, but I can forgive the only Black man who has a school named after him in my district.
I enjoyed the dancing, singing and stepping, but I was quite surprised when one of my students recited a poem from “For Color Girls Who Have Considered Suicide when the Rainbow Is Enuf.” I was planning to see that Ntozake Shange play on the following Saturday. The next day I had that student in class, I told her where “For Colored Girls” was playing and I proudly let her know that I was in one of Shange’s one-act plays although I could not remember the name of it. I described it to her and she recalled reading about it.
As a watched the play with a friend, who had never previously heard about it, we both related and empathized with the seven women on stage who had various challenges with their relationships with men. Although the music selection contained current songs, one thing that struck me as “dated” was the fact that none of the characters were gay. Certainly if Ms. Shange had updated this play, one of the characters would most certainly have to be gay.
I also thought about three girlfriends and I going to an event next Saturday. Each one of us could be considered a mixture of the seven women from “For Colored Girls,” which is the power behind the piece.
The strategies that we employ to survive in order to face our adversities and deal with our vulnerabilities reflect a vital part of who we are. Sometimes, it’s so easy to watch a presenation objectively. Every now and again, a piece makes one reflect about past personal choices.
Afterwards, I went to a milonga. Normally, I would have gone home since I was in such a pensive head space, but this particular milonga was to honor a fellow tanguero who had recently past away. I had casually known him through dancing, but I never knew that he had been chronically ill. On some level, I’m sure his loved ones are relieved that he’s finally resting in peace. Yet, what an inspiration he was. Everytime I saw him, I recall that he always had a smile on his face and appeared to be happy.
Now I wonder if that happiness stemmed from knowing that his days were numbered. All of our days are numbered, but for people who are chronically ill, they know not to take anything for granted.
I find myself becoming complacent about the daily grind of trying to do “everything” and when everything is said and done, I can say that I’m mostly happy with all the choices that I’ve made in my life. I convinced myself nearly 20 years ago that the point of my life is to be happy. Even in times of brief unhappiness, I’ve always dealt with life’s struggles and found a way back to laughter and making new friends.
Several times throughout the play, the actresses talked about reaching the end of one’s rainbow. They never mentioned finding the pot of gold, yet my pot of gold would consist of being thankful for what I have, being mindful of my happiness and being creative in all my endeavors.