Exasperated, I settled at my desk, face in my hands, fighting back tears. The morning started out with such hope and good energy. Felt good…looked good…smelled good…The day’s outlook was promising as I walked into the school building and then into my classroom sashaying to my desk. I opened my laptop to check my email to find a request. My principal wanted to meet, in his office, during my planning. I was being summoned to the “Principal’s Office.” This can’t be good.         

My principal was a fairly quiet young looking fellow. He greeted all he came into contact with when in the hallways, yet gave off the vibe of being aloof, because he wasn’t approachable.  I take that back, he was accessible to a few who had common physical characteristics. It was almost as if he lurked to see if he could catch you doing something he disapproved of. I didn’t want to be on his radar.  Without question, his presence demanded respect, not only because he was the principal but, most importantly, due to his privilege. You could sense the presence of superiority. 

Keeping all of this in mind, I entered with caution, he gestured for me to have a seat and leaned comfortably back in his chair. We smiled and greeted each other; suddenly, with a smirk on his face, he stated, “just because you are a good teacher doesn’t mean that you are a good LEADER.” The gravity of his statement didn’t register; I sat, dumbfounded, not knowing how to respond. I couldn’t speak. My voice had been crushed. He, then, with no further explanation, abruptly told me that I could return to class.

I was speechless, confused, in a daze. The hallway was hazy and I floated. As I passed some of my colleagues, they asked if I was okay. I’m not sure if I responded. What in the hell just happened?  What would make a person feel as if it’s acceptable to say such a thing? His dismissal began to replay, frame by frame.  There were so many questions and no answers. Why did I not inquire? I could have kicked myself, because the closer I got to my classroom the more  it dawned on me that I had been insulted and told, like a child, to go back to class.  The impulse to scream almost engulfed my entire being-envisioning myself in boxing gear air boxing. 

 I plop down and began to remember some of the things I learned over the years from my parents and other adults who poured love and knowledge into me. “Renee, people will try to tear you down. As a believer you must know that no weapon formed against you shall prosper. You keep praying and believing that God works for the good of those who love Him and have been called according to his purpose,” my mother lovingly told me,  after I suffered a crushing disappointment. “But Mom, what does it mean,” I inquired. I know now. My mother, her mother, her mother’s mother- back and back and back- prayed and spoke scriptures and affirmations over the future generations. Growing up in a church was love. For it wasn’t just building, it was the people. 

As nostalgia takes over my being, I see particles of dust floating as the sun beams through the windows and feel the wooden pews(no cushions) filled with men, women, and children. It’s really a sight to see. Most people dressed in the best fashion they could make or buy at a reasonable price. Those who had very little came as they were, because all were welcomed. Before the minister comes out, the praise (singing, prayer, and testimonies) portion begins. This is always a time of excitement, because you never know what will happen-how the spirit will move. To hear that thump, thump, thump of feet belonging to Deacons and the Mother’s Board (older ladies,who wore all white and  held in high esteem in church-much like a deacon but not a deacon) seated on the first row, was the beginning. They, alongside the pastor, were leaders of the church. As their feet hit the wooden floor to the rhythm of an old spiritual, everyone else begins to stomp, and fill every crevice of the building. We all harmonize, in acapella,  

“The way may not be easy

You didn’t say that it would

be

For when our tribulations get too

light

We tend to stray from Thee

Have mercy

Lord, don’t move the mountain

Give me the strength to climb

Lord, don’t move my stumbling  

blocks

But lead me all around…”

(Songwriters: D. Akers)

After a while, there are no words for they’d become moans and groans. The old folks say that the devil can’t interpret moans and groans. You see, Jesus intercedes on our behalf and interprets them to our Father in Heaven. The whispers began to come from my ancestors and quicker than a flash it came to me-Who qualifies me? 

Definitely not man. 

It angered me that I cared. The thought of caring got me even more riled. Forgive me, but I’m still a work in progress. When I tell you, I should’ve smacked that smirk off his face. I was furious with myself….damn,  How dare he!? This man, whose skin did not look like mine, looked me eye to eye- twitching and crap-, but without hesitation, insulted me in an attempt to kill my spirit. Not only was I a good teacher, but also the chairperson of a thriving department. I’d been selected before he came on the scene (and was there after he left). Nonetheless the more I mulled over it, the more anger bubbled in my gut. The absolute regret of not responding ate me up. The Trump of my mortal heart attempted to destroy me. How could he be allowed to get into my psyche and destroy the part of me that had many successes and, through some failures, so much growth? 

How does one get past this without being eaten up inside? This was in every corner and crevice of my mind. There was no space left-no way to decompress. For, it has become a ball and chain tied around my neck,weighing me down. I could still smell the musty scent of his office wafting in my nostrils, gaze upon his menacing smirk, hone in on his vile insulting tone, experience the disbelief and then outrage, perceive my crestfallen heart and penetrating sobs due to the near fatal wound, and as I reached forth to snatch what little dignity I had-it was all for naught.

I reflected on the day which caused my mocha skin to grow hot with fury. Then, I noticed that my scalp was damp. A clear sign that my blowout and flat iron were going to be a waste if I don’t do something quickly. There was no way I was going to have an Afro the next day. Everyone knows that a Black woman doesn’t play about her hair, her crown.  My crown may have been tilted, but it hadn’t fallen off. I immediately got up and tied my hair down.  The one thing I (any black woman) would not allow to happen was to mess up my hair. No one would ever know that encounter with him made me sweat. Afterwards, I sat down and realized that I was too mad to even eat. My mind was racing-I couldn’t settle down. It had been months since I had to take my anxiety medication. I needed to sleep so I reached for the bottle and took one. 

I see and feel myself gliding through a room, as if on a cloud. I pass by doctors, lawyers, judges. None seem to notice me. They continue their lite banter, within their cliques, with bursts of laughter here and there. Out of nowhere I hear, in the not so far distance, Boom, Boom, BOOM! I stop dead in my tracks. I’m looking around and no one else  seems to have heard. As I attempt to determine the direction of the sound, the room begins to spin and my eyes narrow into slits trying to isolate and identify the sound. Without warning, the floor begins to tremble and the clattering of silverware, tables being turned over, shattering of Crystal goblets, piercing screams, and the trampling feet of  a hundred people grappling for safety heighten my senses. No matter the source of the sound, I realize that survival is paramount. I’m in flight to the nearest place of safety. I’m blindsided by someone who is in search of the same thing. I begin to fall backwards…arms and legs flailing. With a thud, my body hits the floor, and my head strikes a nearby cabinet and darkness becomes my cloak. 

        My eyes open, and I feel something evil flowing over me like molten lava-entrapping me. Through wild eyes everything is blurry and the gloom filled clouds creep throughout the atmosphere. Flakes are drifting down slowly. ‘Is that snow?’ I think to myself. I breathe in, I begin coughing. I feel as if my lungs are caving in. I’m bent over with labored breathing and desperately gasping for air. Falling to the ground, I notice gray feathery clumps all around me.  I come to my senses. I panic. 

A scream is on the tip of my  tongue. I open my mouth, silence. “Please somebody, anybody, help me; help us.” The helplessness is overwhelming.  My breath begins to come in quick rapid gasps, and tears stream down the sides of my face. The tears dry and leave light salty streaks. While I lay there for hours, in the darkest deepest corner of my mind, I feel myself slipping away and then engulfed in darkness. Despair and fear take over every part of me. I hear whispers of a thousand voices. Am I dying? The whispers gradually became a lion’s roar. 

They say, “You are the dream of your ancestors. The reason we persistently and cleverly fought. Your God given purpose has not been fulfilled, and the fight for survival of the next generation lies within you. It’s time for you to step out of the shadows, for God has always been with and for you. Let your light shine; for, no man can extinguish it.”  

My breathing begins to slow and my heartbeat regulates. The fight to press on becomes a lioness. I crouch down and my eyes lock in on my purpose. I spring forward, reaching out for the One who can save me, and desperately grab onto the hem of His garment. With a slight turn and descension of hand, I simultaneously reach up to grab it and see the mark of the nail. I’m enveloped into safety. Suddenly, everything around me starts to become blurry, and my hand starts to slip. 

I awake, sit up, turn on the light, and look around. Relief, and then disappointment, flood over me; for I could no longer feel that loving presence. Does that mean I’m alone?  I can’t see air, but I know it’s there. Love is intangible, but I can feel it. Why do I question that unconditional love and presence at this moment? To dream this dream is to hope for something that has yet to come to fruition. I must believe and continue to work towards it. I dream of being given the recognition I thought I deserved. The truth is that my life has to be a testament to God’s grace and mercy. Simply due to this omnipresence, my dream has already been fulfilled, because God has always seen, heard, and known me.  My life has been mapped out for me based on my free will, and this recognition of me is a guarantee that I will seek my dream, my purpose and fulfill it in God’s name.

 The feeling of inferiority left me, and I began to look at things differently. Am I to allow what someone else thinks to determine how I react? Childishly, I could limit what I do in the future or choose to do the minimum. At that moment I have an epiphany, I know that to be a good teacher is to lead. I’m responsible for educating my students and leading them by example is paramount, for they are watching. Hundreds of little eyes are depending on my best efforts. I will not disappoint. 

      For the first time in weeks I’d dealt with this feeling of inferiority, but I awoke with the feeling of accomplishment. I skipped my morning anxiety pill, which I’d been taking since the incident. However, today, negative vibes were no longer welcome. Those feelings had worked their way out of my system without my being aware. Nothing can ruin my day. This Queens crown had been readjusted. Until I walked into the hallway during class transition and  looked over my right shoulder and saw my nemesis and the Curriculum Leader coming down the hall and that fresh accomplished feeling came to a screeching halt. Frantically, I tried to escape- Who knows what he’s said to her. However, after noticing her big smile, I stood firm. She walked over, my principal in tow, and began sharing that I was one of best English Chairs in the division and she’d like me to mentor a newly selected chairperson at another school. The odes to Queen V were very impressive and well deserved. I looked to my left and saw the- “I don’t want to hear this” look on his face. However,  when she turned to look at him, the accolades that began to pour from his mouth were surreal. Less than a month ago, he dragged me through the mud.I stood there and thought, “Where’s the lie?” Sheer amusement was displayed on my face (I almost laughed out loud) as I looked my principal in the eyes. As they walked off I turned, with my head uplifted and a smirk on my face, and sashayed into my classroom feeling vindicated. He dogged me out in private but praised me publicly. God got into the heart of this man. The weapon that was formed against me didn’t prosper. For, I am more than a conqueror!