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My Personal Development Journey as a Black Woman

give your parents the report. Everything had to be discussed in a formal, anxiety-inducing parent-teacher conference. Mrs. Hill, my mom and I would sit down in the same classroom, which was eerily quiet without the other students, and talk about my grades.

In one of those meetings, when my mom asked about my growing collection of C’s, Mrs. Hill turned the question back on me.“Lydia, you know what happened,” she said. “Tell your mother what you do in the back of the class while I’m teaching.”Slowly and quietly, I answered, “I draw pictures and tell jokes to my friends.”“And what else?”“We make origami.

And we fold sheets of paper into rectangles, draw buttons on them, and pretend it’s a Game Boy.”Obviously, my mom wasn’t happy.

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