It was the first week of February and, like most typical weekday mornings, I was rushing to get my girls to school. As I dropped off Sage, my youngest, the director of her day care pulled me aside to find out whether I was planning to get her African heritage portrait taken. They were setting up now, she said, and I hadn’t filled out a form.
I honestly planned on opting out. But with this conscious or subconscious nudge, I said yes. I don’t know why I was thinking about skipping the heritage picture, being Black History Month and all. But as I thought about it, I’d always been a little skeptical about the holiday.
Now don’t get me wrong, I believe there should be a time to celebrate African American heritage, but I prefer not to get caught up in the logistics of it being designated to a particular month. And the fact that I always hear the same focal points of our history during this time had been a turn off.
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