​The summer solstice is a celebration and recognition of the longest day with daylight in the calendar year.  If you follow nature, this is also the time of year where almost everything is in bloom and growing forward. This collection of powerful stories and arts from our Black, Brown, People of Color (BIPOC) creatives also proves that point.  These stories represent growth, power and encouragement for our readers and for ourselves!  Please read and share widely, s that the world can be still as the world celebrates some outstanding contributions.

​A Modern Tribal Earth Day
Rebecca Lamar -Curator, Founder of Skirt in the Dirt Storytelling
This Earth Day I had a truly intimate experience with nature. Many times in the past, my inner educator would delight in creating opportunities and lessons surrounding why we need to keep the earth safe and what the impact on humanity would be if we lost all our beloved trees and water sources. What I experienced this particular Earth Day was a different kind of action bringing about protection and connection to our sacred Mother Earth. Deep within the forest of the Coverdale Farm Preserve is a majestic marvel of the past; the American Chestnut Tree, once populating the east coast like a blanket of green canopy from the deep south, through the northeast is now in danger of extinction and we were on a journey of love and protection. I remember one tribe’s member sharing that, “it was said that a squirrel could make it from Georgia to Maine without touching the ground.” The tree once provided a great amount of resources to the Indigenous people of this region hundreds of years ago. And it was because of that detail, that I found myself in the forest, far from the buzz of Wilmington, walking, touching, feeling, breathing in the gift that is ours: PURE nature. A year ago, I was still looking for my connection to the land, and even though I was aware that in some way, I was connected to the land, I didn’t know where it was coming from, and how I was supposed to strengthen that tie. In the chaos of the world around me I had forgotten that you just have to start your own journey back to your native roots. And even though I was not sure how to take care of the land, I certainly felt a need to do it. 
 
Last Saturday afternoon, the air was stirring, but not more than a gentle breeze. The sun was out, but not particularly hot, and the creatures were quiet, as humans walked through their homestead, carefully stepping over critical flowers and food sources on the forest floor. As I began down the hill, I quickly noticed that the leaves were moving steadily as we entered the forest away from the gravel trail. I noticed bright outbursts of color from the wildflowers on the side of the path. I began to hear some birds singing, possibly discussing their tasty breakfast of bugs. I walked over a fallen, rotted tree and smelled an earthy woody musk, quickly transporting me back to Girl Scout camp. I knew this smell, I knew those flowers, and I knew I was supposed to be in the forest, walking carefully on a land that my ancestors and their sister tribes walked, lived and cared for as a community.  And while in my 2023 mindset, I was considering how I was going to “post this adventure on my Instagram,” but I also felt the need to put my phone away and tap into the undercurrent of the magic of the wild. My peers, fellow tribe members of the Nanticoke Indian Tribe, Lenape Indian Tribe of Delaware, Nanticoke Lenni-Lenape Tribal Nation, also began to quiet down as we got closer to the very last American Chestnut Tree in the state of Delaware.IN Nanticoke, the word for American Chestnut is “Īhkwamins” and hearing that word for the first time, had me reflect on how much more I was hoping to learn about this treasure.  A treasure that was sick, and it needed its people, the Native caretakers of the planet, to stop what they were doing, come to the forest and provide a great healing, at the request of the Creator and the sacred tree. It suddenly became very clear that we, the natives of this land, were needed in a way I had not been personally used before. We became a collective of healers, and we were using traditional, not modern methodology to bring life back to this tree. In our ceremony of connected love, we revered the tree, we spoke our native language to the tree, and we left a part of ourselves at the side of the tree to ensure that others knew a sacred moment had happened in that spot. By placing Prayer Ties on the stump next to the Chestnut Tree, we left a message to those who passed by, encouraging them to show honor and move slowly. The drumming and chanting brought a mighty wind that blew hats and chairs over. The wind confirmed that our ancestors had joined us in ceremony, and they were pleased that we came to their call.
As we began to make our way back down to the quarters where some tasty treats and cold drinks awaited us, I noticed that the wind did not follow us. In fact, the forest was as quiet as ever. I began to listen for the different sounds of the birds calling, and the trickle of the little stream, as I crossed the bridge.  Once again, in my natural kingdom, I noticed the shades of purple among the green, not just purple flowers. I noticed how other sisters and brothers were experiencing the land around us. They were joyful, engaged and taking in the smells and sounds around them. The very healing that we had attempted to bring to the tree was now reconnecting us to pure joy of land love. We had been called to the center of the forest to perform a great healing. It was clear that an invocation of community was needed in the moment to continue the legacy of a tree that helped our ancestors when they were in this land before us. No one human or creed could have brought that confirming wind to the ceremony. It was through community that showed love to a tree so that the tree has brighter and taller days ahead. And, just as it was spoken by a great elder on that spot, that our communities also need a great healing,  much like the vine that crawls up the trees, so does the crime and violence in our communities. We must band together and bring a great healing there as well.  
On the top of that hill, with one hand on my heart and one hand on the trunk next to our cherished Īhkwamins. I committed to that tree that I would come back next year and check on it. I sent it a heart intention, smiled, and wiped away one singular tear. In that moment, I had never felt more alive and more Native than right then in that space.  I was anchored in my connection to mother earth and the Creator.  All that was required from me was to take a walk, off the path and follow my tribe and our community. That sense of community brings light and joy to my soul. And that sense of community is all around me, and all around you. As I continue in my delightful tour of spring, I will remember the tree, and I will remember the commitment and community. I will encourage myself and you, to take action so that someone else can get a sense of community that fills their heart with light and joy.  

To listen now, https://www.voiceamerica.com/episode/143288/getting-back-to-your-roots
Episode Description:
Food Deserts are defined as residential communities that are outside of a 1-mile walking distance to a grocery store where fresh food options are sold. The bodegas were processed and unhealthy prepared foods are sold flourish in low-income communities. Almost 250,000 people in Philly lack access to nutritious food to live a healthy life. Food insecurity is more complex than being physically hungry. Access to nutritious food impacts mental health, brain development, and physical and financial well-being. The city of Philadelphia is plagued with food-insecure families that work 40+ hours per week and still don't have access to chemical-free food options. One because they don't understand the importance of it, and two because the access just isn't there. But the inner city is not the only community experiencing this nutritious food drought …. Access to food can seem an afterthought in one of Pennsylvania’s wealthiest counties, where nearly everyone drives. Yet, the USDA’s food desert list includes neighborhoods such as Bensalem, Bristol Borough, Bristol Township, Falls, Sellersville, Warminster, and Quakertown. Featured Guest: Christina Barfield
 
 Our Co-Host Christa Barfield, founder of Farmer Jawn Agriculture, aims to create change and bring awareness to the matters of food waste and food insecurity and the symbiotic relationship between the two. Since 2018, she has developed earth-born brands based in regenerative agricultural values with a goal of traceable and transparent origins of 100% Organically Dope foods. Viva Leaf Tea and FarmerJawn Agriculture are her original two ventures and she now operates a non-profit arm on multiple sites totaling 128 acres of land, who’s mission is to train and educate the nation’s next Black and brown Agripreneurs.
 ​More info about the host:
Dr. Veidre Jackson: CEO/Founder  of Living Strong Consulting LLC
https://www.livingstrongllc.com/
Dr. Veirdre Jackson is a woman pursuing her purpose, passion, and life’s priority to share her belief that all children deserve the best education available. She is an award-winning author, educator, and entrepreneur who is recognized as a leading educational trainer in trauma informed practices and DEIB. She is a veteran educator with over 20 years of experience supporting non-profit and executive leadership. 
 
Through her experiences with systems based approaches to Trauma Awareness and Equity Literacy, the Resiliency Approach, and Positive Behavior and Intervention Strategies, she has harnessed her passion for building organizational resilience and personal strength on behalf of youth, families, and educational professionals. She provides training, consulting and supports for parents, educators, administrators, clinicians and youth development staff who desire to impact children from the inside out.
 
 

​Swallowing Microaggressions by;
Helene Arbouet Harte, Ed.D.
A term coined by Derald Wing Sue, “microaggressions are the everyday slights, indignities, put-downs and insults that members of marginalized groups experience in their day-to-day interactions with individuals who are often unaware that they have engaged in an offensive or demeaning way (Yoon, 2020).”
While reading the novel We Are Not Like Them by Christine Pride and Jo Piazza, I was struck by a reference to microaggressions. A Black woman who is one of the main protagonists in the book is at a formal event where she is a guest. A white man tries to hand her his coat as if she works there. He apologizes, he did not mean it he explains, it's her outfit (black pants and a black top). Later when asked if she had any issues at the door her response is, " 'None at all,' I lie, swallowing the microaggression, as I've done a thousand times" (p. 148). I knew exactly what that meant and how that felt. Both the experiencing and swallowing of microaggressions is a regular occurrence.

Sometimes I know I need to read THAT book or watch THAT documentary or television show or movie, whatever the latest one everyone is talking about that is critically acclaimed and deals with issues of race. Sometimes I can't bring myself to do it because reality has so many microaggressions, roadblocks, memories and barriers. I don't always have the capacity for them in my free time, when I want to escape from reality, but you can never really escape reality can you?

Swallowing microaggressions is like politely finishing a bite of something you don't like because spitting it out would be rude or it isn't the right time and place.

"I have more in common with Black people than I do with white people," she said at the back of the auditorium. She spoke while the keynote speaker was talking, and I wanted to hear the keynote. The comment caught me off guard. What followed was a justification that I didn't care to hear. I want to listen to the keynote. It's not the right time and place. If I could go back, I would say, “that's a really inappropriate comment.” It happened so quickly. This same coworker has made similar comments or jokes and I never said anything before.

She didn't mean it that way. I excuse her every time. She grew up in a different time. She is a good person. If I didn't say anything the last few times, is it too late? Will she ever get it? Is it even worth it? Why does it have to be my job to educate her? Is that my responsibility? What about intent vs. impact? Does her intent matter more than the cumulative impact on me?


We were both in a virtual training about improving student outcomes. It was one week after the murder of George Floyd. In a zoom breakout room, where I was the only person of color, she singled me out asking, "What can White people do?" I was visibly surprised. I was shaken and struggling even before the question. I am forever grateful to the colleague who jumped in and said he would share the Google Doc with the readings, films and actions going around social media. Leveraging his privilege and acting as an ally he acted before I crumbled. Later I thought, did she really just ask me that?

Being the "only" in a setting comes with its own issues. Being singled out to address all things race related is sometimes one of them. The lack of awareness of my emotional state aside, it felt isolating while also minimizing the issues. It felt like asking me to solve systemic inequity and racism in passing. It felt like it would only take a little bit of work to find some resources without putting me on the spot. It seemed like her intent in asking was to show she wanted to be helpful, but the impact was that it erased any feelings of belonging. It centered her and othered me. It's hard to explain and that's the nature of microaggressions.

“I don't think anyone here is biased,” she said in a meeting, and I thought to myself, "Actually we ALL have implicit bias, why do you think you are exempt?" I recognize that I have privileges and implicit biases I need to both actively and intentionally work to fight against.

I did not say anything. The moment passed by so quickly and it was gone. It seems that often happens and the “microaggression moment” goes by so quickly until the next one. I put politeness and other people's comfort before mine. I nod and I smile. I sit in my car and wonder if it's just me being oversensitive or if that was really inappropriate. I avoid interacting.

Since then, ... in between the microaggressions ... there have been trainings attended on DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion), but it hasn't changed the behavior. There are insensitive comments that are perhaps intended to be jokes or sometimes to demonstrate how you "get it." Sometimes the comment is followed by a disclaimer, "You know what I mean." Or "I don't mean it like that."

I feel guilty, as if it is my fault. I walk away owning the shame and blame. I think of what I could have or should have said, like when you think of a witty comeback 15 minutes too late.
Suggested responses to microaggressions include asking for clarification and sharing an example of how you have changed your thinking or language. Another strategy is responding in a way that won’t make people defensive, differentiating between their intent and the impact (Goodman, 2011). Balancing those strategies with self-care is also important. It can also be difficult when it occurs with no one else around (Yoon, 2020). It is an ongoing struggle.

It is as if I am a guest at a fancy banquet. I am still wondering which fork to use. I remember from some movie I saw to work from the outside in. I make the lower-case letters b and d with my hands to know which is my bread plate and which is my drink. I am preoccupied, and when I taste the meal, it is off. I cannot spit it into the fancy cloth napkin, so I swallow it.

These moments are adding up, and I am full, and tired and a bit nauseous. I cannot swallow any more microaggressions.
Reference
Goodman, D. (2011). Responding to microaggressions and bias. Diane Goodman Consulting.
Retrieved May 2, 2023 from: https://dianegoodman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/Responding-to-Microaggressions-and-Bias-Goodman332.pdf
 
Pride, C. & Piazza, J. (2021). We Are Not Like Them. Simon & Schuster.
Yoon H. (2020, March 3). How to Respond to Microaggressions. The New York Times.
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/03/smarter-living/how-to-respond-to-microaggressions.html
 
Helene Arbouet Harte earned her doctoral degree in Special Education and master’s degree in Early Childhood Education from The University of Cincinnati. She has worked in the community as a classroom teacher, center director, coach, content expert and consultant. Her research interests include family engagement, engagement of young children in inclusive settings, the engagement of students in the college classroom, and equity in early childhood education. 

For Part ONE, Please scroll down in a previous blog post from our Spring Equinox edition!

The Black Madonna Spoke: Part II Or, Now I know why…

Before 410 AD, the basilica Notre-Dame de la Daurade (Our Lady of Gold) in Toulouse, France, was the site of a pagan temple dedicated to the god Apollo. Like many of the churches, cathedrals, and basilicas of Europe, the sacred spaces of gods and goddess originally worshipped on those sites were erased by some Christians – primarily the Catholics.

 
Over the centuries the spot where the basilica now stands had been a Benedictine monastery and, oddly, a tobacco factory after the French Revolution. Even the current statue of the Black Madonna is not the original – it’s the third iteration. The first was stolen in the 1400s and the second burned in 1799, another casualty of the Revolution. The statue that spoke to me was created in 1807.
 
While all those changes are notable, what I expect has not changed is the energy of the site. I’ve visited other sacred sites (Chartres Cathedral in France, Machu Pichu in Peru, the Temple of Isis in Egypt, etc.), and the energic experience is always profound.


As I entered Notre-Dame de la Daurade, its dark atrium cut me off from the bright day and I had to pause for my eyes to adjust. Looking back, it could be described as a “reverse birth,” because I was coming in from the light into a dark womb. My separation from the outside was further confirmed by the purifying scent of charcoal and frankincense wafting from the censers.
 
Yes, I was in a sacred space...
 
Nearly alone in the church, I walked around the perimeter where the racks of votive candles flickered like stars under the statue of its patron saint. Each one a prayer by a faithful for intercessions or thanks for a granted miracle. Although confirmed as a teen, I was never a practicing Catholic, but as an adult, I believed in the power of lighting candles to give my own pleas or answered prayers a boost on their way to the Divine.
 
After walking in what seemed like a meditation, I finally found her. The Black Madonna (La Dame Noire) was in her shrine to the left of the altar in the nave. As I sat before her, church bells clanging the noon hour got louder and louder transitioning my mediation into a trance. Tears rolled down my face – for an imperceivable reason. I was not sad. I was not upset. What was happening was that the Divine feminine energy was touching my soul!
 
As my body resonated with the sacred energy of the space and the tears stopped, I opened my journal – which was gold – and began to write. Why was I here? (“Here” meaning many, many things!)
 
Initially, my hand moved slowly as I consciously sought to separate my thoughts from the messages of the Black Madonna.
 
Soon the words came rapidly: “light, light, light” I wrote. Then the sentences: “You are a light worker.” “Your mission is to combat the darkness and dark ideas with light.”
 
Suddenly my head bowed as in prayer, and I had no control over the pen in my hand. I was experiencing automatic writing. The handwriting was jagged, and the letters scribbled outside the lines. I did not know what was coming next. “You are a portal for light energy.” “Fears are illusions.” The messages were clear and unambiguous.
 
I learned that I was “here” – as in this life – and in front of the Black Madonna – because I needed to reawaken to the deep, deep, deep meaning of my existence. 
 
Twelve pages in my hand slowed. The last words were a command to light three candles at the Black Madonna shrine: one for the past, one for the present, and one for the future. I had to collect myself before walking to the candle rack. I needed to assess what had just happened. Did I make it up? Was it real? It had happened. The message was true and penetrating, and I knew it deep down.
 
I lit my candles and walked back out into the bright daylight of Toulouse. However, I was not the same person I was when I entered.  The Black Madonna spoke to me and now so many of my life experiences and my mission make sense.
 
 
Regina Robinson is an adult and K-6 educator and the president of RM Robinson Solutions LLC (RMRS). The company provides workplace, elementary, and early childhood education solutions. She holds a master’s degree in Media Ecology from New York University and lives in a historical house in the Germantown section of Philadelphia with her husband, John, and her dog/son, Iggie.

Name: Andre Harte
Organization: N/A
Contact information: [email protected]

​A pocket of joy is something that resonates in the core of your soul. It’s like an atom in
the molecule of a passion. It puts the wind in your sails. A pocket of joy could be a place, a piece
of art, a hobby, a show, a subject, or a fictional world. Pockets of joy are essential, and they allow
us to feel our deepest emotions, but they vary wildly from person to person. My pockets of joy
might not resonate with you at all—in fact, you might hate them!
For instance, imagine I excitedly show you my favorite song, and you think it sounds
horrible. Then, with a jubilant expression, I ask, “Isn’t this song awesome? What do you think?”
Immediately, you face internal conflict. If you tell me the truth, it may hurt my feelings. But, if
you lie, I may continue to share music of the same kind, and you would need to keep up a façade.
It’s a tricky situation.
However, we can be honest without being hurtful. Dr. Jonice Webb has written about this
conundrum in a Psychology Today article entitled “The Harsh Truth About Brutal Honesty” in
which she juxtaposes “brutal honesty” with “truth with compassion.” Brutal honesty is
completely unfiltered, with no regard for other people’s emotional states. Rather than continuing
a conversation, brutal honesty shuts it down. In my favorite song example, the brutally honest
reply would be, “No, this song is not awesome! I really don’t like it at all.” Naturally, this would
make me feel embarrassed for liking the song. I may shut down or get defensive, and I would
hesitate to share any of my other pockets of joy with you in the future.
A compassionate and truthful response, on the other hand, involves intentional
consideration. First, by thinking about what exactly you want to express, you can ensure that
your message is clear. Then, by reflecting on the sensitivities of the person you’re talking to, you
can avoid unnecessarily hurting them. Finally, by picking the appropriate time and place to
express your honest thoughts, you can set yourself up for a productive conversation rather than
an adversarial one. Going back to my favorite song example, you might say, “Yeah! It’s not the
kind of thing I usually listen to, honestly. I’m not a huge fan of this genre. But this song is so full
of energy. Can you tell me what you love about it?” Instead of pushing me away, this response
pulls me in, allowing me to share why my pocket of joy resonates with me. Maybe it’s my dad’s
favorite song, or maybe it reminds me of a certain meaningful time in my life. Since you haven’t
shared those experiences, you may not feel the same way about the song, but your compassionate
response allowed me to continue sharing in a way that helps you understand more about my
perspective. You should always seek to experience your friends’ pockets of joy through their
eyes, not your own.

Sharing a pocket of joy is a vulnerable act that takes courage and trust. Thus, receiving a
pocket of joy requires empathy. To respond inconsiderately can cause serious emotional harm. In
today’s world, we sometimes forget that having a thought or criticism does not entail that it
needs to be shared. We hear so much about how people are “so sensitive these days” that it might
confuse you into thinking insensitivity or tactlessness is a virtue. It is not. And yeah, some people
are sensitive! Wishing that they didn’t exist won’t stop them from feeling the things they feel.
The only thing that you can control is how you respond to them—with either bluntness or
compassion.
So, if you're on the receiving end of someone's passion—if someone is excited about a
new album or show or anything at all—be happy for them! Be happy with them, even if it's not
something that matches your taste. Listen before you speak. Unsolicited judgment can take the
wind out of anyone's sails, and we could all use a little more wind in our sails these days.
Keep finding your pockets of joy and resting in them, friends.

​Túyastĭ΄ (Jack-in-the-pulpit)
At NRFF, we celebrate all plants and all people. And we’re ending this Pride month by recognizing Túyastĭ΄ (Cherokee), or Jack-in-the-pulpit.

Plants can change gender. It’s natural.
Most young Túyastĭ΄ plants are male and produce pollen. Producing pollen doesn’t take up a lot of energy, so the plant can store extra sugar in its corm. 
When Túyastĭ΄ plants have matured, stored a sufficient amount of energy, and conditions are right, they produce a female flower. But when the flower is pollinated and forms berries, that energy is drained. After one season as female, the plant may revert back to male the following year and only produce pollen. 
Indigenous woodland communities were familiar with Túyastĭ΄, even though it’s extremely toxic. ☠️ The Cherokee treated headaches with a poultice from Túyastĭ΄ roots. The Mohegan steeped dried Jack-in-the-pulpit roots in oil and rubbed the liquid on the body to reduce pain.
Túyastĭ΄ is a reminder that gender fluidity is natural. 



*Disclaimer: This post is for informational purposes only. It is not a substitute for medical advice. Consult a doctor before using this plant for a medical purpose.

References: Chicago Botanic Garden, Minnesota Wildflowers, Highlands Biological Station, Northern Woodlands Magazine, St. Olaf College, Folk Medicine of the Delaware and Related Algonkian Indians by Gladys Tantaquidgeon  📷 @mtcubacenter
 
Native Roots Farm Foundation (NRFF) is a Native (Nanticoke) woman-led organization. Its inception comes from a collective urgency to maintain access to open space in one of the fastest developing regions of the country and celebrate the Indigenous communities, the Nanticoke and Lenape, who have called Delaware home since time immemorial.
 
NRFF's mission: We are reclaiming, cultivating, and celebrating Native relationships with land, plants, and community for the next Seven Generations. 
 
Throughout its work, NRFF identifies native plants in the Nanticoke and Lenape languages; shares traditional Indigenous ecological knowledge and how tribes have used these plants for food, ceremony, medicine, and textiles; helps rematriate seeds to the communities that cultivated them; and nurtures appreciation, awareness, and action for tribal communities and the environment. 
 
Want to learn more about Native Roots Foundation?
Please visit the website here: https://www.nativerootsde.org/
 
 

​I close my eyes and smile at the wonders I see
The birds in the sky, the trees blowing in the wind and the deep blue waters of the sea
 
I can vision life as beautiful as God made it to be
A world that is so full of love for you as well as me
 
I want to keep my eyes close to see the beauty of this world
I want to vision the happiness in life for each boy and girl
 
But I awake from that beautiful vision of peace called tranquility
And I am reminded of our life’s reality
 
Drugs are killing, guns are killing, people on this earth are dying so young
Our children should be enjoying their lives spending time with family and friends and having fun
 
But each time the news is turned on
Another child on this earth is gone
 
Pain in the eyes of mothers and fathers burying their children from the violence on the streets
How can we live in a society…in a world of anger and no defeat
 
We must work together in this world to make it a peaceful place
We are all God’s children no matter of your race
 
Life is a precious gift that was given to us all
But evil does exist because of the fall
 
We can’t let evil take over this world
We as humans need to protect each boy and girl
 
These children who are precious need to grow up and see
That this world can be safe because it starts with you and me
 
Fight with peace, fight with love, fight to strive
To keep all of our children on this earth alive
 
So, close your eyes and vision this world full of love and peace
and know if we work together- the violence of this world will cease
 
Vision a world so peaceful and free
Vision our world- the world that can be
 
 
 
 
                                                          Barbara Bredell (Searle)
                                                                    April 19, 2023

​The summer solstice is a celebration and recognition of the longest day with daylight in the calendar year.  If you follow nature, this is also the time of year where almost everything is in bloom and growing forward. This collection of powerful stories and arts from our Black, Brown, People of Color (BIPOC) creatives also proves that point.  These stories represent growth, power and encouragement for our readers and for ourselves!  Please read and share widely, s that the world can be still as the world celebrates some outstanding contributions.

​Scientifically speaking, the Spring Equinox represents an equal portion of day and night, meaning that the sun is directly over the equator for the northern hemisphere.  This time promises sunlight for more minutes, and eventually hours as plans of frolicking can extend past dinnertime.  In our spirit, this is a time for reflection, growth and of course balance.  These select stories from the BIPOC community bring narratives of strength, self-compassion and seeking balance in a world of consistent chaos and promised uncertainty.

​My Early Entrepreneurship Journey…
My name is Damaris Alvarado-Rodriguez and my journey into the world of childcare was completely unexpected. At the young age of 21, I opened a bar/restaurant in Brooklyn NY. I knew very little about becoming an entrepreneur, but I had a strong work ethic, dedication and command of money management that gave me more opportunities than others in my community who didn't speak English very well.  The business proved to be successful, however it took up much of my time as a single mother. Eventually, I decided to end this venture by selling off my shares and parting ways with my business partner. Several years later, I launched a second enterprise specializing in insurance billing and collections in New York; only to close it shortly after the 9/11 attack when we moved to Philadelphia with our two daughters at the time.
Philadelphia, here I come…
We decided to take a risk and move to Philadelphia. It was an unfamiliar place for us since we knew nobody there and had no connections or support. Fortunately, my husband Franck started his own business, and I was able to find work as a medical assistant/phlebotomist in the Oncology-Hematology ward at Jefferson University Hospital. After that, I studied for EMT/Paramedic courses. The job was challenging, but it allowed me to make important contacts due to my hardworking attitude. Nonetheless, corporate America did not appreciate my entrepreneurial ambitions, so they laid me off in 2002. This unexpected event proved beneficial as it enabled me to pursue my current career path.
Welcome to Childcare by Accident…
When I was laid-off, it came as an unexpected relief. The Oncology/Hematology Department provided financial security that allowed me to take some time off, be home with my daughters, and consider my next career move. This newfound freedom prompted me to volunteer at the YMCA, where my daughter attended their afterschool/summer camp program. It was there that I met Abigail. I heard one of my daughter's teachers say they wanted to get back to work but needed childcare for their newborn. Without a second thought, I offered to look after them until a better alternative emerged. Abigail was the first child in my care, and before long that became six within three months - with a wait list! News must have spread of what I was providing because requests started flooding in. After discussing this with my husband, we realized that this could be turned into something serious - so we made sure we were complying with the relevant regulations before opening our first group childcare center in 2005: Cookie's Daycare Center.
Cookie's Daycare Center was a trailblazer: the first STAR 4 high-quality program in the area and the first minority, women-owned Hispanic business. My family and I faced significant pushback from our largely white community due to our race and ethnicity. We were subjected to racial slurs towards my children, police being called on us to sit on our front porch, complaints about the volume of our music and strange comments about our food. This experience acted as a catalyst for advocacy work that is reflected in my daycare center’s mission: to be an inclusive, high quality childcare program where all families feel welcome and empowered to reach their full potential. With that vision in mind, my “Hustle Till You Drop” journey began!
Grant funding and expansion opportunities –
Thanks to grant funding opportunities and the need for childcare, I was able to open Children's Playhouse Early Learning Center in 2014. Seeing that South Philadelphia had the highest ACE Scores for Trauma in this time, we decided to make our biggest impact there by locating in the 19148 zip code. In 2017, our second grant enabled us to launch Children's Playhouse Newbold in 19145 zip code, as well as retire Cookie’s Daycare Center which served those on our wait list. We closed its doors in June of that year.
The issue of representation matters, but it was just me...
Having 20 years of experience in Childcare, I was invited to sit on boards, attend meetings and to speak with legislators and advocacy groups. Prior to COVID, I stayed quiet due to feeling out of place--not being represented for my ethnic background. Afterwards, the George Floyd incident encouraged more attention on Diversity and Inclusion as well as creating secure spaces for all people. This includes me and other Hispanic providers who have limited English-speaking skills, those involved in music or cooking at home that are often complained about by neighbors. Despite hearing many supports, policy changes and recommendations for the childcare community from these gatherings, I rarely observed any other Hispanic presence except myself. Consequently, this drove me to "Hustle Till You Drop" coupled with "Latinos Educando Juntos" so that our voices can be heard without barriers and we have access to resources. Because after all: Nothing About us Without Us!
Latinos Educando Juntos…
In 2021 LEJ, Latinos Educando Juntos, was formed with the support of First Up SEPEEC Advocacy committee (of which I was a part) and Dionne Wright Chambers from Learn Empower and Grow LEG. This group provided a safe space for Hispanic owned Childcare providers and other providers serving Hispanic populations to get together once a month and obtain resources, talk about their needs, and discover information that would help them sustain their businesses. We even supplied live translations for our guest speakers, resources, and regulations for those unable to access paper versions due to legality. Attendance began at under 10 providers per call but by the one-year anniversary we had collected over 150 providers on our newsletter list! During these early months our primary focus was to listen attentively and document what was being said to gain an understanding of exactly what the Hispanic providers needed to achieve better results. Realizing that grant funding would be essential in helping remove these barriers to success, I chose to take LEJ up another notch by converting it into a 501 C (3) Non-Profit organization in 2022. Visit us at: https://latinoseducandojuntos.org/
Our Board's Creation...
Assembling a board was no small feat. It took months of searching to find the ideal people for the job. My criteria were looking for those with an academic background and strong commitment to Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Belonging which were essential for representing the mission of LEJ. On January 2023, seven extraordinary black and brown women leaders were finally announced as LEJ board members! Meet the group here: https://latinoseducandojuntos.org/our-board/
 
LEJ Vision…
LEJ, operating in the state of Pennsylvania and due to launch a website in 2022, provides a platform where providers can obtain resources in both English and Spanish. Therefore, we are strengthening it further by adding Professional Development Trainings, Leadership opportunities, Educational Advancement Opportunities and many more; all tailored to enhance business management skills such as budgeting and finance, provide career pathways for Spanish speakers, offer work force development ideas, advocacy programs , fellowships and access to regulation changes among other services. Our vision is to become the go-to place for small business owners and those that provide early childhood services to Black and Brown children; thus giving them the accessible resources they need in order to be successful.
We are a newly established non-profit dedicated to leveraging the available grants to provide resources and opportunities to those who had previously been deprived of them due to language barriers. We are determined in our devotion to creating an equitable setting for all, recognizing the crucial influence this will have on black and brown children's futures.
 
DAMARIS ALVARADO-
CEO, Children’s Playhouse Early Learning Center; CEO, Innovative Educational Consulting Services
A dedicated advocate for children, Damaris Alvarado-Rodriguez launched the non-profit organization Latinos Educando Juntos (LEJ), to support small business owners, especially childcare providers, in the LatinX/Hispanic Community. She has been recognized as a leader in the field of early childhood education and in the world of business. In 2022, she was recognized with the Al Dia Women of Merit Award in the Entrepreneurial Category, shortly after being the cover story in Al Dia newspaper where she was called “The Queen of Children’s Playhouse.” The title resounded with her because she humbly credits the game of chess for her ability to strategize and plan ahead in all walks of life. Also, in 2022, Damaris was thrilled to receive the Bronze Medal for Pennsylvania’s Equity in Early Childhood Education Champion award.
 
 
 
 

​As I sit and reflect on all that has happened in my life, I realize that I’m on a path that I and only I travel.  Yet, each day on this path brings more opportunities for self-reflection and silent processing.  In this silence and reflection, I must acknowledge that my interactions, as a black woman, with the world around me are not the same as all black women.  However, my God-given purpose is to speak my truth in the hopes that my truth resonates with some and changes the path of others.  Let me explain…
I was born into this world with skin that some see as beautiful and others as a threat.  I was told from birth that while being “cute for a dark-skinned girl,” that same cuteness would also become my struggle.  See, it had always been clear that being black wouldn’t be easy.  But being a black woman makes it more challenging.  And, to top it off, the more education I achieve, the bigger the target on my back will become.  "People are not going to like you just because of your skin, and that's something you have to be prepared to battle.  They are going to test you.  They are going to challenge everything you say.  And when they can't beat you…they are going to come at you in ways that you never imagined,” my professor used to say.  "Are you ready?  Because that road can become lonely at times and dangerous at others.”
At that time, I didn’t understand, but as I kept walking my path, I understood exactly what he meant.  I needed to be prepared to battle discrimination, racism, and sexism.  I needed to be prepared to walk alone or on the journey, the world created for me.  No matter the path, what was certain was that the road would have some rough spots like the dirt roads of Mississippi that I played on so many years ago.  And other times, that same road would be smooth and easy to navigate.  But the parts of the road that would benefit me most were the rough roads filled with rocks, sand, and potholes.  And last year was a year of true understanding.  Last year was the year that tested all that I knew as an expert and leader, which pushed me to want to fall into every stereotype that I had worked so hard to combat.  I was weak and vulnerable while mad and hurt at the same time.  I was intentionally inflicted with trauma and hate disguised with terms like “growth and development,” “servant leader,” or “team player.” And, through it all…I stood firm until I fell to my knees.
I’m sure you are thinking, "this is depressing," but I promise it gets better.  See, that fall was not the making of my enemy; it was of my own making.  I fell because I needed God to stand in front of me.  After all, the battle was something I was losing, and I knew that losing was not an option when God was in the midst.  That’s the one thing my professor neglected to ask, “how do you plan to battle these roads?” The answer is "with God's help." So God guided me to leave…and I did.  I'd done something I'd done many times; I walked by faith and not by sight.  I'd walked alone physically but not alone spiritually.  And, in that walk, I began to grow closer to God, and he began to show me my worth, value, and strength.  I had become Tupac Shakur’s "Rose in the Concrete."
My pastor once said, “You are not doing something right if you don’t have haters, and those haters will become your footstools.” We all have days where giving up seems like the best (and sometimes only) option.  I mean…why keep getting beat up and kicked around?  Why go to bed tired and exhausted and wake up the same way?  Why?  Because you KEEP and WAKE.  Those two words alone show that God's got you.  These are active and future words.  With this, let me tell you what I’ve learned:

1. You can’t control your haters, but you can control how you respond.  Don’t let haters live in your head rent-free.  Charge them or evict them.
2. Your haters are your greatest motivators.  What they don’t understand is that the more that hatred shows that’s your confirmation that you’re doing God’s work.
3. Your haters will come in all forms but don’t fear.  Your faith is stronger than anyone or anything that enters your life.
4. A hater will pull you under to save themselves; don’t you become one of them.  Our job is to uplift and empower, not pull others down.
5. You’re not put in this world to make others feel good about themselves.  You're not put in any space to make others comfortable.  The feelings they have are THEIR feelings to battle…not yours.
6. Be in spaces you’re not wanted in.  Change happens when you’re in the room and vocal.  You are removing your voice from the conversation by allowing others to make you feel so bad that being in the room seems impossible.  Remember the saying, "YOU can't complain if YOU don't offer input…"  by not being present, two things are happening 1) YOU removed your voice from the conversation 2) YOU removed the opportunity to make a change. Change comes when you’re in the conversation, so don’t let anyone take your voice and possibly change.
7. Stand your ground but be professional.  Standing your ground is always challenging, and the aftermath can get rough.  But, stay in your professional element and don’t feed into what is expected or wanted of you…that’s when you slip the most.
8. Live in your truth.  Every morning when you wake up, say, “I am beautiful (or handsome), I am smart, I am good at what I do.  I am my ancestors because they are kings and queens.  I am Black and not ashamed.  I am a woman (man) and not sorry.  I have a voice, and it will be heard.
9. Don't let anyone write or tell your story.  Your story is yours and only yours to tell.  So write and read your narrative with pride.
10. The most important lesson of them all is, “Be ready to walk your road alone.”

Here’s where it all comes together when you walk that road; thank God for each step, each struggle, and each fall.  Why?  Because each time you got up and kept walking.  Because God didn't leave you; instead, he blessed you.  See each step was the opportunity to gauge the road ahead.  Each struggle made your feet tougher.  Each fall put you closer to the rocks and dirt so you could understand that the same rocks and dirt could be used to fill the potholes ahead, thus creating smoother roads.  See, God may not have been with you in the form of flesh, but he didn’t leave you.  He always spiritually guided your steps, taught you lessons, and protected you from enemies, even if that enemy was yourself.  Remember, the devil has no power when God is on your side.
Author notes:
Dr. A.Simpson
Learning2Lead1, LLC. 
[email protected] 
 
 
 
  

​My name is Cali Josefina Ransom-Rodriguez.  I am a 21 year old multi-cultural young adult raised in Pittsburgh by my mother who is from Puerto Rico and my father who is the child of Irish/PA Dutch/Native American and Black/Native American parents.  For this mosaic I decided to do the smallest house in Puerto Rico.  This door means a lot to me because it reminds me of home.  The colors remind me of Puerto Rico’s vibrance and the size reminds me of Puerto Rico itself.  We aren’t the biggest island (100x35) but the land holds rich history, language, culture and resilient people.”
 
Cali Josefina Ransom-Rodriguez
412.609.4484
[email protected]

​
 

“You must go. You have to go tomorrow as planned.”
 
Angela’s voice was firm and uncharacteristically commanding. Before she called (it was after 11:00 pm—another anomaly because she was often asleep by 8:00 or 9:00), I was in bed thinking of excuses to get out of the chore. 
 
“Tomorrow. After my apartment. Notre-Dame de la Daurade,” she said and hung up the phone.
 
The chore was to take a cab into Toulouse and get some things from her apartment and bring them back to the rehab. Little things. Stuff I was convinced could wait for someone else to bring or do without: three shirts, a book, the journal on her nightstand. Oh, and a 5-piece meal from KFC that I was to sneak into her room when I got back.
 
“Are you ready? Do you know what the tell the driver? Do you remember the directions to the
church?” It was the next morning and she was calmer but no less exigent.
 
“I remember. I’m going after breakfast,” I sighed.
 
Angela is one of a handful of women in my life who are part of my Destiny. I know them because as soon as we lock eyes for the first time, a voice inside says, “She’s your friend.” Fate or Destiny just tells me to hold on to that person for life… and I have. Since 1976.
 
In 1976 I knew nothing of the Black Madonna. And at that time, Angela knew nothing of the Black Madonna or the Divine Feminine she embodies. Now, 47 years later, she demanded that I go to Notre-Dame de la Daurade.
 
“Why are you so stuck on me going there?” I grumbled probably because of some unconscious fear of getting lost. Silly of me to give that thought any energy, really silly.
 
“I don’t know…,” her voice trailed.
 
I thought I was called to Toulouse from Philly because Angela, we thought, was leaving us because of the cancer that had chiseled a hole in her left breast. For about a month she emailed disturbing photos of the wound each time the nurse came to her apartment to change the bandages. It wasn’t getting better, just bigger. So, I flew to Toulouse thinking I was going to be with her for the last time. (Or, that my visit would be the miracle cure. Was it ego or faith? It didn’t matter as long as it worked.)
 
The Black Madonna is black because she expresses the Divine Feminine connection to the Blessed Virgin Mary. In Europe, she’s found in churches and cathedrals in little towns and large cities like Toulouse, France. Her face is black. Her hands are black. And the baby Jesus she holds or sits on her lap is black – on purpose. The tales that her coloring is the result of candle soot are not to be believed.
 
What is to be believed is that I was called to her. And, for a very good reason. Angela was right:
I had to go there.

Why? I’ll tell you in Part Two…
 
 
  
  





​Regina Robinson is an adult and K-6 educator and the president of RM Robinson Solutions LLC (RMRS). The company provides workplace, elementary, and early childhood education solutions. She holds a master’s degree in Media Ecology from New York University and lives in a historical house in the Germantown section of Philadelphia with her husband, John, and her dog/son, Iggie

Worthiness, Trauma and Healing
https://www.voiceamerica.com/episode/139676/worthiness-trauma-and-healing
Episode Description:
One of the biggest lessons T.W. Suggs has learned has been that there is a correlation between forgiveness, healing, and worthiness. When we fail to forgive, we’re tethered to painful stories and memories which prevent us from growing and learning how amazing we really are. The absolute biggest lesson T.W. learned in his journey is that surrogates are not allowed. That is, you can’t have someone birth something for you (healing, a sense of worthiness, etc.). You are meant to give life to yourself. Join us as we explore the connection between trauma and worthiness and how we can heal from our traumatic experiences while “While Running Through The Rain”. T.W. Suggs’ latest book, 'Running Through The Rain' examines serious issues of forgiveness, identity, rejection, and the unseen trauma black men and boys encounter but seldom express. This Flip Side Conversation will examine real issues that also remind us of the importance of opening our hearts to the little moments that make us smile, that exist around us all.
Featured Guest: T.W. Suggs
T.W. Suggs is a storytelling artist, public speaker, and author with an underlying mission to help others heal from the past, align with the present, and live full lives. As the author of ‘Running Through the Rain,' T.W. has an extensive background in creating captivating bodies of work that go beyond the surface and touch the core. He takes pride in being able to leverage his own experiences to help others develop and heal. Born in Atlanta and raised in Philadelphia, T.W. has built a strong inventory of personal and professional progressions that led to his current endorsed standing as a speaker and debuted author. To date, T.W. holds an Associate’s Degree in Human Services, a B.S. in Business Administration, and an M.S. in Organizational Development and Leadership with a goal of pursuing a Doctorate. But even with this as his base, T.W.’s innate love for storytelling and art stemmed from the heavy influences of his grandmother, who was an advocate for performing arts. Witnessing her taking acting classes at the Freedom Theater of Philadelphia and later starting a small performing arts ministry at her church planted the seed in T.W. to pursue an artistic path of his own. Most recently, T.W. released his first book entitled 'Running Through the Rain: My Stories, Reflections, and Kind Reminders’. In his book, T.W. provides a unique perspective on life, wholeness, and the healing journey as he recounts his own experiences as a young boy growing up in Philadelphia, PA.

​More info about the host:
Dr. Veidre Jackson: CEO/Founder  of Living Strong Consulting LLC
https://www.livingstrongllc.com/
Dr. Veirdre Jackson is a woman pursuing her purpose, passion, and life’s priority to share her belief that all children deserve the best education available. She is an award-winning author, educator, and entrepreneur who is recognized as a leading educational trainer in trauma informed practices and DEIB. She is a veteran educator with over 20 years of experience supporting non-profit and executive leadership. 
 
Through her experiences with systems based approaches to Trauma Awareness and Equity Literacy, the Resiliency Approach, and Positive Behavior and Intervention Strategies, she has harnessed her passion for building organizational resilience and personal strength on behalf of youth, families, and educational 

A.D.D.
As told by; Doc Ella VATE
 Attention Deficit Disorder
Or ADD for shorter
Created a lie
About this feature
That they don’t want out there
It’s not a deficit
But more a counterfeit
They frankly need to get over it
I pay too much attention
To goddamn everything
Oh and I forgot to mention
Attention pays me
While I am lost in it
Not to get angry
Or frustrated
But I am having a natural fit
To the spaces, faces
Of everyone and thing
To the lights
And the sound
And the leaves on the ground
All call to me
And I have to acknowledge
I am over attentive
And undervalued a best
I follow many directions
And still manage to rest
My label feels weak
Maybe targeted a freak
But I know my own power
And I am pulling more focus by the hour
The deficit ain’t showing
But it is me
That is knowing
That I am going places
Even in the middle of mess
Attention deficit disorder
Study skills destroyer
I water you down
And light you on fire
But pay attention
And don’t forget to mention
How much you have learned
From watching
My deficit or,
My Magnificence
 
Doc ELLA Vate  AKA; Rebecca Lamar is an author, activist, curator and storyteller.  Living in community in Philadelphia with family and friends, Rebecca focuses efforts on education of young children/teachers, and producing art/opportunities for all to find their place and peace within the community, the world and ART around them.

 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Scientifically speaking, the Spring Equinox represents an equal portion of day and night, meaning that the sun is directly over the equator for the northern hemisphere.  This time promises sunlight for more minutes, and eventually hours as plans of frolicking can extend past dinnertime. 
​In our spirit, this is a time for reflection, growth and of course balance.  These select stories from the BIPOC community bring narratives of strength, self-compassion and seeking balance in a world of consistent chaos and promised uncertainty.

​The 2022 Winter Solstice Edition of the Freedom Bloggers Collective is published!  It promises its readers a new take on some traditions and stories.  This edition features some new artists, with our regular contributors adding some more flare.  This year has been full of stories and progress, as well as, loss and journey.  With each story, we are able to learn more about humankind, and how we play a crucial part of elevating and lifting art and healing.  Each and every artist provides their contribution in honor of themselves and BIPOC creators everywhere.  Together, we lean in, lift and get loud about our authentic selves…unapologetically.

​On my first Christmas in Germany in 1990, I totally expected to be filled with Glüwein and Christmas Stollen (warm spiced wine and a loaf cake with dried fruits). Klaus, my ex-partner, who grew up in the little town of Halstenbeck – just 20 minutes from Hamburg couldn’t wait to show me a better, pared-down, German way of celebrating Christianity’s origin story: the birth of Jesus Christ.
 
Now “Mein Klaus” (my Klaus), was no Bible-thumbing religious zealot – far from it. He was Prussian: a straight-shooting-no-frills Mensch. A good guy with simple tastes. By the time I met him, he had lived on Long Island, New York, for more than 30 years. And while he thought he was a cool American, he was still very German. He abhorred the way we Americans celebrated the holiday with our extravagant and excessive gift giving, the ostentatious decorations, and the earworm Christmas carols that played in his head from the day after Thanksgiving until his New Year Eve’s hangover administered the cure.
 
For Klaus, Christmas or “Weinhnacht” was about a simple, small tree with wooden or straw ornaments and real candles. It was the tradition of dressing up (in conservative colors – no ugly sweaters or Santa hats) for dinner at his brother’s home. And, while we rarely went to church back home, he insisted we attend a very, very long midnight service on Christmas Eve. (Which I nodded through because of the Glüwein, the hour, and not knowing German well enough to know what was going on.)
 
For the moments I was alert, something caught and fixated my attention on the Nativity display on the altar. The antique porcelain figurines featured the expected blonde baby Jesus, Mary, and Joseph with their delicate white skin. No surprises there, as expected. However, what I had not expected was that one wise man was Black! Really and clearly Black! We were the only Black people in a congregation of several hundred people. I knew how I got there, but how did a Black Magi find his way in that Nativity?
 
I grew up as most African American kids in the 1950s, ‘60s, and ‘70s inundated with the “white” version of the Bible. My childhood church – even though it was named African Methodist Episcopal or A.M.E. – had blonde, White Jesus everywhere: the church fans, the stained glass windows, the portrait that hung next to that of Richard Allen, one of the founders of the denomination, and even our porcelain Nativity figurines. I had lived through 35 Christmases and seen hundreds of Nativity displays and plays – and never once seen the real Balthazar!
 
He found me!
 
The rest of the vacation took us to Berlin (East and West), Dresden, Keil, and little towns all around. And Balthazar was there with his pot of myrrh for the “newborn King.” When I asked Klaus what he knew about Balthazar, he seemed shocked that I, as a Black person, didn’t know that wise men could be of African descent. How could I have known? How could I have not known is a better question.
 
Balthazar, like his travelling companions Caspar and Melchoir, were astrologers and kings. According to the Gospel of Matthew, the Magi (from which we get the word “magic”) were priests in the ancient Zoroastrian religion. These priests or Magi were accomplished astrologers – at that time a highly-respected science.
 
There is much debate over the countries from which the Magi hail, but Melchior is said to be Persian (some say this of Balthazar); Caspar, Indian; and Balthazar Ethiopian, Persian, or Macedonian. What matters is that he’s clearly a brother who could portend the future because his gift of myrrh is a rare gum-resin used as perfume, incense, and medicine. It is said he gave this gift to baby Jesus because it would be used to cleanse his body in death.
 
On an esoteric level the three Magi represent the three stars of Orion’s Belt. These stars align with the three pyramids of Giza. When frankincense and myrrh are combined they can be used to anoint the head to induce a “Christlike” state of balance and peace.
 
I am happy to note in three decades since my discovery of Balthazar, many modern American Nativity scenes now show him as a Black man. However, there are still a few holdouts. Just look at the Christmas card I recently found!
 
 
Sources:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Balthazar_(magus)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biblical_Magi#Names
 
 
Bio:
Regina Robinson is an adult and K-6 educator and the president of RM Robinson Solutions LLC (RMRS). The company provides workplace, elementary, and early childhood education solutions. She holds a master’s degree in Media Ecology from New York University and lives in a historic house in the Germantown section of Philadelphia with her husband, John, and her dog/son, Iggie.

​~ Doc EllaVate
Before my feet hit this ground
let me listen for purpose-calling my name
Reminding myself that not everything said to me is meant for me
Let my ears find words that settle in nicely
Not just from others, but those that come from these two lips (TULIPS)
Before my feet hit this ground,
Let me find space for me today
To take up as little or as much as I need
Show me the safe spaces, not the bullshit faces
That will allow all of me to present ourselves
Before my feet hit this ground,
Let me recognize the fire within me
Burning down the old versions of me, and
Set fire to the Glowing embers of authentic self
Shine bright on my talented steps as I enter into new space, needed grace and my pace
Before my feet hit this ground
Let me watch for danger
Creeping out there, waiting to attack
The social media comparisons
The hidden agendas and those meaningless meetings
Before my feet hit this ground
You better get this world ready!
To be shook, be questioned, and
 damn it, to be corrected
It aint always about you, world, sometimes, I get to come first!
Before my feet hit this ground
Remind me, that it does matter,
I make a difference
And this world is better
Because my feet HIT this ground!