Afrika has been bugging me about writing a book. It’s kinda hypocritical of me to say, “share your stories,” when I am so hesitant to write mine. Okay. My time as an undergrad at the Univ. of Md. College Park was not fun. First time I was called a bitch was by a white girl who lived on the same floor of our dorm. One day she ran down the hall and when she got to the door she said, “You won’t speak to me because you’re a just a bitch!” First of all, I’m thinking “What the hell?” But I gather myself, walk to her door and write on her white board “Hello, [whatever her name was] from the Bitch.” She left me alone after that.

Graduation. I did not want to go. Did not get my cap and gown, nothing. Family came town, going to take me to dinner, I’m not going to graduation. To make a long story short, they put me in the car, drive me to Cole Field House (graduation location) [I get handed a joint] and I don’t smoke, but okay. Someone points me in the direction of where you line up. They got extra caps and gowns. We start walking. It wasn’t until I watched the Doctoral students walk first, then the Masters folk, next, then us hundreds of undergrads walk down to our seats. I look up, see my family, and for the very first time in 4 1/2 years, I get it. That day in December 1977, I’m still mad for being at what I called “the farm school.” UofM was not a pleasant experience in the 1970s. But I get it.

Four of us went to UofM. My sister Van, and brothers Jay and Donnell. My sister Van and the students who entered before Jay and I were especially a part of paving the way for other black students to attend in less tumultuous circumstances.