Back to You / A view from the field
Turning points By Elta Jackson-Henry ’95 and ’96 // SOCIAL WORK
D
uring my formative years, I had no idea that the maxim instilled in me, “To whom much is given, much is required,” was taken directly from the Bible verse Luke 12:48. Come to find out, neither did my young, Louisiana-born mother who set the foundation of my “much” with creativity, resourcefulness, intentionality, and spiritual fortitude. She credits the grace of God as her parenting manual. I never knew my father, who passed away a few months before my birth on Jan. 20, 1973. He was a foreign-exchange student at the University of Washington who hailed from Ghana, West Africa. During my coming of age, I took pride in identifying myself as truly being “African-American”! Believe me, it was only a cute cliché. I was honored to be part of the generation to celebrate the first Martin Luther King Jr. Day, which was first recognized as a national holiday on Jan. 20, 1986. At this time my mother was making a great sacrifice to send me to a Seventh-day Adventist school. MLK day was not recognized there as a holiday that year. I was not sure where to bring my confusion about this. My white friend brought her signature shortbread cookies for my birthday, and my Filipino friend brought her mom’s famous Lumpia, and we played Danish Rounders during gym class with our principal/math teacher/ coach. In my developing mind, I believed we represented what Dr. King meant in his “I Have a Dream” speech because we judged each other by the content of our character and not by our skin color. Strangely enough, our parents never got to know one another. My mother, younger sister, and I made excursions to cultural festivals and nook-and-cranny eateries on the outskirts of Seattle. I remember occasions when we were asked if we were lost. I learned quickly that
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Westwind Fall 2018
was code for, “You are making us uncomfortable. Please find your way out, or take your food to go ASAP.” I always held my head up high and would not shy away from the next event if I wanted to experience something new and different, but feeling unwelcome was the pits. My peers apparently believed in my resilience because they would thrust me forward as their fierce leader with “You know how to fit in” or “They like you.” On the other side, I would hear what I thought were affirmations: “You are different,” “So articulate,” “Always funny and making us laugh,” and “I feel so comfortable around you.” My mind swirled with mixed emotions. Did I want this kind of classification or acceptance? I set my sights on the Big Apple or an HBCU for my higher education. I was still happy to travel eastward to Walla Walla College instead. I settled on studying social work and earned my bachelor’s and master’s degrees. It was the best of times. In 1992 Mae C. Jemison was the first
photograph by MICHAEL PERSICO
