This holiday season markes a new chapter in my life – one without my maternal grandmother, Luvina Wilson Smith. To call her merely “special” would be an understatement in the gravest sense. She was a hero – the matriarch of our family, a trail blazer and pioneer for woman and people of color, and a profound example for all of mankind.
 
I met her during a bitter cold Rochester, NY winter in the early 1980s – so at birth. I got to spend more than thirty years getting to know her, learning her story, and relying on her as a wise sage and confidant in finding my way in the world. She nourished my body with the best southern cuisine in the galaxy and fed my soul with the most insightful and godly wisdom this side of heaven.
 
Perl’s career had taken on a unique trajectory around the time I was born. So, to help her reach the corner office while still being “mom” to my older sister and I, Luvina, my mom’s mom, stepped in to fill in any of the gaps. From birth to about 4 years old, I only ate what Grandma fed me, I only watched TV with Grandma (mostly the news, the soaps, and cartoons – of course), and I only “went potty” with her or my aunt Nee-Nee nearby. We were inseparable!
 
By the time I started finally walking, Grandma had already developed debilitating arthritis. Despite her overwhelming pain, she wouldn’t complain and would only let on that she was hurting when climbing stairs or doing rather strenuous activities. Grandma would let out a soft and almost inaudible sound of distress: “Oy!” I would mimic her going up stairs and she’d laugh. I inadvertently got my nickname, “Buddy,” from her as a result of me always being in toe, going up and down the steep stairs of 96 Enterprise Street, the then family homestead in Rochester, NY.
 
But before she was my Grandmother, Luvina W. Smith was Luvina Wilson – a brilliant young girl of West Indy descent who was born in 1928 and lived on a farm in Williamsburg County, South Carolina. She was the eldest of 6 children, and in helping with the daily rearing of her younger siblings and the functions of farm management, learned to read at a very early age. Luvina placed orders for clothes, farm equipment, and all manner of household and farm supplies from the Sears & Roebuck Catalog. She would help keep track of everything on the farm – from the house to the barn, and she learned to cook. Noticing her talent, her parents sent her to an all girls’ boarding school in the nearby town of Kingstree, SC. Grandma once took me to the site of the school house where her intellectual curiosity was both encouraged and nourished. “It was segregated, of course,” she told me. “But we didn’t know to wonder what white kids were learning. I just thought they were suffering through composition as much as we were, too…”
 
Luvina’s love for learning would be one that she passed on to her progeny. Grandma would read the newspaper religiously and couldn’t resist a good crossword puzzle. “You have to keep your mind active,” she would tell me on visits to her house in my teens. I loved picking up articles or books she had laying around and seeing where she’d underlined a word she didn’t know or thought was improperly used. Her Bible was chocked full of her personal notes, thoughts, and questions in the margins. Her view of the world was unique: a cross between Godly reverence, the golden rule, and an overwhelming pursuit of equality and justice.
 
Grandma was active in her community and church. She taught her family the importance of civic engagement and servant leadership in her everyday life. From church governance to the county ballot box, Luvina stressed the importance of everyone’s voice being heard. She made it a point to encourage others to get involved and be well informed. Grandma once expressed the importance of knowing what issues were on the ballot by telling me, “Well, they could legalize slavery and if you don’t vote against it then, well… you just put the chains back on your own self!”  
 
I know if she were here today, she’d laugh and call me “a little parakeet” at recanting almost verbatim her words of wisdom. Yes, Grandma – I listened to every word you said and will miss your encouraging and timeless logic. I’ll miss our Sunday evening chats, but I’ll remember how your history made my present and future possible. You will live on in your children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and for generations to come. And we will work to continue to be your pride and your joy!

​I’d like to give a great big shout out to Hanau, Germany. It’s not only the birthplace of the Grimm brothers it’s the place I called home during the formative years of my life. While most Germans don’t think of their nation as being kid-friendly at all, Germany as a whole actually has deep-seeded love for children. Nevertheless, despite the overall German modesty when it comes to their treatment of children and those needing protection, I grew up feeling safe. My being the only American and the only person of color in my schools from kindergarten through the sixth grade never felt odd or uncomfortable for me. It wasn’t until I moved back to the United States of America, my birthplace and the country of which I’m a natural born citizen, did I ever feel like an “other” or devalued because I wasn’t born a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant American. It’s sad to admit that the country responsible for the holocaust actually welcomed, protected, and nurtured me – a black boy. Granted, had it been 1942 instead of 1986 – I might have been treated a lot differently. Even so, it took Germany only 4 decades to do what America has failed to do in 200 years – the systematic eradicating of deep seeded hatred.
 
Today, in 2016, I’m pretty much at a loss for words when it comes to trying to sort the seemingly unconscionable acts of late. For the past several weeks, my family has literally been in a panic regarding my safety. My father, who is not only prior military but continues to work for the Department of Defense as a military inelegance instructor, sends text messages every day and calls at least 3 times a week – just to make sure that no “incidences of concern” have happened on my daily commute to work. And while the pandemonium of the recent shootings has simmered, the intensity of race relations continues to make the schism between black and white America even wider. All this leaves me with this one question: What do I tell Carson?
 
Carson is my 7-year-old nephew who, like many boys his age, is just as rambunctious and curious as they come. His parents are two of the most amazingly brilliant and God-fearing people I’ve ever known. I’ve never seen two more dutiful and exceptional examples of parenting outside of my own parents than Tony and Gwen Alexander. Carson is the only boy of Tony and Gwen’s three children; hence, you can see where the pressure to be the little man of the house might come into play. So I always thought I’d be the “fun” uncle and get to tell him how to “charm” his way out of punishment, use logic to circumvent some of his dad’s rules, and of course give him his first sip of Kool-Aid. (Just as an FYI, my big bro and sis are ruthless when it comes to monitoring this kid’s sugar intake – so I had to do something fun for the little guy…)  But never would I have imaged that I’d be contemplating how to someday talk to him about being in the skin he’s in and how to navigate living in America – knowing that he’ll be treated differently because of his gender and ethnic heritage.
 
So for the time being, I’ve resigned myself to taking a more “faith-biased” approach to what I’ll tell Carson. Instead of harping on what is, I’ll tell him what should be. I’ll tell him that “by the time you’re in college, you won’t have to worry about being treated differently because your skin is brown.” I’ll tell him that “when you enter the work force, it’s not going to matter if you’re one of many or one of none who look like you.” I’ll tell him that the only colors that will matter to his generation and those that will follow him in America will be those of the American flag: red for the vigor in our pursuit of justice, white for the purity in our endeavor to help others, and blue for the earnest nature of our duty to mankind. 

​We all have a limited capacity and a finite tolerance for some of the social media garbage that seems to plague the streams of various social platforms. Someone’s choice to be completely off the social grid is both personal and admirable. You may choose to not have a Facebook profile or even a Twitter handle; but, if you’re an educator, not having a LinkedIn profile is inadvertently precipitating the issue of why teachers aren’t considered professionals. The absenteeism of educators on the LinkedIn platform has given way to an even more callous attitude towards an already disenfranchised industry.

You’re at a wedding, a cocktail party, or even a church service and you’re inevitably going to find yourself discussing work, what you do, and/or how long you’ve been doing such. If you’re a teacher you more than likely will get the canned, and albeit feigned, apologetic response from people who believe their vocation to be of higher value than education: “Oh, you’re a teacher. Well, I’m sorry…” They are right to apologize; however, not for reasons of being better but rather for being part of an illogical societal problem in which teachers are denigrated for their chosen profession.

Nevertheless, without educators, we’d have no other professionals. Pro-athletes certainly have their PE teachers and school sports coaches to thank. Physicians of any and all kinds are indebted to their science teachers. And had it not been for social studies teachers, history teachers, English teachers, and civics teachers, highly-paid attorneys wouldn’t have made it through the first-year of law school.

While you may not get the respect you deserve as an educator, you do have the power to remedy this fallacy, one LinkedIn profile at a time. In most cases, people outside the education profession fail to legitimize the vocation because they are unaware of the credentials and experience one has to obtain in order to be an education practitioner. They don’t know that states require certification.

LinkedIn is the perfect place where you can not only highlight your career success and achievement, but also where you acknowledge your education, training, certification, credentials, and awards. When it comes to thought-leadership regarding any professional topic, LinkedIn is a likely place where the discussions are taking place. You can join various groups or form your own in which you can start conversations regarding topics important to the education practitioner.

It’s time for educators to start getting the credit they deserve as professionals. However, the legislator who’s making laws about your salary isn’t going to wake up tomorrow morning and say, “Oh, ya know I really think I should start paying more respect to teachers today…” That would be great, sure – but the fact of the matter is you as an educator have to reeducate society on the legitimacy of your professionalism. Set up your LinkedIn profile today and if you already have a LinkedIn profile, take the time to update it right now. Changing the way the public thinks of your chosen profession starts today and starts with you.

Follow GAE on LinkedIn: http://bit.ly/1R6oQHz

When I attended Kindergarten (and the first few years of grade school) Helga was the name of my lunch lady who served some of the best German cuisine you’d ever have tasted this side of the Rhine River. She did so dutifully every single day. On days when I missed lunch due to a doctor’s appointment or some other reason, Helga would keep a plate of food warm just for me. I’d sit at a table in the kitchen and scarf down potatoes and wurst while she cleaned up from a day of cooking. She’d ask: “What did you learn today?” And without realizing it, I’d recount almost an entire day’s worth of learning. Our chats would make me ready to do homework – even for the more challenging subjects. Little did I know – she’d do that for all the kids who’d missed a meal and would encourage each student to do his or her best in whatever subject they were weakest. You can’t tell me that Helga was “just a lunch lady” – she was more like a superhero, able to inspire a student one plate at a time. 

In less than a week I will be turning yet another year older. To say I’m grateful to see another year go by would be an understatement and reeks of a banal platitude – and we all know Herby is nothing if not original. Nevertheless, I’m stoked to be alive – especially knowing the many times I almost didn’t make it. Every year, my mom (the infamous Perl, AKA the black version of Anna Wintour) never fails to some how sneak the story that recalls the circumstances of my birth into a casual conversation. The abbreviated version: It was cold and snowing, and a simple checkup at the doctor’s offices turned into a nearly 3 month early birth.  

That story always segues into my inability to walk until I was almost 3 and the exploratory surgery that would have permanently paralyzed me had my parents subjected me to it. And Perl never forgets to add in the part where “the doctors told your father and me that we’d be ‘lucky’ if you made it to 6 or 7 and that you’d probably be a vegetable… but look at God’s miracle…”

Perl and Herb never believed in luck, but rather a higher power (God); they also taught their children to believe in the same. It’s the belief in this higher power that’s kept me alive for over 3 decades. In the past 6 years alone, I have had 3 close encounters with death linked to my random allergies – so, it would be callous of me to think of the outcomes of these ordeals as anything less than divine intervention. But if I should die on or before my birthday, I wouldn’t have walked this earth without having gleaned any wisdom.

Here are just 33 examples of the lessons, facts, and whatchamajigs I’ve come to know while I’ve been on earth:

I can’t say that I have a father like any other.  Most people talk about their fathers in rather daunting terms.  So, I tend to decline offering up my accounts of my childhood and my father when people begin damning their parents.  But I don’t really have a thing to be ashamed about. My dad was, is, and will remain an amazing man, a great father, and a quite force that has helped me become the person I am today.

Growing up, my dad wasn’t always physically in the house due to his career – but he was never absent and seemed ubiquitous when it came to being “there” for his family. Even events as simple as bedtime stories were never missed just because of a TDY (temporary change of duty station) assignment took him out of the house for a few months.  During a resent move I found cassette tapes with the titles of fairy tales and bible stories on them. I managed to listen to a few seconds of one that hadn’t fully been destroyed by years of neglect and dust. Dad’s voice: “Hey little man, here’s where you dozed off last time….” Even though I’m a thirty-year-old man, I still wanted to hear him finish reading Rapunzel. Sadly, the tape was no longer audible (as were the rest of the tapes) after that point. Nevertheless, my memory took me back to the years when dad would give each character his/her own voice.  Magically, the characters would always have their same respective voices every time he read the story.  (How in the world he ever kept up with all that remains a mystery…)

There, he taught me to let my imagination soar and encouraged me to unashamedly be as creative as I wanted to be. I even created characters of my own that had personalities and backstories unique to each character. One in particular was a mad German physicist named “Herr Doctor Dootelwisch.” I would walk around the house with a crazed German accent, a bathrobe as lab coat, a pair of dad’s military safety goggles and pretend to mix bubble bath and all kinds of stuff as my potions to blow up the bad kitties. (Yeah, I was allergic to cats even at that age.) My mother would shake her head and say, “Herb, something ain’t right about that boy…” To that, dad would answer, “You’re right Perl, he’s missing some gloves for lab safety……………and to complete the look!”  

I once asked my dad what he wanted me to be when I grew up.  I wondered if he wanted me to follow his footsteps into the electronics field or even go into the Army like he did.  He answered, “You’re smart enough to be whatever you want to be. You can be a doctor, a toy storeowner, or even a mad scientist. But I want you to grow up to be a happy Herby. That would make me happy….”

Herb Sr. never once showed a judgmental bone in his body.  He taught me that each person you meet gets an “A”.  “You allow them to prove themselves as anything less than an ‘A’ grade person. Trust me, it won’t take an ‘F-’ grade person to show you his/her true grade.  But you got to give everyone a fair shot!” Over the years dad has gone from being the strongest man I know, to the coolest guy I know, to the smartest guy I know, to the wisest guy I know. And it never changes, though now we tend to spend time enjoying jazz music together rather than reading bed time stories. I’m so blessed to have come to know him as much more than just a father – he’s also a great friend and confidant. And when all seems wrong in the world and every person I know has failed to meet the basic human expectations of decent interaction – there he is – a shining example of all things right, a beacon of hope in a sea of mucky ‘F-’ grade people.  I’m sure he has his faults and I imagine that he’s had his moments of less-than-perfect behavior. But to me, he remains my constant that restores my faith in humanity and helps me abandon my distrust in Christianity.

So, here’s my belated valentine to my unsung hero – my dad, Herbert A. Agnew, Sr.

Thanks for teaching me that imagination isn’t crazy, that all people aren’t evil, and that love has no barriers and knows no boundaries.