Singing. The Art of Being Heard

Church Ladies In The Park

My daughter is from Boston. She’s an activist, she wants to share truth and reality to the masses of people via a bullhorn. She wants us to know that racism is wrong.

It’s quite an emotional feeling to see your little girl all grown up. It’s quite another to watch her on television, as WCVB channel 5’s news camera is rolling. It’s humbling to read the Boston Globe and see her being quoted, to hear her familiar voice in the words written there.

Aired on WCVB Boston Channel 5 (Sept 9)

I can’t replicate her thunder, except to join in its clap and share her here, that she might be heard. So I support every bit of her message, because her dedication and passion for social change is palpable. And it’s so very necessary.

My daughter’s flyer.

And still, from where I sit, this woman old enough to be a granny, is in awe of her. She personifies America’s female abolitionists, those who spoke out against slavery like Sojourner Truth, who asked:

“Am I not a woman and a sister?”

My daughter epitomizes the righteousness of having a voice, particularly if you’re a woman and precisely if you’re a woman of color. There can be no denying Elizabeth Cary Stanton’s push for women’s rights, that ERA which has yet to be ratified is even more evident because suffragettes won the vote. I’m smiling because my daughter is engaged in activism at a time that makes success possible. Because I know that voting is a crucial tool for an activist, that social change is hampered or pushed through grassroots activism.

And in the midst of Covid-19, a global pandemic here my daughter is flying across the country to educate people, to share Boston’s history by walking along the Freedom Trail and to remind people, freedom ain’t freedom to colored people, who are killed like George Floyd and brutalized like Jacob Blake, shot 7 times in the back by policemen, in the modern version of the cruel slave catcher.

And in the midst of all her activism, my daughter lovingly met me at the Piano Craft Gallery on Tremont Street in Boston, where my artwork went on exhibit for the very first time. She even was so brilliant as to bring me flowers!

Me and Deanna B. at my 1st art exhibit

Just because our daughters become women, doesn’t mean that we stop being mothers. Motherhood lasts beyond the toddler & teenage years, and if we’re lucky, we see our kids growing into themselves.

More to write later…

My artwork can be seen here:

Published by DaNice D Marshall

Pronounced Duh-NYSE. Published writer. Roxbury native, residing in Boston, Massachusetts.

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