Oh, simple thing.

I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete

Oh simple thing where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

~ from Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know"

_____________________________________________

Your body was squirming. I couldn't help but notice the ways your eyelids fluttered open and shut and the way you kept wringing your hands. I'd already introduced myself, shook your tremulous hand, and tried to calm it by covering it with my other one. None of that worked.

I sifted through what I'd just heard from the resident doctor about you. Young. Healthy. Labs drawn last week all normal. You'd been told the results so I was expecting to see someone who had been anxious before but not anymore. But that's not who I saw.

We asked questions that doctors ask. Things like, "How are things at home?" or "Are you sleeping okay?" Those foot-in-door queries that start us digging toward mood disorders and such. Things at home were mostly fine for you. Sleep was fair, but mostly unchanged and not something you considered a problem.

I nodded in acknowledgment and quickly thought some more. Me, the senior doctor, standing beside my intern. Her watching to see what I would say next, do next and me wondering the very same thing. Because there was a disconnect. A disconnect between me, your doctor, and you, the patient. Something that had you squirming in your seat with hands trembling on your lap.

"Was there. . . . something that you were specifically worried about? Perhaps something you were concerned about that we should look into or address?"

"Beg pardon?" you asked.

See, this? This was called "the explanatory model." That's this maestro move that good doctors should have in their arsenals that almost always gets at the patient's real agenda. It also gets at the real diagnosis more often than not. It's the "what do you think is going on?" question. The one that pulls the patient into the team of diagnostic super sleuths and allows them a crack at the final diagnosis.

Yeah. So I, the senior doctor, had brushed off my shoulders and pulled this from my pocket. As what I thought would surely get to the bottom of your jitters and also leave my intern with a teachable moment.

"What were you thinking might be going on with you?" I repeated myself. "I want to be sure that we covered all of the things that you were thinking of. Plus patients are often very helpful in helping us not miss things."

You blinked in that same kewpie doll way. I saw you swallow and I felt sure that this was the money question. Two seconds left on the clock, all net. Swish! 

"Uhh. . .I wasn't really . . . .I thought you pretty much checked everything. Was there, like, something else I should have been concerned about?"

Damn. Rebound. No, I didn't have anything in mind. As far as I was concerned you were a young, healthy dude who'd come to us asking to be "checked out." Not "checked out" for any particular thing, but just "checked out" in general because you have a little son and a doting girlfriend who love and need you. No specific symptoms you wanted looked into. No particular issues, either. And I wasn't there for the first full visit; I was only here for the follow up part where you'd received all of your lab results. And those results had been normal. So, no. I wasn't holding anything back. I was just trying to get to the bottom of this vibe you were giving me.

"No, sir. Your labs and physical examination were perfectly normal. I don't have anything else I'm concerned about."

You nodded hard and exaggerated when I said that. "Okay, then." Hands were still trembling. I could see your chest rising and falling and now you were alternating between licking your lips and biting your jaw in efforts to look calm. It wasn't working.

I was out of senior doctor maestro moves. All I knew was that something was up with you and that I hadn't asked the right question to find out what it was. My intern hadn't either and I could tell from the eyes I felt on the side of my face that she was hoping I would.

Then I thought of something. The truth. Why not just come clean and ask him what was on my mind?

"Sir?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I hope you don't mind me being completely transparent with you here. . . .but something is making me wonder if I'm missing something. You seem really, really nervous. . . and kind of worried. . . and I'm concerned that there's something causing all of that that we haven't asked about."

"Do I really look that nervous?" You smiled for the first time. Next you wiped your face with your hand and shook your head. "I tried so hard not to."

"Really? I'd be lying if I said you didn't."

You let out a big sigh after I said that, then looked toward my intern with a raised eyebrow to get her take on it. When she, too, nodded in agreement you sighed again.

We had carefully screened you for things like major depression and anxiety disorders. I had personally asked you about any kind of substance use whatsoever and you vehemently denied them all. My intern had even explored causes of post traumatic stress disorder and specifically asked you all about symptoms of panic attacks or panic disorder. And none of those things applied to you.

"Your hands are shaking. You're breathing fast and for a minute there I thought you were going to pass out on me." I gently chuckled to lighten things up. "Is everything okay? We want to take good care of you, Mr. Casey. Please, if there's something we should know about this is a safe place, okay?"

You were noticeably more relaxed already. You took in a big drag of air and pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes. My intern and I stood by with baited breath as you shook your head slowly.

Pulling your hands from your face, you looked me straight in the eye. "Real talk?"

I knew what that meant. That was code for "permission to speak freely" and was exactly what we wanted to hear from you. "Real talk," I replied.

"Real talk. . . . I just. . . .I HATE going to the doctor." You released a nervous laugh that I could tell had been bottled up for the whole visit. With a groan you added, "It freaks me out. The poking and the stethoscopes. People mashing on your body and looking all down your throat. I always feel like you might find something-- especially when you start checking the blood tests. My girl was on my back to get a check up so, you know, I did."

"That's good that you did."

"Yeah, but I hate being in this position, you know? Then at Grady first you see one doctor, then that doctor come back in with another older doctor. That shit freaks me out even more." You covered you mouth. "Excuse my French."

I waved my hand to let you know that you definitely had permission to speak freely. French and all.

"So that's why you seem so anxious?"

"Hell yeah. I'm scared you 'bout to come in here all senior doctor swagged out and find something on me that she didn't. Like you gonna look over at her and say, 'Ah hah!' Like that dude on that t.v. show House."

Everyone in the room laughed at that one. And finally, I got it. You relaxed, I relaxed, we all relaxed because all of us got it.

"You know what? I absolutely hate being a patient, too," I said. "It scares the crap out of me."

"Me, too," the intern chimed in with her hand raised for emphasis.

And you seemed to genuinely appreciate those confessions. You really did.

I shook your hand and noticed that it was no longer shaking. "It was good taking care of you and meeting you."

"Yeah, I hope I never see you again." You laughed at your own joke. I did, too.

As I moved toward the door, I looked back at you and smiled. You returned the favor and said this:

"You know, doc? Sometimes what's going on with somebody ain't even that deep. You know what I'm saying?"

I paused with my hand on the door handle and thought for a moment. About your pristine physical examination, your perfectly normal lab tests and your nervousness about being in the vulnerable position as a patient. I quickly reflected on the times that I'd felt the exact same way and probably looked anxious, too. Then I thought about all of the things I worried I could be missing before simply asking you exactly what was on my mind. I let your words replay in my head once more:

"Sometimes what's going on with somebody ain't even that deep. You know what I'm saying?"

"You know what? I know exactly what you're saying."

***
Happy Friday.


Now playing. . . .

HBCU Homecomings, part 2.

"The great will be great."

~ my daddy, circa 1988

___________________________________________________

I kept trying to move past this topic but I couldn't. So forgive me for lingering a bit longer in the HBCU homecoming high. Admittedly, it has taken my mind off of elections and debates and the unfortunate things that are being said and done surrounding that.

Plus. I ran into several people who admitted to me that I'd cracked open a code that they'd wondered about for a long time. Like, what goes on at these schools and why would anyone choose one of them in the first place? Like what exactly IS the deal with these fraternities and sororities that black people are still pledging allegiance to even though they've been out of school forever? All of that.

And so.

Since I'm still on the HBCU homecoming hype (and I have some more really awesome photos to share with you) I decided to follow up with a part 2 on HBCUs and the homecoming experience connected to them. I hope you don't mind. If you do, check back next week -- I promise to have something medical here waiting for you.

Okay.

So, check it. There are roughly 105 historically black colleges and universities in the United States. I say "roughly" because anything you get from Wikipedia should have such a disclaimer, shouldn't it? Anyways. Being from California, making the decision to go to a HBCU means that you're also making the decision to go far away from home. Why, you ask? Because as I said in the last post, the closest HBCU to California is in Texas. Or Oklahoma? Shoot. I have to go and check a map real quick to make sure.

Okay. So I'm OK with that statement since Oklahoma is literally right on top of Texas which makes them equally far from California. (Get it? OK? Hee hee.) But seriously though. . . .that isn't by accident. It's all a part of the history behind these institutions.

The vast majority of historically black colleges were started for the education of blacks in the post civil war era. There are a few exceptions like Lincoln University in Pennsylvania and, I think, Wilberforce University in Ohio (where my residency roomie went!) which were both founded in 1854. This makes sense considering that nearly all of the rest of the schools are in former slave territories and that Pennsylvania and Ohio had free men and women even before emancipation. So yeah. This is why you don't really see any HBCUs out west. And why any Cali girl wanting that kind of experience needs to be ready for the shock of humidity, snow or both.

I was one of those Cali girls.

I was always pretty certain that I'd attend an HBCU. Of course, my parents didn't force me or demand that I did, but some part of me always imagined myself in that environment. No one around me talked "down" about them or made them out to be anything other than wonderful, nurturing places of higher education. And while I can't say that I was always sure that TUSKEGEE was the place for me, one thing I can tell you for sure is that the homecoming weekend at Tuskegee is what 100% sealed the deal.

In the fall of 1987, I was a senior in high school and a varsity cheer captain. I was on my academic 'A' game, had nailed the SAT, and was held in high regard by many of my teachers and counselors. Even though I was competitive for schools closer to home and some even further, I'd told my parents that I wanted to go to an HBCU and they didn't object. But being the marcher to my own drum that I tend to be, I was pretty firm that that HBCU would NOT be Tuskegee. (Yawnity-yawn-yawn!) Dad said, "That's cool" as did my mom--but to be a good daughter I, of course, applied there just to say I did.

Well. My school of choice? Oh. I will admit it clearly that my best friend and I had decided that we'd both go to Spelman College in Atlanta, Georgia. No question. So my parents being the wonderful parents that they are planned a trip down South for me to visit Spelman (and to stop by Tuskegee to see my brother and the rest of our family while we were out there.)

Mmmm hmmm.

So we land in the ATL on a Thursday night and decide to "go ahead and drive to Tuskegee" to see family and to "go to Spelman and the Atlanta University Center before we leave."  I was looking forward to seeing my brother, my grandparents and my cousins, so this wasn't a hard sell. Plus, I had visited Tuskegee as a child. I knew that place. I'd been there and I'd done that. So as far as that doing anything to dissuade me from my firm decision against following the family tradition, I wasn't worried in the least.

And so. We get to my grandma's house late that night, put down our bags and climb under the covers of the guest room beds. (JoLai was a junior in high school and was there for the trip, too.)

I woke up to the sound of drums. Drums from a drum line and people chanting. I opened my eyes and wondered what the hell was going on. What was going on is that my grandmother lives a block from the Alumni Bowl where the football games are played. And where the band practices before games. Yes. They were practicing before a game alright. And that game just so happened to be the homecoming game.

Mmmm hmmm.

Maaaaan. I got hoodwinked. Bamboozled. Run amuck. My dad took me to Tuskegee on what could have possibly been the most cloudless homecoming ever--next to the one I just left. And did I mention? By the time I came downstairs, my brother had come over with his girlfriend at the time who just so happened to be a Delta. A Tuskegee Delta.

Now. Let's just be clear. My sister-in-law, Fran (also a Tuskegee alum) is the perfect woman for my brother and is the most awesomely awesome-sauce sister-in-law ever. Not to mention gorgeous, smart and ridiculously talented. So please don't get any of the following things twisted when I tell you of this former girlfriend of Will's.

Okay, so check it. So this 1987 girlfriend was not only super model gorgeous, she was also smart as all get out and super-duper nice. Especially nice to the kid sister of her first year Vet School boyfriend. So nice, in fact, that she schlepped me onto campus from my grandmother's house that bright sunny Friday and right into the thick of things with her and all of her Delta sorority sisters. Man, oh man. I will never, ever forget the sight of "the yard" that day. Fraternities and sororities singing. Pledgees standing at attention with solemn faces. Music playing from speakers and just. . . energy. I swear it was like a scene out of Spike Lee's "School Daze" and I was just waiting for him to jump out of the bushes to yell "CUT!"

So. Freakin'. Awesome.

The next day? The game. I had never been to a Tuskegee Homecoming game and this? This was crazy. I could not, could not, could not get my mind around all of it. I kept wanting someone to pinch me, to tell me that all of this was part of a movie set and not real at all. But it was. It all was.

I was able to visit some of the academic buildings and even got a formal tour by a university ambassador (which I later became.) I wanted to fight the magnetic pull of my heart to this place but I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried.

When we finally made it to Spelman College on a rainy Monday morning, it simply couldn't compete. And certainly I know from visiting my high school best friend who indeed went to Spelman, that Monday visit in no way gave Spelman a fair chance. (In fact, during my Tuskegee years we both enjoyed each other's homecomings VERY much. . .ha ha!) 

There wasn't a sorority legacy in our family already, so I guess I can say the Delta thing in our family started with me. (Deanna pledged five years after me in an alumnae chapter.) Okay. So I'll admit that Will's 1987 Delta girlfriend had a lot to do with me initially being enamored by Delta women. Particularly Tuskegee Delta women. Once I came back from that trip, I learned a little more. I paid attention to some things that I hadn't noticed before. Turns out that some of my favorite adult role models (in Jack and Jill, etc.) were members of Delta Sigma Theta, too. By the time I set foot at Tuskegee, my mind was made up.

And so.

I guess you can see why homecoming at Tuskegee holds such a special place in my heart. It's tied to the moment I knew that I'd make that place my alma mater. It's tied to my first yearnings to be a Delta woman. And now? I guess it's a part of who I am.

This past homecoming underscored all of that more than most years I can remember--although most have been awesome. Something about the energy. . .the all of it. . . .was so reminiscent of that fateful autumn in 1987. That unforgettable time that I got my first taste of the HBCU experience . . . .and the homecoming traditions wrapped snugly inside it.

I even found myself wondering this year. . . .was there a high school girl somewhere watching me and my linesisters feeling just as inspired as I did in 1987? Were those thunderous drums speaking to the spirit of a pre-teen who'd been dragged along with their parents?

Did our tight hugs and loud songs plant a seed in someone, somewhere? And you know? I couldn't help but think after looking at those images and reading those words again. . . .did those images perhaps give a high school student clicking through on the internet second thoughts about whether or not they could indeed still be all they can be--even if they chose one of these 105 schools?

Maybe it left them imagining themselves a part of life long friendships and sisterhoods. The kind that would make them yearn to come back from far away places like New York and Denver and Los Angeles and San Diego. Year after year.

Maybe someone narrowed their eyes and scratched their head. . . and for the first time wanted to know more about who they themselves are and what all this history could mean to them. Just maybe hearing all of this and seeing all of this piqued their interest. . .piqued it enough to really and truly explore this "different world" that had always seemed surreal outside Cosby sitcoms.

Or maybe it's none of that. Maybe someone somewhere just liked hearing about it because it opened a window into a different culture. Maybe. And maybe it reminded someone that joy is joy and friendship is friendship--no matter what.

 

my linesister, Falona, at Homecoming 2012

Falona's parents and my parents at Homecoming 2012 (Poopdeck went to high school with them, too!)

Maybe.

Because this experience? It was more than just about higher education. It was about tapping into a part of your soul that some people who look like me spend their whole lives trying to run from. Or even just get okay with. 

I think my experiences at Tuskegee and Meharry helped me to be alright with me. And my culture. Which, if you ask me, is the best and only way to get alright with other people and their cultures.

Half the battle in life is just getting okay with who you are. At least that's what I think.

Me? I had a choice. I know for sure that I could have gone to a large majority institution that any and everybody has heard of and that wouldn't require any long explanation whatsoever. I know that. And not for one second do I criticize or question any person (particularly those of color) who did choose such a school. In fact, I'm proud of anyone who is doing their thing and trying to get a higher education.

Dad introducing his grandsons to the President of Tuskegee University, Dr. Gilbert Rochon

But you know what? I'm so proud that I grew up in an environment and a household where an HBCU was even a consideration. A consideration for a valedictorian like my sister JoLai or a salutatorian like my sister Deanna. A consideration for two other accomplished children who ranked sixth in their high school classes like my brother Will and me. I'm proud that my parents and grandparents painted a picture of these institutions for us not as "last resorts" or "places where black folks used to go" but as places smart, vibrant and promising young people like us should consider worthy of our talents . . . . and places that we could, would, and should feel at home.

But most of all? I'm proud that I listened to my father that day when he told me that "the great will be great." Proud that with each and every thing I accomplish as a professional. . . not one but two historically black institutions can stand to their feet, point at me and say, "We made her."

Because they did.

***
Happy Thursday. (And happy homecoming to all my friends heading up to Hampton University this weekend. Make it count!)

They made me. And I'm proud of it.

***

Kimberly Manning, MD, FACP, FAAP

Associate Professor of Medicine

Emory University School of Medicine

B.S. Biology, Tuskegee University, 1992

M.D., Meharry Medical College, 1996

***

Homecoming--HBCU style!

Tuskegee, thou pride of the swift growing South
We pay thee our homage today
For the worth of thy teaching, the joy of thy care;
And the good we have known 'neath thy sway.

Oh, long-striving mother of diligent sons
And of daughters whose strength is their pride,
We will love thee forever and ever shall walk
Through the oncoming years at thy side.

Oh, mother Tuskegee, thou shinest today
As a gem in the fairest of lands;
Thou gavest the heav'n-blessed power to see
The worth of our minds and our hands.

We thank thee, we bless thee, we pray for thee years
Imploring with grateful accord,
Full fruit for thy striving, time longer to strive,
Sweet love and true labor's reward.

~ Paul Lawrence Dunbar, The Tuskegee Song

(always sung loud and proud with your right fist in the air!)

_________________________________________________

I still remember the first day I arrived at Tuskegee University as a freshman. Dad and I pulled right in front of Fredrick Douglass Hall unpacking my things and stacking them up on the curb. The air was so thick with humidity that my California lungs felt suffocated by it. Sure, I'd visited the South before--and even Tuskegee--but this was different. This air was now my air. These buildings were now my buildings. And yes. I was now in the epicenter of this history that had been my history all along.

I remembered those grainy black and white photos of my maternal grandmother and grandfather. Standing side by side and looking doe-eyed in the 1940's --  right there on the same campus. I could see Mom's cherubic face as she sat cross-legged on a brick fountain and Daddy marching down "the ave" as an Omega pledgee proudly holding his Lampados club shield. I'd seen those images for years and even had newer ones from my brother, Will, and older sister, Deanna, to add to that collection. Him yucking it up with sorority girls in tight apartment kitchens with his collegiate swagger. Her laughing out loud with a backpack slung over her shoulder on the yard. 

Now it was my turn. And yes, that air was thick with humidity. But also with anticipation of what was to come. An experience all my own at a historically black college. All my own. 

So. Why an HBCU (historically black college/university)? Why, when you were sixth in your high school class and when you had excellent SAT scores? Why, when you are all the way from California and all of the schools that meet that description are no further west than Texas? Especially when you have places like UCLA and UC Berkley and Stanford right in your back yard? Why? Why? Why?

Those were the questions I heard often. But for me, it was a no-brainer. One that stemmed way back from something my daddy once told me--"The great will be great." He let me know that those destined to do great things should choose carefully about life experiences and also who will get credit later on. That helped me when I was trying to listen to my spirit and go to Meharry Medical College (also historically black). But it also assisted me in embracing Tuskegee University as my college of choice. 

Douglass Hall, Tuskegee

 This place? This place had history. Not just history for my own family but history. That dorm that my daddy was hauling my padlocked trunk into had been built by hand by students in the 1800's. I would be living in a building that was named for a man who made his name as a slavery abolitionist. And I would be in an environment designed to nurture me and ground me in who I am as an African-American. 

That was important to me. It always will be, too.

I wanted all of that. And I especially wanted the part affectionately known as "the black college experience." Man, oh man. The marching bands with their high kicking, leg splitting drum majors. The laugh out loud moments in campus hangouts and the excitement of sorority and fraternity probate performances, step shows and, of course, the parties in between. The loyalty built into hearts after spending those important years there and the magnetic pull it has to return for homecoming celebrations year after year with countless others of all ages. 

And so. This past weekend, for my fellow alums, all roads led to Tuskegee. Old ones, young ones, and all those in between followed the band and made their way back home. Even Mother Nature seemed to be in cahoots as she blessed us with spectacular blue skies and pleasant fall weather. For me? This was a special one. The 20th anniversary of the year I pledged Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated--which meant a BIG OL' reunion with all of my linesisters! Woot! Woot!

Now. Since we always like cultural competency on this-here-blog, I'll explain a few things. Black sororities and fraternities are lifetime commitments. In fact, most of the work begins AFTER you've graduated. While many pledge as collegiates, just as many (if not more) pledge into graduate chapters. All have the expectation that you'll continue to serve the community, embrace and encourage scholarship and foster a bond with fellow members. This explains why you see black people driving around with Greek letter placards on their cars or sorority t-shirts well into middle age. No, they aren't reliving their golden days as frat boys or sorority girls (although some are.) Seriously, though, mostly it means that they're proud of their lifelong affiliation with the organization.

My car

These fraternities and sororities are often family traditions just like the schools. Like to the point of parents completely losing their minds when their kids choose to go a different way. ("Going a different way" means pledging something other than what your family mostly did.)

The mean expression is just an Omega thing--at least with the younger ones.

(I can't say that we're terribly worried about what ours will want to do. . .ha ha ha.)

They also have lots of fun traditions tied to them that are easily recognizable to most African-Americans. I pledged Delta--short for Delta Sigma Theta--in the Gamma Tau Chapter at Tuskegee University. Many refer to the place or time that you pledged as the time that you were "made" and those who pledged you "made" you. Case in point, this conversation I had with my dad at homecoming one year:

Me:  "Hey Poopdeck, was he your linebrother?"

Dad:  "Naww! I made him!"

Me: "Oh, my bad."

Those who pledged with you are referred to as "linesisters" or "linebrothers." The group that pledges is collectively called a "line," drawn from the tradition of lining up pledges by height during the pledge process. The moment of initiation is called "crossing over." This refers to the act of (often literally) "crossing over the burning sands" that bridge being a pledge from being a sho nuff and bona fide member. Anyone who pledged the same year and semester as you did is affectionately called your "sands." And all fellow members of your sorority are your "sorors." (The guys keep it a little simpler by just saying "brother" or "bruh" -- and depending upon the organization there's all sorts of other names, too.)

Whew! I know this is a lot but stay with me, y'all--I'm going somewhere. (Black people who attended HBCUs or who are in greek letter organizations, I'm sure y'all are bored to death, but y'all stay with me, too.)

Well, for me, 2012 marked twenty years since I crossed in 1992. And even cooler? It was Poopdeck's FIFTIETH YEAR since he was made into Omega Psi Phi at the very same college!

Dad's pledge line in Fall of '62 marching on the yard at Tuskegee. Poopdeck was #12 -- the "taildog."

Oh, and did I mention? The Deltas and the Omegas are unofficial brother-sister organizations. And did I also mention that Harry also happens to be an Omega man just like my dad?And that HE, too, pledged in 1992 and was celebrating HIS twentieth year at his own alma mater, Virginia State?

OMG. I remember the night I first met Harry I went over to say good bye and just as I did one of his frat brothers came over to greet him at the same time. The bulldog is the Omega mascot and many of them affectionately refer to each other as "dog" or "dogteam." (Confusing, I know.) But check it, y'all. I was already feeling him, but SERIOUSLY I was thinking, "if this guy is an Omega, this would officially make him my future husband." And don't you know that when the dude was leaving, I saw him giving Harry a secret handshake (which could be any fraternity) but then almost FAINTED when I heard him say to the guy, "Alright then, dogteam!" 

I was all like:

You. Are. SO. My. Husband.

Harry and his (and Poopdeck's) Omega fraternity brothers at an alumni chapter function

Yup. 

Which reminds me. One of my favorite moments from my wedding day was sitting in the middle of the big Omega circle on Harry's lap as my dad and all of the rest of their fraternity brothers sang all around us. Way cool.

Almost as cool as having all of my sorors serenading me that day. :)

Anywho. Where was I? Oh yeah, homecoming. Okay, so I've said ALL of that to get you ready for what was HANDS DOWN the best homecoming I've had since the year I pledged Delta in 1992.

For those who have never been to or even heard of a black college homecoming weekend experience, consider this post your very first one. I intend to take you right into the thick of it so that you, too, can feel it right along with those who know it so well.

Like to hear it? Here it go!

YOUR FIRST OR MAYBE UMPTEENTH BLACK COLLEGE HOMECOMING WEEKEND (DEPENDING UPON WHO YOU ARE) THROUGH THE EYES OF THE LITTLE BLOG THAT COULD!

Give me your hand. . . . .you ready? You well rested? I hope so. . . . . 

Homecoming -- HBCU style. . . .

We did it big this year. Our line delegated the planning to an amazing committee who put together a whole package for us.  Those who arrived in Atlanta (which is ~ two hours away from Tuskegee) met up for lunch. Afterward the rest of us all converged on an awesome rooftop bar for a daytime party in downtown Atlanta. How great was it to reconnect with so many of my old friends and especially my linesisters!

If we look like we were having fun, it's because we were.

Roomdog! Woof! Woof!

Me and Tasha, my college roommate and linesister showing those young girls how the forty-somethings do it!

I'd never been to a "daytime party." But let me tell you, this one? This one was a WHOLE HEAP of fun and a perfect way to kick off our 20th reunion for sure! We got to see lots of friends from our college years and also got to just yuck it up and reconnect.

But mostly we acted silly just like we did in college.

Next up? An awesome dinner in a private room in a Buckhead restaurant (Maggianos.) Lots and lots of food but mostly lots of fun. We had THIRTY ONE grown-ass women in attendance. How awesome is that?

But it wasn't over there. After dinner, we all went to The Grand Hyatt where a block of rooms including a hospitality suite awaited us. And these adorable bags holding all of our "swag" and the itinerary for the weekend. Go planning committee!

Everyone changed into their fun pajamas and old sorority t-shirts and convened in the hospitality suite. This was what I'd like to call an "adult pajama party"-- and what I mean by that is that we all hung out 'til the wee hours of the morning snacking, gossiping and drinking margaritas . . . but when it came for some real sleep, we retreated our grown selves to our own hotel rooms. Ha. My kind of pajama party!

Early the next morning, the good ones got up and worked out. I wasn't one of the good ones, but I did manage to snag my linesister Glencia after her early run to join me for breakfast! It was awesome to catch up one on one with her before the real antics started. 

Including this other photo of us from the day before since Glencia will surely fuss at me for posting her post-run hair! 

After breakfast we all changed into our special "blinged out" anniversary t-shirts. Everyone looked so amazing and it was neat to see how everyone had their own style infused into their look. The shirts were these adorable stretchy numbers with "Made in '92" on the front and Roman numeral for twenty on the back with our chapter. Everyone looked so good!

I'm sure you're wondering if they only selected gorgeous and successful women that year. We don't know the answer to that, but we do say, "Why, thank you for the compliment, daahhhling."

I was a little cold at first so had on a red jacket. Don't worry, I was a good sport and took it off when the time came.

Hey, can't you tell Ebony was my roommate in the hotel? She totally tzujjed me up with eyelashes and smokey eyes. Told you she would!

We met up in front of the hotel where our chariot awaited us. And by "chariot" I mean a luxury limo bus (complete with a pole!) Twenty-nine of us jumped in and off we went for two hours of laughing, imbibing and . . .uhh. . . .dancing.

Those are my feet in those fancy socks laughing as Ebony strikes a pose upon my request to "look fierce." 

Yes. It was EXACTLY as much fun as it appears on these photos.

We laughed so hard that it seemed like that ride only took five minutes. Somebody yelled out of the window, "We're here! We're home!" And all of us started belting out Tuskegee spirit chants followed by our old school sorority party cheers. 

The T! The U! S-K-E the G-double E! TUSKEGEE! WOOO! TUSKEGEE! WOOOOOOO!

The bus pulled right onto campus and dropped us all off next to the historic Booker T. Washington monument where we hugged those who weren't on the bus and took photos. This statue represents our school's founder, Booker T. Washington, lifting the veil of ignorance from his people and is a symbol of the university for Tuskegeeans everywhere. Our family has scores of photos in that very same place.

Then we headed to the Homecoming Game! Woo Hooo!

The sky could not have been bluer and more cloudless. The energy was pulsatile and the smiles were so full and genuine that I wished I could just bottle them up and take them with me for later. Our committee was so organized that we even had a TENT and a BANNER with FOOD and DRINKS inside the game. (Go committee!)

In addition to seeing some old friends, I met some new ones, too. I got to hug the neck of one of the girls from the most recent pledge class who happens to be my same linenumber. Yay!

I totally commended them for being FAR more organized than we ever were as collegiate Deltas. Ha ha ha. We never would have gotten our own tent and food had we known that the young'ns were gonna set it out like that! Ha ha ha!

Two of my sands even have CHILDREN in school at Tuskegee now. Can you even believe that? I guess we are old enough for that now, aren't we? Wow.

Tanya and her son, LJ, a freshman at Tuskegee. (Husband, Spence, is also a TU alum.)

Super excited to have also met Kurlylicious who reads my blog (and also has an awesome blog herself.) Yaahooooo! You know how hyped I get to know that someone other than my mama is reading this thing. (Although after all these photos and this long post, though, y'all might not come back. .ha ha!)

Kurlylicious is in our "rival" sorority -- Alpha Kappa Alpha and her hubby is a Tuskegee alumnus. (Good choice, girlfriend!)  I use that word "rival" very gently because at our school there was nothing contentious about our relationship. We were all the best of friends and loved ribbing each other any chance we got.

It's good to know that Kurly didn't hold my choice of sororities against me! She even came up and introduced herself to Tounces and Poopdeck when she saw them on the yard before me. How EXCITED were they?

Speaking of which. Remember, my dad was celebrating FIFTY years so if you think WE had good stuff as forty-somethings, just imagine how the sixty-somethings do it! The "old school" people come in big RVs complete with full bars and deep fryers.

Why does fried fish taste so much better at homecoming games and tailgates?

Dad and some of his '62 line brothers. These guys were a HOOT, do you hear me? A HOOT.

More Omegas from Poopdeck's era.  They were having a blast. In fact, they got started on THURSDAY with a service project and still had the party going on Saturday.

Glencia and I promptly hit up their stash of refreshments and food. But of course we did!

One of MANY, MANY laugh out loud moments with Poopdeck and his frat brothers.

After the game, everyone hits the yard to socialize and hang out. My sisters were there, too, but I have to snag some of their pictures to add to these. Come back and check for those. 

Oh. Here you go--including Tounces. :)

 

Once a little time has passed, it's our tradition at homecoming for all of the sororities and fraternities to meet up and serenade at their "rocks." That's the place were your chapter brothers or sisters can be found on campus at any given time. 

We were SO proud to roll in THIRTY plus as a line for our serenade! The circle of Deltas is huge at homecoming and the love just fills you heart when those voices start rising over the campus. This is one of my favorite parts of homecoming. 

Here's a quick clip of some "old school" Gamma Tau Delta girls singing the solo part on one of our traditional songs. You can see how HUGE our Delta circle is on this little video clip. Forgive my wretched filming job--I was a little . . .uhh. . excited. Yeah, that's it. Excited.

Funny. Someone notified me that I am now officially "old school", too. Hmmmm.

Since we had our awesome party bus, we were all able to stop back by to grab jackets (or in my case to change into more comfortable shoes.) Those who needed a breather or to take a load off did while others kept the party going at the Conference Center on campus or just socializing on the yard until dusk.

How cute is Poopdeck in all of his frat gear?

My next stop was my grandmother's house which happens to be walking distance from campus. It was amazing to see her and talk to her. I love knowing that she met and fell in love with my grandfather there.

That part was awesome. We were happy to see each other. Ninety years old and still sharp as a tack. I know that having her there is a treat now just as it was when I was a student. My linesister Michele came with me to my grandma's house, which I super-duper appreciated.

Just when things couldn't get better, I got this picture texted to me from the BHE who was at his own homecoming in Virginia. I was quickly reminded of how freakin' HOT that man is. Ha ha ha.

He and his linebrothers chose to dress more swanky than us. But then, you already know from reading this blog how swanky he is anyway.

Harry and his Omega linebrother and best friend, Shannon J.

We laughed, hugged and partied until we were fully spent. We crawled back to the bus, stopping occasionally for a second wind at the historic sites.

Finally, we all boarded the bus and headed back to Atlanta where our chariot dropped us back at the hotel. Shoes immediately got peeled off of feet and replaced with slippers.

The morning brought more fellowship over omelets and coffee.

Finally it was time to return to our real lives again. So sad! Can you believe I left there and went straight to do the AIDS Walk with my SG students? Can you say EXHAUSTED? Ha ha ha. (More on the AIDS Walk later.)

Hands down. Best. Homecoming. Ever.

Admit it. Wasn't it your best, too?

So glad you were able to come along for the ride with me. Aren't you glad you didn't miss it? See you there next year, okay?

***
Happy Homecoming. To all o' y'all.

Here's our 20th Anniversary Line Celebration video. Full of some great moments over the last twenty years with my linesisters. Enjoy.
Coalescent Spring '92 Line Anniversary from Kimberly Manning on Vimeo.