May is probably one of my favorite months of the year for two reasons. One reason I love the month of May is because of the celebration of Mother’s Day. One of the best gifts I received was from my son, who wrote me a poem called “Crockpot Queen.” With colorful rainbow crayon on yellow construction paper, he cleverly praised all of the remarkable dishes I create by simply dumping complex food combinations (along with a lot of seasoning) into the crockpot in the morning to be ready for our family at the end of the day when we return home. The person who invented the Crockpot is almost as much of a genius as my poem-writing son.
The other reason I love May is because it is time for graduation. I, along with many of you, have attended just about every type of graduation, from kindergarten to graduate school. With each one, I am that much more proud and thankful for the sacrifices of our ancestors and the ordering of those steps. This was something I thought about when I was asked to give a welcome to the families at Butler University’s first-ever Black Graduation, organized by Butler University’s Black Student Union. At this time of year, it is important for all students, especially Black students, to understand every time they walk across that stage, they ought to walk in both pride and humility, recognizing it is because of the prayers, hard work and sacrifices of their family, their ancestors and the broader community that they are able to reach those goals.
I am the product of a very large extended family network that began when my maternal grandparents, Rafe Sr. and Elnora Taylor, migrated from Natcotiches, Louisiana, and my paternal grandparents, Earl and Ella Mae Jett, migrated from Pine Bluff, Arkansas, all to the San Francisco Bay area, specifically Oakland, California. My mother, after graduating from McClymonds High School in West Oakland, was one of the first Black women to be accepted to Kaiser Nursing School. But my mother carried with her the love of science instilled in her by my grandfather, who, with his third-grade education, had as much knowledge of the soil and sun as that of a genius and was able to maintain a remarkable layered backyard garden large enough to feed his large and extended family.
My father carried with him the love of math instilled in him by my maternal grandmother, who had a degree in mathematics from Pine Bluff A&M. My grandfather Earl Jett was a very creative person, a photographer and an inventor and became a reserve police officer — which was all that was allowed for a Black man in law enforcement at that time. My Mama Ella (as I affectionately called her) would jokingly say to me, “I would have a Ph.D. in mathematics if I hadn’t married Earl,” and then she would say, “You look like you should have a Ph.D.,” thus ordering my steps. I know it is because of the courage, imagination, fortitude and hard work of my parents and my extended family collectively — and the dreams they had for me, which allowed me to reach for dreams of my own — that I developed a love of learning and an appreciation for the complexity of how we define knowledge.
Today, I am a humble and proud member of “the academy.” So every time the month of May rolls around, I think of how much I love my family and my people. And I imagine that each of those graduating Black students has a lineage steeped in struggle that has pushed them with the transformational impulse of high expectations to a place of empowerment that will serve us all well.
Dr. Terri Jett is an associate professor of political science and special assistant to the provost for diversity and inclusivity at Butler University. Comments can be sent to tjett@butler.edu.
