COMMUNITY

Allow me to wax nostalgic for a moment:

It was just a little town in north Texas, the last vestige of civilization before crossing over into Oklahoma territory on Interstate Highway 75 North. The setting was bucolic enough, small town and quiet, even though its boundaries were still defined by Jim Crow.  Up the hill from the Interstate was a community within that community, Terrell School.  Its inhabitants were the young, the old, and the in-between.  The old and in-between tried, mostly to no avail, to corral the natural restlessness and exuberance of the young, but the young, propelled by the kinetic energy that was always trying to break free, just laughed and looked forward to the next moment, barely aware of the vagaries and swiftness of life.

There were moments when the old and the in-between would sigh and shake their heads, wondering if the young would ever slow down long enough to consider the possibilities of life, or the wonder of learning.  The young, mostly the boys, just laughed, and did learn, though they did their best not to show their learning because their reputation for "cool" was always at stake.

Still, the community supported and embraced one another, neither realizing the depth of their affection for one another until years later when the exuberance of the young, tested by the vagaries of life, ripened into mature joy, and the wisdom of the old and in-between was reflected in life choices and reflections. Yes, there have been needs and losses; there have been heartaches and bad choices, but always, always, there is the voice of the community reminding us that we are more than our mistakes. We are the first generation that was truly able to walk through newly opened doors with little fear of Jim Crow sanctioned retribution. The price for those open doors was high; blood, sweat and tears. But, in spite of the cost, we persevered, proving that we were worthy of the faith of the community, that in spite of it all, we could still lift our voices and sing.

Today the then-young are the old and in-between.  Today, the then-young are the ones who sigh and shake their heads at the natural restlessness and exuberance of the young, wondering if they will ever slow down long enough to consider the possibilities of life or the wonders of learning.  Still, today, like the old and in-between of yesterday, the now old and in-between continue to hope and believe in the future of its extended community, its children and its grandchildren and its grandchildren's children, ad infinitum. 

The times are different from the days when the old and the in-between of the Terrell community pointed the young towards the horizon of a new day, a day when the lines of Jim Crow would be erased by the realization that "freedom and justice for all" really meant all and not some.  Yet, the hope that was fostered in that community lives on in the hearts and lives of those who remain.  So, in this month designated as Black or African American History Month (take your pick), the community that was, and is, Terrell is remembered with fondness and just a little nostalgia for what we had; it really was "more than a name," or "cold stone."  Its "spirit and beauty and light" continues.  "Dear Terrell, we hail thee."  We were more than community.  We were, and are, family.

God's blessings on you all.

Donna (Class of 65)
2/1/02