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The Event that Ignited My Passion for History
The First Time I Saw a Cotton Field
I grew up in Minnesota, which, except for Alaska and parts of Maine, is almost as far north as you can get in America. Technically, portions of Washington, Idaho, Montana, and North Dakota are pieces a little more North, but the point is, I never saw cotton growing up, it was too damn cold to grow where I lived.
When I was about 5, my family took a trip to LaGrange, GA, where I had relatives. We flew to Atlanta, took a Greyhound bus to LaGrange, mostly on Interstate 85, and got picked up and driven to the farm where my Aunt and Uncle lived. I saw plenty of red clay, cows, and pigs, but no cotton.
When Black History Month was still just a week. We learned about Toussaint L’Overture and the Haitian Revolution (we never studied any of the revolts in America). We were taught about George Washington Carver and all he could do with a peanut, and Booker T. Washington. I was aware of enslaved people picking cotton, but it wasn’t through formal education.
After graduating from high school, I attended Fisk University, an HBCU in Nashville, TN. Nashville was too cold for cotton, but admittedly, cotton wasn’t on my mind. I made the varsity basketball team, which meant I’d be traveling throughout the South (though we did go to a tournament in…
