There is a popular meme circulating among Black College alumni, created by FAMU alumnus Derrick Junior, that informs the world writ large that HBCU Homecomings are more than a football game, they are, “…a family reunion, a block party, a cookout, a kickback, a fashion show, a festival, a black power rally, a revival, an oasis, a physical and spiritual baptism in blackness.”
From 1994, the year that I graduated from Morehouse, to 2012, due to grad/law school and later work obligations, I only attended two SpelHouse Homecomings. Since 2013, I have only missed once–last year–when I was literally fighting for my life following a stint in the ICU from complications with diabetes.
I have not shared that last tidbit with anyone except my closest kin and friends, partially due to the introverted half of my ambivert self, but also due to the lingering stress that encompasses facing mortality issues. Which, in turn, was why attending my class reunion this past May–and Homecoming this past weekend–was so crucial for me so that I could reflect, reconnect, and rejuvenate my soul for the Sisyphean work tasks that I face in the days ahead.
Now, while I love to boast about the professional and personal accomplishments of my schoolmates from Morehouse and Spelman in both this blog and in other articles and posts on social media, for a three to four day period each year, our professional titles become irrelevant and for a brief moment, we are locked in a figurative time capsule, one in which the only concerns are “kicking it hard,” and engaging in deep dialogue with friends who knew you well back in the day; friends who, in many instances, still know you the best.
Indeed, the fun of having DJ’s like Nupe Toron Roberts spinning old school jams, and the joy of having graduated from low-level liquor like MD 20/20 and Schlitz Malt Liquor to top shelf refreshments is truly enhanced by the deep conversations that occur between plates of on-site cooked and catered food–all the while surviving the thick haze of ‘loud’ green (and from the smells, bad brown) weed. Conversations, mind you, that go far beyond surface level or pretention, but to the core concern about each other’s physical and mental well-being. Conversations that invariably reveal that each of us is navigating the vicissitudes that define adulthood, be it issues at work, at home–or both. Conversations, I believe, that remind that we are not just our Brother’s and Sister’s keepers, but that our charges as Morehouse Men and Spelman Women are to do our level best each day–at work and home–to light the path for those within our families and communities who look to us for leadership.
To that end, I am grateful for the past three days, from talking life and politics in Brother Dr. Lance Shipman Young’s Chemistry classroom, to staying up way past my usual 9pm bedtime in the clubs, to the ever growing tailgate, I find my heart filled and mind prepared to press onward toward greater heights! So, til next year, my pictorial retrospective of SpelHouse Homecoming 2K19 will remind that a ball was had by all:
A FAMILY REUNION, A FASHION SHOW, A REVIVAL!
Friday on the Yard!
Friday Day Party
Friday Night Parties
Til next time, it is still all “SpelHouse Love”