When I was growing up, I loved reading about distant fantastical worlds just as much as I loved reading about high school drama. Reading quickly became my number one pastime, but no matter how many books I plowed through, it was difficult for me to find books where the characters looked like me. Luckily, as I got older, more and more Black authors were publishing books with beautiful Black main characters.
I have always felt disconnected from the month of February. Yes, I know it's Black History Month and I need to take pride in my history. But for a long time I just couldn’t see myself in the greatness of these heroes’ legacy. It was a steep hill to climb. In school, the teachers would have us create projects, watch a film or two and decorate the room in an elaborate celebration of the heroes of African American History. The more they pushed this, the wider that distance became. I can remember that feeling lingering throughout high school and up until my early twenties. I celebrated my culture of course during those years but there was never a true connection to the history of it, until there was.