The Smoke by Mieasia Harris-Edwards ’96

The smoke was thick. I watched it until it was no longer visible. The smoke came from the exhaust pipe of my father’s used Grand Marquis as he drove away leaving me in this unfamiliar place...where no one looked like me...talked like me...walked like me...or smiled at me. It was not for me. I knew this was not a place where I belonged, yet it was there that I craved a sense of belonging. It was not a place that reflected my culture, yet, I wanted to be a part of its culture. It was not a place where I felt loved, though I wanted to be loved...and not just loved, but accepted. I walked up the Grand Hill and marveled at the beautiful, yet stoic scene. I hadn’t ever seen anything like it. I came from streets, often described as mean streets in Harlem, NYC in the 80s filled with skyrocketing crime...but still...I always felt safe on those streets. This place was different...it was known as one of the safest parts of New York City, in Riverdale, N.Y., however… here…I DID NOT...FEEL...SAFE.

I opened the tall, massive, and heavy wood door that was the quality of African Blackwood, at $100 per board foot. The wood was African and belonged, but my African skin did not belong. Ironically, I can’t say that I had ever felt African, or that I had ever felt American...but there, I proudly identified as an African-American, defending and reclaiming my space in that place. And they...they were white…white, rich, and affluent...I thought to myself... Why did they leave me here? I shut the African door and ran down to the edge of the street. I looked down the road hoping to see my Dad making a U-turn. Hoping he was coming back... At that moment, I noticed my cheek felt cold and crusted. So distracted by my inner turmoil, I hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down my face. My head dropped...and my heart was heavy. I would never forgive them...How could they leave me here? Why did they enroll me in social and cultural calamity?

When my Dad dropped me off, he said, “Remember, you are brilliant and amazing, no matter what. Don’t ever forget that... you are strong and you will thrive wherever you are. You hear me...”. I heard him…but I am sure I wasn’t listening...The high school campus proved to be where I advanced academically, but it was where I regressed culturally, emotionally, and socially...was it worth it?

As a 17-year educator who served students in many roles, teacher, principal and now, principal coach in a district of more than 8,000 students, I know firsthand how school-building culture creation is intentional. Did they intentionally want me to feel isolated and lack a sense of belonging? I am unsure. Perhaps my comfort was not the focus, rather the comfort of the majority, the dominant group, of which I was not a part of.

I am still clouded by the smoke from that place, and the exhaust pipe…but I am now the parent…who is willing to drop off the child, in the place with the massive African door...with the hope that my daughter will feel like her beautiful Afro-Caribbean-American skin belongs. “Remember sweetheart, you are brilliant and amazing, no matter what. Don’t ever forget that...you are strong and you will thrive wherever you are. You hear me...”

I hope she will be listening...

“Although my experiences at Riverdale were imperfect, as an educator, I believe in the importance of a quality education, access and opportunity. I believe Riverdale will afford my daughter, who will be attending Pre-K in the Fall, opportunities to participate fully in a sound academic program where she grows along with her peers. I grappled with the decision to apply for my daughter initially, but after reconnecting with the Riverdale community and under the leadership of the Head of School, Dominic A.A. Randolph, I am very excited about Riverdale’s authentic plans to engage in Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, and BELONGING for all students, where representation matters in classrooms and among faculty.”

a note from the author: