|
COPYRIGHT 2004 Blackgirl Magazine
It was not unusual for me to be the sole youngster in a hall full of adults with my own mom as the focal point. Growing up the daughter of a professor, lecturer, dance critic, writer, and sometimes English teacher, I had a wealth of inspiration. My mothers presence and her ability to frame her words with movement and momentum would always end up holding me captive at some point during what had originally seemed irrelevant to my adolescent life. Equally as influential were the recitations of her favorite poetry combined with her own choreography. Often times I found myself a nervous wreck, while my mother seemed to display...
Read the full article for free courtesy of your local library.
|