Читать книгу Masculinity Under Construction - LaToya Jefferson-James - Страница 5

During the course of my studies, I lost two of my biggest supporters, my maternal grandfather, Mr. Leroy Jefferson, Sr. and my oldest brother, Mr. Damien Ray Gibson. Though they did not live to see this project completed, not a day goes by that I do not think of them in some way. They are present with me always. I would like to pay homage to the memory of my paternal great-grandfather who died years before I was born. Yet, he is still affectionately known as “Poppa Sandy,” and his memory continues to serve as an example of what proactive, empathetic Black manhood should look like. I must acknowledge all of the men of my family and community. Men in my family, like all Black men of South Mississippi can be stubborn, unyielding, and contrary. Yet, they have the biggest soft spot for children and family (only do not tell them I told you all about the soft spot). They helped shape my perceptions of positive Black masculinity identity formation.

Of course, I must thank the women who raised me. Feminist colleagues, do not take me to task for acknowledging and thanking my mothers after the men. The project is on Black masculinity, after all. The women who I owe my life and livelihood to include my mother and all of the extended mothers whose job, they felt, “was to make sure’” I was always “right.” Now, I have not figured out what my “rightness” looks like, but I do strive. They encouraged my studies, forced me to participate in church programs at Centreville Baptist Church and Winans Chapel CME Church, gave me long speeches that I had to memorize, taught me to carry myself with dignity, would not tolerate any laziness, made me start over when I would “half-do” any task, blended my academic training with a great deal of woman-sung Blues and woman-centered folk wisdom, and taught me that a woman is enough. My mother exposed me to the majesty of Black woman—from Harriet Tubman to Bessie Coleman to Aretha Franklin to Fannie Lou Hamer to Shirley Chisholm to Margaret Walker Alexander to Denise LaSalle to Leontyne Price—and I do not believe I could ever thank her enough.

I would like to thank everyone in my home community of Centreville, Mississippi who has ever prayed for me, given me quarters for my laundry, or wished me well. I am grateful to my parents who have spent many hours with my children either watching the baby or driving my son to and from school while I completed this manuscript. I have watched my father become a doting grandfather who simply cannot refuse a grandbaby’s request for another truck ride or another trip to the store for sugary snacks. It has been amazing.

Academically, I owe several professors a debt of gratitude: Verner Mitchell for his patience and unofficial adoption of me as a mentee, the late Reginald Martin whose enthusiasm about my unconventional way of thinking forced me to keep going when this project started out as a typo-riddled paper in one of his seminar classes, and Adetayo Alabi, who first introduced me to the concept of an African Diaspora by taking his undergraduate and graduate classes and insisting that I attend a lecture by Opal Palmer Adissa and a dinner with Derek Walcott.

This project would not be possible without the Interlibrary Loan staff at the J. D. Williams Library of the University of Mississippi.