Southern Black Lens Presents: A Love Letter to the South

Standing from left to right: Arvelia Brock (aunt), Arletha Coffee (aunt), Debra Sheriff (aunt), Glenda Woods (aunt).  Sitting: Mary Brock (grandmother), Reverend James Brock Sr. (grandfather), and James Brock Jr (my dad)

My paternal grandmother, Mary Brock, was born on a plantation in Mississippi.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Not a great or a great-great, but my grandmother.  When she casually revealed this information to me I was very taken aback.  I was well aware of my deep Southern roots, but I always thought that there were more degrees of separation between myself and life on a plantation.  People are always surprised when I tell them that some of my fondest memories are from my time spent in Mississippi.  For as long as I can remember Mississippi has served as a second home to me.  Like clockwork, every summer my parents would load me and my brothers up in the car to make the drive to my grandparents house.  I remember sitting in the back seat watching as miles of cotton fields rolled past my window.  I was too young to truly understand the significance of what I was seeing, or how not too long ago some of my ancestors were forced to work those very same fields.  I was also too young to understand how incredibly dangerous it used to be for a Black family to even drive from Georgia to Mississippi.  All I knew was that summers meant that I could go to the country and spend time with my family. 

My grandfather, Reverend James Brock Sr, was a pillar in the community of Charleston, Mississippi.  He preached for over 50 years and was the head pastor of Jackson Chapel, where my grandmother served as First Lady.  Together they had five children who all went on to attend and graduate college.  Because my dad was the only sibling who didn’t live in Mississippi, my cousins would also stay at my grandparents house at the same time I was in town.  There was never a dull moment whenever we all got together.  However, rain or shine, me and my cousins could count on having to go to church every Sunday.  A large portion of my time in Mississippi revolved around the church, for me it became synonymous with family.  Us kids would sit in the same service as the adults, and knew better than to cause a ruckus.  We were well aware that any member of the congregation could go outside and pick a “switch” to discipline us.  Just the sight of one of those long wooden branches was enough to keep us all in line.   Although the messages in most of my grandfather’s sermons went over my head, my favorite part of service was whenever the choir would sing.  They sang a lot of old Southern hymns, my favorite being “I know I’ve been changed.”  Because I always went to Mississippi in the summer that meant also having to travel to neighboring churches for revival.  For a child this was a lot to ask, but I knew that I could always look forward to the delicious meals that were prepared for after church.  I would fill my belly up with everything from fried chicken, mac and cheese, collard greens, neck bones, and cornbread.  You could bet that there would also be an array of homemade desserts to top it all off.  The thing that I remember the most was the strong sense of community, unlike anything I have felt anywhere else.  There has never been a time that I visited Mississippi and didn’t feel safe, loved, and at home. 

Me and my maternal grandmother (Martha Rutledge aka “Mama”) at my kindergarten graduation in New Orleans

Once summer was over I would start counting down the days until my maternal grandmother (Mama) from New Orleans would visit for the holidays.  I could hardly wait for her to make us gumbo, red beans and rice, stuffed bell peppers, and jambalaya.  I was so accustomed to eating these foods around the holidays that I was genuinely shocked to find out that everyone in fact did not eat gumbo for Christmas.  Although my family moved from New Orleans to Georgia when I was six years old, Mama always made me feel connected to my Louisiana roots. 

Me and my parents (James Brock Jr and Shintasha Simpson)

My parents attended Northwestern University in Natchitoches, Louisiana.  My mom  was a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority inc., and my dad was a member of Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity inc.  They met at a party on campus and later had me.  As a kid, I loved whenever Mama or my aunt Brooke would take me to go get a snowball on a hot summer day.  My favorite time of year was crawfish season.  I had to quickly learn how to peel crawfish on my own, because as the older folks would say “if you can’t peel ‘em, you can’t eat ‘em.”  I was a real NOLA baby and would even eat pickled pig lips, that is until I was old enough to realize what they were.  I remember being let out of school for Mardi Gras and going to watch the parades.  I was mesmerized by all of the intricate costumes and elaborate floats.  I would reach my little arms in the air trying to grab whatever beads were thrown my way, praying that I would be lucky enough to catch one of the highly coveted Zulu coconuts.  What I loved most of all was the second-line parades and joining everyone to dance waving our handkerchiefs and umbrellas.  Although I was very young during the time we lived in New Orleans, those memories have remained near and dear to my heart. 

Soon after my family moved to Georgia my two baby brothers (James and Jordan) were born.  Growing up my parents instilled in me the importance of education and hard work.  From a young age I was taught to believe that I could accomplish anything that I put my mind to.  The idea of having any limitations on myself because I was Black never even crossed my mind.   I was not raised to harbor any hatred in my heart towards other people.  I was raised to have a strong sense of pride in being a Black American, and that although I was part of a minority in this country there was nothing minor about me.  I carried that sense of pride with me after I graduated high school and went off to attend the University of Kentucky (UK).  When I first got to college I felt like a fish out of water.  All of my life I attended schools that were predominately Black, but being in Kentucky was my first time ever feeling what it truly meant to be a “minority.”  I immediately sensed a difference between the culture of Kentucky compared to what I was accustomed to in Georgia.  When I told my academic advisor that I wanted to become a veterinarian, she encouraged me to consider other careers because veterinary school was so competitive.  Needless to say I requested a different advisor that had a much better attitude.  My mom encouraged me to join the Black Student Union, which allowed me to find a sense of community.  I would then go on to follow in her footsteps and become a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority inc.  It was also during my time at UK that I met my best friend and now husband, Hamani Ingram. 

Me and my husband (Hamani Ingram) on our wedding day

When it was time to graduate and decide on what veterinary school I would go to there was only one option, Tuskegee University.  I always wanted to attend an HBCU, and Tuskegee was the only one with a veterinary school so the choice was simple.  During my time at Tuskegee I could feel that the grounds I was being educated on were sacred.  I was constantly reminded of the legacies of Booker T. Washington, George Washington Carver, the Tuskegee Airmen, and others.  My experience was the polar opposite from my time in Kentucky.  I was taught by primarily Black doctors who nurtured me as I matriculated through the veterinary program.  Through blood, sweat, and tears I was able to graduate magna cum laude with my doctorate in veterinary medicine.  It was during my time living in Tuskegee that I truly gained a deeper appreciation for my history and culture.  It’s hard to live in such a historic town and not feel inspired.  When I was in Tuskegee I felt like I was in a sanctuary that allowed me to discover my love of storytelling.

Southern Black Lens started as an idea that has been able to blossom from the seeds planted throughout my life.  This blog is the culmination of all my past and present lived experiences.  I would not be the woman that I am today without all of the nurturing and care that was poured into me from my environment.  The history and culture of the South runs through my DNA.  I have always been proud of who I am and where I come from.  I hope that you now have a better understanding of the person behind all of the stories that you will read in the future.  This has been years in the making and it is with profound gratitude that I present to you Southern Black Lens.  In the words of Andre 3000,

“The South got something to say”

Dr. Jasmine Brock-Ingram