Growing up, I didn’t celebrate Juneteenth. As a Black mom, I make sure my kids do.

By Shamecca Brown, Columnist, Granite State News Collaborative

When I dance on Juneteenth, it will be for my ancestors. It is for every Black person who walked the path of slavery and discrimination. This is for those who never got to taste freedom, who dreamed of a day they’d never live to see. 

I’m bringing all of that to the stage with me. Every step, every turn, every breath, is a story. A real story. A Black story, My story.

I’m dancing at the Currier Museum of Art, in an event organized by the nonprofit Racial Justice Team. Yet this isn’t just a performance. This is us. Our history. Our pride. Our moment. And trust me when I say, everyone in that audience is going to feel it. 

Our performance will feature Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come,” a song that has long served as an anthem of hope and perseverance, along with African folk songs that connect us to the rhythms and traditions of our heritage. 

You know what makes this year’s Juneteenth even greater? My two youngest children will be right there with me, representing. My 12-year-old son and my 15-year-old daughter will be part of this moment, and that means everything to me. My son, especially, has so many questions. And I love that. 

As a child he couldn’t express himself much at an early age because of his delayed speech, but one thing he could do? Dance. Now, he’s the one who challenges the world around him, the one who asks his teachers, “Why are we celebrating St. Patrick’s Day so hard, but when it was February, Black history was barely even mentioned, maybe just once?” He knows what’s up, and he wants to share the stage.

Growing up, Juneteenth was a day like any other for me. I never heard anyone mention it, even though both my grandmothers were deep Southerners, living in Alabama and North Carolina. But there were no parades, no cookouts, no big community gatherings. I never heard my friends talk about it or my family to be honest.

This was a discovery for me and my family: The understanding about honoring those who came before us, those who struggled, and those who carried the torch to make sure future generations would one day know their freedom. It’s a learning experience for all of us, filling in the gaps that schools still don’t teach, and encouraging my kids to ask hard questions. 

When I was young, I wasn’t allowed to ask our elders certain questions. Even now, my 90-year-old grandma from Alabama keeps a lot to herself. When I ask about her experiences in the Jim Crowe south, she just gets quiet and says, “That’s my space, it’s not for y’all to worry about.” 

My grandma doesn't talk about the past because she’s been through and seen so much. She once told me, “I wasn’t free.” Those words never left me. Maybe–and this is just me thinking– my grandmother can’t justify Juneteenth as a holiday because some of her relatives and friends never made it to freedom. They were stuck. 

Caption: My grandma (far right) who is 90 today, with her mother (top left) and three of my great-grandmother’s 13 children. 

My grandmother had one thing going for her: she was a landowner, something many other Blacks weren’t able to become because of systematic oppression. Her own mother bought the land, earning money through sharecropping and making dresses. It’s still a source of pride, but I get teary eyes, thinking about the hardship that went into getting and keeping that land.  

In New Hampshire Juneteenth is not officially a state holiday, it has been acknowledged as a day of observance since 2019. Many organizations and communities across New Hampshire celebrate this day. I think the more we take the time to celebrate and truly recognize Black American history, the more we begin to understand just how rich, complex, and deeply connected it is to all of our lives. 

While writing this I was feeling overwhelmed thinking about what is happening in our world. I think about how my kids, and their kids, will have to struggle just to keep teaching the truth; how they’ll have to fight to make sure Black stories don’t disappear. But no matter what, being free from oppression and able to live with dignity is a reminder to all of us about the power of liberation, the importance of remembrance, and the responsibility we have to ensure freedom for all people, regardless of the color of their skin. 

So let’s continue to celebrate Juneteenth and keep it alive. I know once I’m on that stage dancing, that overwhelming feeling will disappear right through my feet. That’s my Juneteenth celebration: to share my movement and capture smiles.

These articles are being shared by partners in the Granite State News Collaborative. For more information, visit collaborativenh.org.