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So when I was a little girl,
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a book sat on the coffee table
in our living room,
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just steps from our front door.
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And the living room is a first impression.
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Ours had white carpet
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and a curio of my mother's
most treasured collectibles.
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That room represented the sacrifices
of generations gone by
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who, by poverty or by policy,
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couldn't afford a curio of collectibles,
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let alone a middle class house
to put them in.
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That room had to stay perfect.
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But I would miss messing up
that perfect room every day
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just to see that book.
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On the cover sat a woman
named Septima Clark.
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She sat in perfect profile
with her face raised to the sky.
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She had perfect salt-and-pepper cornrows
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platted down the sides of her head,
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and pride and wisdom just emanated
from her dark skin.
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Septima Clark was an activist
and an educator,
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a woman after whom I would eventually
model my own career,
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but more than all the words
she ever spoke,
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that single portrait of Septima Clark,
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it defined confidence for me
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before I ever even knew the word.