Streets With Their Spirits in Them — A Story of Reflection
Those streets, those old, worn west side streets has their spirits in them. The spirits — the spiritual gatherings and ongoings — of young Black women and men whose parents had come up north from southern towns, cities with not much, especially regarding work, opportunities, fresh food to eat. They chose to walk those west side Rockford streets, even in the heat.
How else could a young person make a name for themselves? Who was going to respect them or elevate their names to fame? Only the streets with their spirits in them could. Morality has it that you made a name for yourself gaining respect; making the right moves; connecting to the right people. That is how the streets work.
Our spirits are drum patterns as we walk over pavement; are collections of stories of people we never knew but are responsible for getting us to where we are. From the African bush or village to urban housing developments, we are. We become. We be. Being us is making it in the streets. The streets surround us. We surround the streets with personalities, possibilities, stories, talents, laughter — all of the things that make us human.
Our spirits are still there. We reflect or look back. We see ourselves twenty years ago in the streets. We remember what happened, who did what, who got beat up, or who got shot. Whose spirit left this earthly realm way too soon is the biggest problem, has been the biggest problem. However, we keep on going. We have kept going. Our spirits have been moved by those streets we no longer walk on. But, in them, our spirits are still there. Travel over there, you can smell it in the air.