Newspaper Page Text
December 1981
Spelman Spotlight
Page 3
A Christmas Story
By Valerie Peete
Reporter
This is a Christmas story
different than most. It’s not
about Santa Claus, Christmas
trees or gifts. It doesn’t take
place in the suburbs of highly
populated cities where buses
drop you off at your doorstep
and gardeners tend your lawn. It
doesn’t overwhelm you with a
sense of pride or replenish your
Christmas spirit in what might be
ja “Scrooge” of a year.
This story is about a kid that
Santa never visits. A boy who
knows Christmas only through a
looking glass window. He is
Black and poor with nowhere to
go. There are no presents under
the tree ... no brand new bicycle,
no trai n set, no toy truck. There is
no Christmas tree, no carolers
brightening up the
neighborhood; no fancy red and
green lights.
To this little boy, used to
garbage piles in the streets and
dirt in the tap water, Christmas is
just another day.
His name is Danny in Atlanta,
Walter in Harlem, Craig in D.C.,
William in Detroit, Edward in
Chicago, and Michael in Watts.
This is not about just one boy,
but many. Their names and faces
are different, however their
situation is the same. It’s about
survival in a world where smiling
men cannot be trusted. These
boys hustle the streets, hoping
their young faces will carry them
far. Seemingly, like "A Merchant
In Venice”, they carry their
wares with them, neatly fastened
across their small, broad
shoulders. They live everywhere
and they live nowhere, con
templating dreams of getting
rich and moving out. Christmas is
like the day before, with nothing
to eat, no one to talk to, and
liquor stores still standing tall.
One out of every five of these
kids have seen some type of
killing, whether it be domesticor
premeditated. Over three
fourths of them come from
single parent homes, with an
average income of five thousand
dollars or less, and several
siblings to be fed. Eighty two
percent of the boys never finish
the twelfth grade, and ninety
percent of the girls become
pregnant before they are eigh
teen. Very few read up to their
level, and many can only count
with the aid of their fingers. The
chance of them surviving outside
the confines of the ghetto walls
are slim and usually none. They
make do with what they have,
which is little, and the rest of the
time, they suffer.
And so, this story ends much
like it began, with the child
hustlers of the inner city still
searching for a way out. Christ
mas will have left them as it does
every year, hollow and empty. A
chosen few will be more deter
mined to break thorugh the walls
that have knocked them down so
many times. Yet most of them
will continue to live for the
moment, believing in nothing
and looking forward to even less.
Reflections On
Spotlight Progression
By Bridgett M. Davis
Editor-in-Chief
December seems to have
always beep, the best month for
reflections. As the last thirty -
one days of the year, it is an ideal
time for collecting our thoughts
and evaluating ourselves.
As I begin to evaluate myself, I
think immediately of the
Spelman Spotlight, because
presiding over its operation and
distribution these past four
months has been my biggest
responsibility thus far.
As I reflect back, I realize that
the Spotlight has been my Baby. I
conceived the idea of its creation
in May, when I became elected
as its "mother”. I then carried my
Baby inside of me throughout
the summer, all the while plan
ning, educating and preparing
myself for its birth.
Then, in September of this
year, the new Spotlight was born.
I still remember the exileration I
felt upon initially seeing the first
issue. Here were so many of my
budding ideas, beliefs and con
cerns materialized into a tangi
ble outlet. That first issue was a
direct reflection of all of my
energies - channeled for once
into a viable, concrete form for
all of my Spelman sisters to share
and experience.
Since September, I have
watched my Baby blossom and
develop from an infant into a
growing child, and within the
process, I too have matured. Yet,
it has not been all smooth — not
unlike a mother, I have spent
many, many sleepness nights up
ith my Child. There have been
-oblems, and some backward
eps were taken at times. Yet, I
nderstand that a child must
:arn to walk before it can run.
We're walking better now
nan we did in the beginning,
nd it is because the Spotlight
taff has played such an integral
•art in the newspaper’s develop
ment. Over thirty individuals
mostly freshmen, I might
proudly add!) are part of the
potlight’s staff, and we are a
family — an extended family,
ach of us is concerned about
>ur Child.
If nothing else, I have tried to
elp instill a true sense of pride
ito each person as a member of
this staff. I have attempted to
demonstrate, by my own actions,
that unless you believe in a task
enough to give of yourself, it is
not worth your precious time.
Thus, I would like to believe that
these individuals have given of
their energies, time and talents
for the same reason that I have;
they care about and believe in
what they are a part of. Isn’t that
what it’s all about? Culturally
speaking, we must believe in
what we are a part of ... each
other’s rich, Black selves!
So...the Spotlight’s progres
sion has been a personal
progression as well. I have learn
ed to think of this school as a
whole, as opposed to limiting my
scope to one particular depart
ment and one particular class of
students. I cannot afford to not
be concerned with what the
freshman class is doing, or with
an instructor within a depart
ment other than my own, or with
cafeteria food simply because I
don’t eat it. I have to care,
because someone else, who
wants to read about it in this
paper, might care. This position
will not allow me to exist within a
vacuum — I must depend upon,
be concerned about, and listen
to others. I must, or I fail as an
effective editor.
My holiday gift to you, my
Spelman sisters, isthis December.
issue. It is sixteen pages worth of
info for your educational and
cultural enrichment. Please, par
take and enjoy!
Happy Holidays!
Poetic Greetings for Holidays
Poems Taken From Charlene Rollins’
Christmas Gift”
Of the three Wise Men
Who came to the Brown man,
So they sing.
Of the three Wise Men
Who followed the Star,
One was a brown king
From afar.
They brought fine gifts
Of spices and gold
In jeweled boxes
Of beauty untold.
Unto His humble
Manger they came
And bowed their heads
In Jesus’ name.
Three Wise Men,
One dark like me—
Part of His
Nativity.
by Langston Hughes
I did not know she'd take it so.
Or else I’d never dared:
Although the bliss was worth the blow,
I did not know she’d take it so.
She stood beneath the mistletow
So long I thought she cared;
I did not know she’d take it so,
Or else I’d never dared.
by Countee Cullen
OTTO
It’s Christmas Day. I did not get
The presents that I hoped for, Yet,
It is not nice to frown or fret.
To frown or fret would not be fair.
My Dad must never know I care
It’s hard enough for him to bear.
by Gwendolyn Brooks