Black History Month Feels Complicated for Me

Every February, Black History Month rolls around, and I feel pride in the resilience and achievements of Black people. I feel gratitude for the sacrifices that paved the way for me. But I also feel a lingering sense of displacement. 

Am I celebrating something that I was never fully a part of? 

Am I missing pieces of my own identity?

When I was 4 months old, I was adopted by white parents. So, you can imagine that being a Black kid, growing up in a white household, meant that my connection to Black culture and history was, at times, distant, like something I knew belonged to me but never quite felt within reach.

I learned about Black history in school, just like everyone else, but I didn’t have the same firsthand experiences or deep cultural roots that many of my Black peers had. I didn’t grow up hearing family stories about the civil rights movement or learning traditions passed down through generations. Instead, I navigated my racial identity in a world where I often felt like I was floating between two spaces—embraced by most of my family, yet always aware that I looked different.

Fast forward to today.... after 53 years of living as a Black man raised by a white family, I’ve finally begun reconnecting with my birth relatives, opening a door to a part of myself that always felt just out of reach. Growing up, my identity was shaped by my family, but also by a quiet sense of disconnection from Black culture and history. Now, meeting my birth family is like piecing together a puzzle I didn’t realize was incomplete. It’s both exciting and overwhelming—learning about my roots, hearing family stories, and seeing reflections of myself in people who share my blood.

This journey isn’t just about genealogy; it’s about reclaiming a sense of identity that was always mine but never fully explored. It’s a late start, but it’s a start, nonetheless.

I don’t have all the answers, but I do know this—identity isn’t always a straight line. It’s a journey, sometimes messy, sometimes beautiful. 

Part of that serendipitous beauty is the fact that I now lead a foundation that makes grants to BIPOC led nonprofits who are educating young people about their Black history in a way that affirms the greatness of their identity. This weekend my son and I will travel to Atlanta to attend the Morehouse College Candle in the Dark Gala. Morehouse is an HBCU and I’m so proud that they are one of our grantee partners. I know that had I been a student at a Morehouse College it would’ve helped me feel a sense of belonging that I was seeking.

Now I embrace that for me, Black History Month isn’t just about looking back. It’s also about figuring out how I connect to this history in my own way, on my own terms, both in my role as a father of four and in my work to ensure young people can successfully navigate all these questions and connections to their cultural identity and belonging.  And guess what? I’m ok with that.

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