Why watching my daughter experience SpelHouse and HBCU homecoming proved the power of Black legacy

Seeing my daughter walk the same streets that shaped me reminded me why HBCUs will always be home.

Editor’s note: The following article is an op-ed, and the views expressed are the author’s own. Read more opinions on theGrio.

HBCU Homecoming season is my favorite time of year in African America. Alumni, young and old, venture back to the yards where we grew up and learned not only who we were, but also who we could be as current students live their best lives. For them, it’s a chance to see thousands of versions of their potential futures running amok—professionals who, when the occasion calls for it, still enjoy doing hoodrat things with their friends. I also really enjoy non-HBCU grads pulling up to our campuses to experience the effervescence of being around that many Black folks smiling, hugging, and enjoying life, especially in the midst of all that is happening in America right now. 

DEI, where? In my life, Blackness is mainstream. 

Typically, I pull up to Atlanta for SpelHouse Homecoming with the homies — SpelHouse being the portmanteau of Spelman and Morehouse Colleges. As we get older, we drink a little less at tailgate and hit fewer clubs in favor of house parties and quality time with the crew. Of course, because we love to tempt fate, we still always kick off the tailgate festivities with shots of car fuel — 151 — because old habits die hard and despite the inordinate amount of degrees between all the homies, we are still those kids who think we’re invincible for a weekend.

Do. Not. Try. This. At. Home. I paid for that decision dearly last year. So this year, I made some different decisions and for one really important reason: My 16-year-old daughter was there at homecoming, looking to see if she saw a future on the same grounds her mother and I did back in the late 1990s. 

My daughter is currently a junior in high school. And while she’s been on various college campuses over the years, we’re at the time in life when she’s viewing college campuses as potential landing spots after graduation. She’s been on the campus of Howard University since she was a young child—her grandmother on her mother’s side is an alumna of “The Mecca”—but now she’s checking out schools for the look and feel: Can she see herself there? 

Until this year, she’d never stepped foot on Spelman’s campus. She’s certainly been in the vicinity; my family is from Atlanta so we have definitely walked all over Morehouse College’s campus before and I have the pictures to prove it. Her mother, though, wanted to do the honors of taking her through the gates of Spelman College, an experience I have enjoyed since summer 1997. This year, in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty-five, she was finally able to walk on those hallowed grounds. 

As a father of a SpelHouse child, there is a part of me that would love for her to attend Spelman. I’ve been telling her as much since she was a wee lass, as has her mother. I will concede that as she’s gotten older and her tastes and interests have developed and evolved, my own desires about her college landing spot have evolved. Would I love her to go to Spelman? Of course. Am I more concerned about her happiness wherever she is? Absolutely. 

With that said, I was curious about her actually being there and experiencing Spelman and homecoming. Look, homecoming is the ultimate cheat code if you want your kid to seek out an HBCU for college. We all know this. It’s either going to be a super-overwhelming experience or become goals. My daughter got the chance to tour Clark Atlanta University, Spelman College, attend a Morehouse College football game, experience Spelman’s Market Friday, and the ultimate Morehouse Tailgate on Saturday. She got to see all these people who all remarkably looked to be her age, living their best lives and basking in the glow of Black joy. 

I asked her at one point what her thoughts about her experience were and she said, simply, “There are a lot of Black people!” Now, my daughter is born and raised in Washington, D.C., but she does go to a private school where she’s part of a handful of Black students. She is, though, also around loads of Black people all the time. But there’s living and being around Black people, and then there’s being around upwards of 10,000 Black people of all ages, wearing all types of paraphernalia, kickin’ it with the sounds of Blackness all around. It’s the best warm blanket of all time. That blanket as her biggest takeaway was exciting for me; I know that feeling and it was one that I’ve had since stepping on campus and has carried me through life.

My daughter also shared she could see herself down there, and that the experience was one that gave her a taste of a possible future. Whether that specific one is hers remains to be seen, neverthess she felt at home, and that’s as good of a takeaway as possible. I’m sure she’s still processing but that experience created a baseline for her. Obviously, homecoming isn’t the full college experience, but it’s essential to it. 

So how did I feel about seeing her at homecoming? I’m glad you asked. 

There’s something surreal about seeing my baby girl walking on streets that I walked on, which are part of who I am today. I have three boys that I hope to expose to Morehouse College one day, and I’m sure seeing them look at the space as potential students will have the same feel. I wanted to see her look at it all. I wanted to see her smile and bop away to be with her friends, as students do, enjoying all that a warm, sunny day in October in Atlanta has to offer.

I saw my daughter as a college student, walking towards buildings that could shape her future. I took a picture of her with Spelman’s Giles Hall in the background—one of the main b-roll buildings for “A Different World”—and it moved my soul. It felt…full circle. I didn’t shed a tear—I thought I would—but I did smile the biggest smile ever. 

I have no idea where my daughter will go to college. Maybe it’s Spelman, maybe it’s some other HBCU. Maybe she goes to some small liberal arts college in Iowa. Who knows? That part is kind of exciting. But what I do know is that Spelman is in her heart now. 

I hope she isn’t like so many other women I know who tell me that they wanted to go to Spelman but couldn’t for various, very legit reasons. If she wants to get there, I hope she does. But for now, I’m glad she got to experience even a small part of why I, at least, love Morehouse and SpelHouse so much. I give that space all the credit for my networks and for helping me learn that literally any version of my life was possible as long as I was willing to work for it. Mostly, I’m glad she got to see me in my element, even if briefly, as she skrrrr skrrrrtd off with her friends so as to not be “embarrassed” by me and her uncles who all made a big deal of her presence out there. 

Parenting is wild. One minute, your kid is a baby and you’re trying to keep them alive, and the next they’re standing on their own, staring at a potential future that you know all too well, with decisions before them that you can’t even make for them. 

Like I said, HBCU homecoming is my favorite time of year.

Panama Jackson is a columnist at theGrio and host of the award-winning podcast, “Dear Culture” on theGrio Black Podcast Network. He writes very Black things, drinks very brown liquors, and is pretty fly for a light guy. His biggest accomplishment to date coincides with his Blackest accomplishment to date in that he received a phone call from Oprah Winfrey after she read one of his pieces (biggest) but he didn’t answer the phone because the caller ID said “Unknown” (Blackest).