Michelle Obama, Family Values, and my late grandmother Iowa Milan

Last night was truly historical.

Even the most anti-Obama, anti-Democratic party, pro-McCain pundits had to acknowledge that Michelle Obama hit a home run with her prime time moment in Denver. Her speech provided an open window for those outside the black community, through which they were able to see that our values are not so different than those held by everyone else in America.

Many white Americans, unfamiliar with what it means to be black and American, hold the false assumption that the vast majority of blacks expect reward without work, success without sacrifice, and a paycheck without putting in 40 hours.

I'm not sure how much Mrs. Obama's speech did to make a dent in that myth, but it was certainly a big step in the right direction. Just in case you missed it, here's what she said about the family values imparted to her and her brother from their parents: "that you work hard for what you want in life; that your word is your bond and you do what you say you're going to do; that you treat people with dignity and respect, even if you don't know them, and even if you don't agree with them."

Listening to Mrs. Obama, I felt like she was telling the story of my family. I'm sure that many black Americans felt the same way. I want to dedicate this posting to the memory of Iowa Milan, my late grandmother. Much of what we value as a family, we learned from her. She was born and raised on a small farm in Cominto, Arkansas (about 12 miles from Monticello). Yet, as an only child, her 5 children have now produced a large and thriving family, most of whom still live in the Oakland, California area. Her story is not just a story about our family, but it is an American story.

Like the parents of Michelle and Barak Obama, she gave all of her life so that our lives would be better. She didn't just give to her 5 children, but she kept on giving to her grandchildren and great grandchildren as well. In fact, her death in 1988 of cancer was the direct result of her sacrifice for her family. There is little doubt that her disease found its origin in her work in World War II as a black "Rosie the Riveter."

Shortly after the United States entered WWII, she heard that there were jobs in California for black women who wanted to work. She left her small children with family in the south, boarded a train for a state she'd never visited, and took with her only the faith in God that somehow things would work out. When she arrived, she went to work at the Moore's Dry Dock, where she helped convert ships into wartime vessels that served in the Pacific Ocean.

She went to work there every day, even though she was called out of her name by white co-workers who also had come from the south and brought with them their own brand of explicit racism. She was told that women, especially black women, did not belong there working alongside white men. She and the other black women in the yard also often felt the sting of sexism from black men, who like their southern colleagues did not appreciate their presence. Yet, in spite of the duel demons of sexism and racism, she went to work every day to make a better place for her family.

The first thing she did when she got on her feet, was to send for her children. Unlike my own upbringing in which I lived in the same home that my parents owned since I was 2 years old, my mother and her siblings lived in the housing projects in West Oakland. Side by side with other southern transplants, they brought with them the values of hard work, honesty, and love for your neighbor. They looked out for one another, they shared what little means they had, and they helped raise the children of the community together.

This story is not unique to our family. Blacks from New York and New Jersey can tell the same story about family who came from North and South Carolina. Blacks in Detroit, Chicago, and Cleveland can tell the same story about family that came up from Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. In many ways, this is a mirror to the stories of European and Asian immigrants to this country. It is the story of grandparents who came with nothing but a prayer and a dogged determination to make it, but left a legacy for their descendants.

Her sacrifice, however, came with a great price. Working in the shipyard during the war exposed her lungs to asbestos. By the time she discovered the cancer, there was little to be done. But she used the occasion to teach us one last lesson. She did not express outrage at the shipyard or at God for the disease, but she showed us that faith is not just for the good times. Without mumbling or crying about how unfair it was, she quietly submitted to God's will and went "back home."

That was really her greatest legacy that she left our family: her unwavering faith in God.


I remember back in 1987, when I left Oakland to attend Clark College in Atlanta, she imparted in me that legacy. She didn't have a trust fund to give me money for tuition, but what she gave me has lasted to this very day. As we all gathered at the San Francisco Airport to wait for my flight, she called the family into a large circle just before I boarded. There, in the midst of all of those other travelers, she led us in prayer.

Because I was the first to go away to college, I thought no one in the prayer circle could understand what was going through my mind. I was headed out to a place I had never been before. We could only afford one ticket, so I had to fly alone. While other students were accompanied by fathers and mothers, I was all by myself. We didn't even have family in Atlanta to meet me. I was being picked up by a stranger who rented me a room.

But what I did not realize until all these years later thanks to reflecting on Michelle Obama's speech, is that she knew more than I could have imagined about how I felt. She'd been there and done that. When she prayed for me, she called on the name of the same God who she called when she boarded that train for California some 40 plus years before all by herself. She prayed to the same God who took from a suitcase to a job with a pension at the Post Office; from the projects to home of her own; from her children scattered to her children living with her under the same roof. So when she prayed for me and my journey not knowing what tomorrow held, she prayed knowing full well Who held tomorrow.

And for her, well, that was enough.

(Just a few of Iowa's descendants at worship at Brookins AMEC, Oakland, where she was a founding member, choir member, and Trustee. 8/17/2008)