An intergenerational journey.

When I wake up in the morning, as often as not I’ll hear my mom talking on the phone about the politics of grammar, the Congressional gag rule of 1837, or a new french pastry, and I’ll know she’s talking to Deb, her intellectual soulmate and friend, the one person my mom will answer the phone for even if she’s in the shower or in the middle of a set of 100 sit-ups. I ear hustle on these conversations, gleaning bits of U.S. history here, tips on achieving a flaky pie crust there, and know it might be an hour or two before they get off the phone. I met Deb when I was in elementary school and she came from L.A. to D.C. for a visit, but she likes to tell me that she met me when I was in my mom’s stomach and she came to the think tank where my mom was working at the time, asking for a letter of recommendation to USC Law School.

Once Debi moved back to D.C. for good (after law school and an incredible stint in the highest ranks of Hollywood), she entered the Ph.D. program in History at Georgetown University, where she was also a teaching assistant. She and my mom would talk for hours about teaching strategies, and when they finally hung up, as often as not I would hear my mom say, “Debi’s doing a fantastic job with her students–her students are incredibly lucky to have her!” 

At the same time, I began hearing stories from Deb about the days back at Howard University when she had been my mom’s student. “Your mom told me I was a writer, and that meant the world to me,” she’s told me, more than once. “Everyone wanted to be in your mom’s class–every semester there was a long line of us, and we waited in that line for hours just to make sure we could take her class,” she tells me, and I’m proud of my mom, because I’ve seen her have the same effect on her students at UDC, many of whom she mentors, and on my own friends as well (in my senior year, a teacher told my best friend she didn’t think he would “be a good fit” at his top choice school, and he had decided not to apply. When my mom found out, she immediately went to him and made sure he applied–he did, got accepted, and that was that).

My mom was Debi’s writing teacher and then, 20 years later, she was mine. She made writing puzzles to teach me to read, had scavenger hunts for me and my friends to help us learn to write (long story, fun ending, another day), and just generally never stopped showing by example that writing could be fun but also that it meant something. By the time I got to Brown, I was, thanks to her, ready to fly.

Now, Debi, my mom, and I are ready to begin a new chapter together, off the phone and into the lives of even more students, to help them navigate school, writing, life, and whatever else comes their way. I look at these two women and I cannot imagine beginning this part of the journey with anyone else: they are so incredibly smart and caring, going above and beyond with their students and others, and I’m honored to join them.