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Alright, so the other day, I got invited to a black history meeting. You know, it sounded like a great idea at first. I thought, "Hey, this is going to be educational and enlightening." Little did I know, it was basically a family reunion for everyone who's ever been mistaken for Samuel L. Jackson. I walked in, and it was like a sea of people who could probably school me on my own culture better than I could. It was like the Avengers of black history knowledge. I felt like the Hawkeye of the group - just there, looking around, and thinking, "Am I in the right place? Did I miss a memo?"
And of course, they had that one person who takes things way too seriously. They're like the black history professor you never asked for. They started firing questions at me like it was a pop quiz. "Who was the third cousin twice removed of Frederick Douglass?" I'm just there like, "Wait, I thought this was a potluck, not a history exam.
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So, they wrapped up the meeting with a soul food cook-off. Now, don't get me wrong, I love me some soul food, but when you turn it into a competition, things get real serious, real quick. I saw people guarding their secret recipes like they were protecting the Holy Grail. It was like, "Oh no, you're not getting the secret ingredient to my mac and cheese. That's a family heirloom."
And then they had the nerve to bring in judges like it was the Food Network. I'm thinking, "I just wanted to enjoy some collard greens, not compete in 'Iron Chef: Soul Food Edition.'"
But in the end, it was all good fun. We laughed, we ate, we learned a few things, and I left with a newfound appreciation for both black history and the incredible ability of my people to turn any gathering into a celebration.
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Now, in the middle of this meeting, they decided to do a reenactment of historical moments. I got assigned to be Harriet Tubman. Yeah, me, leading people to freedom. I can barely find my way out of IKEA without getting lost in the kitchen section. So, there I am, trying to guide my group through the "underground railroad" they set up. It felt more like an above-ground amusement park ride. There were signs like "Watch your step: imaginary slave catchers ahead" and "Beware of the pretend bloodhounds." I'm just hoping nobody gets motion sickness because I'm not cleaning that up.
But you know what's the most challenging part of being Harriet Tubman? Trying to maintain that serious, stoic expression while leading a bunch of people through a make-believe escape route. I felt like the world's least convincing action hero.
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So, they decided to make things interesting at this black history meeting. They introduced Black History Bingo. Yeah, because nothing says celebration like turning our rich history into a game of chance. The bingo cards were like, "Spot someone who can recite Martin Luther King's 'I Have a Dream' speech." I'm thinking, "Great, I'm one 'I Have a Dream' away from winning a toaster oven or something."
But the real challenge was the free space in the middle. It was just a silhouette of Morgan Freeman. Because, let's be honest, every black history event needs a little bit of Freeman to legitimize itself. I swear, if there was a Morgan Freeman GPS voice option, I'd take a wrong turn on purpose just to hear him calmly say, "You have arrived at your destination.
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