February was Black History Month. For me, Black History Month is a time for personal reflection and spiritual renewal. It’s a time to remember not only the celebrated heroes of the civil rights movement but also those heroes who paved the way for me to succeed with their encouragement and guidance.

Like my ninth-grade English teacher, Mrs. Colbert, who made me go to summer school because she said I was not giving it my all and living up to my potential in her class. I was furious but thus began my revenge tour of getting back at her by attaining a B.A. in English, an M.S. in education, and a J.D. degree. We stayed in touch, and she would say that she saw a potential in me that I could not see, and her difficult decision was called “reverse psychology.”

My high school English teacher, Mr. Karls, had the most immaculate handwriting I had ever seen. He taught me to appreciate writing as well as the beauty and magic of literature. My high school football coach and mentor, Bob Harris, encouraged me to consider college as an alternative to working in a factory or joining the Army. I will always remember and treasure his advice. And there was also Ruth Doyle, my law school counselor, who refused to allow me to fail and stood in the gap the many times I needed someone to help me overcome my doubts and to believe in myself. She was an angel.

There were my all-time favorite civil rights icons, Vel Phillips and Lloyd Barbee. We were fortunate to be members of the Law School Board of Visitors. The commute to Madison for the meetings was something out of the history books. Sometimes the conversation could be mistaken for Sojourner Truth and Frederick Douglass, sometimes it was Angela Davis and Huey Newton, and at times it was like Bonnie and Clyde. Being with them was the civil rights learning laboratory of a lifetime. It was a blessing I will always cherish and remember.

With this being an election year, it is appropriate that my most iconic hero was my grandfather. As a child, I traveled to Mississippi every summer to stay with my grandparents. I ran barefoot all summer chasing chickens and eating fresh vegetables and fruit from my grandmother’s garden. My grandfather worked as a janitor at a white church. I remember walking with him and waiting for him in the church parking lot while he performed his duties. He always had a faraway look and polite demeanor that I’ve tried to emulate. But it wasn’t until I became an adult and did some family history research that I discovered that my grandfather had a teaching degree in mathematics but was not allowed to teach or vote.

I was filled with rage and indignation but remembered my grandmother’s advice. “Getting mad gets you nowhere but getting even can bring you much satisfaction.” So now when I go into the voting booth and there is a candidate I cannot vote for, I simply write my grandfather’s name as a write-in candidate. The election officials must be wondering who is this Oscar Harris Jr.?

I would simply tell them that he is the grandfather of a grandson who will never forget him by keeping his legacy alive by every means necessary. Continue to honor those who paved the way for you. You would not be where you are today without them.