While growing up, Emancipation Day was one of highlights of my life. Every July 31st, the anticipation for the libation and other cultural expressions, such as the music, dance, poetry and drama, made me wish that time would go faster. The food, greetings and lectures about how far we had come all created a festive atmosphere and the call of the drums always made me feel like dancing. The libation at midnight was something I did not fully understand until later in life, but it was a time when I felt pride.
Then there came a time during my early teens when the delight in Emancipation remained, but I was mindful about expressing myself through dance when I heard the drums or any kind of music that provoked my natural rhythms. I was mindful because I was involved in a religion that frowned on such. The gyrations that the drums and any music thought vulgar brought on were thought to be lewd and you often heard whisperings about African practices being wrong or evil. It was a confusing time in my life because on one hand I felt the natural urge to move to the rhythms of the drums and fully engage in the remnants of the culture of those who were enslaved, but on the other hand I was wondering if God would be displeased with me. That confusion took away from the complete joy of Emancipation until I found my freedom.