My Story, My History, and Reflections on Belonging

By Allura Pulliam, Living Well Specialist

There were a lot of motivations for feeling different growing up; being raised in a single-family home, out-testing peers in my neighborhood, my last name (Black) stumping my 6^th grade teacher on how I would have fit in the ‘feudal system’, and being one of the only black girls in my Princeton middle school, to name a few. It wasn’t until I moved to Memphis and connected with my musical roots in college that I realized I was never different, I just hadn’t felt like I belonged yet.

My father was also misunderstood and labeled as ‘Special Ed’ (many black students are misdiagnosed as being learning disabled at a higher rate than their white counterparts), but his intentionality with music disproved what his teachers believed. My father learned early on that music grounded him and allowed him to escape the day-to-day oppression he felt growing up in the 60’s. It also was his ticket to world travel, playing with legends like The Tramps & Kool and the Gang. It’s also what brought him to Memphis.

  (A festival poster with my dad in Italy)

When my mom was ready for a change she asked where we should move. I didn’t hesitate: ‘I want to live with my dad.’ Months later a U-Haul arrived and we were headed south. I didn’t immediately belong, but I was instantly comforted by starting off in a new city where my dad had already begun to root. I was the new northern kid, with new music and a weird accent, but I didn’t feel tokenized, as I had among my Princeton peers. It slowly started to feel like an exchange. We all spoke the same language: music, we just had different dialects.

Memphis is home to Tennessee’s largest African-American population. It’s also the birthplace of blues music. Its musicians have given influence and fame to numerous icons. We’re a city made of resiliency, but also experience bitterness, grief, and loss over the lack of recognition of artists who rose to iconic levels on the backs of our homegrown artists. Many who strive to “make it” feel they have to move to other cities to be seen and heard.

Yet still, there is incredible pride in seeing Memphis-grown influences spread across the country – take Memphis Jookin (dance style) for example. I saw this for the first time in high school; now it’s being taught in LA, and seen in Usher videos.

This city has deep roots, generations and generations of families live here, there’s a long memory bank, and music is always at its core. Beale Street is likely the most integrated part of the city. New artists, like the recently, late, Young Dolph is honored as much as Isaac Hayes.

(My parents on Beale Street)

In Memphis, my work in Urban College Marketing at Atlantic Records and Flinn Broadcasting during my undergraduate education gave me a sense of belonging. It made it possible to unpack what I was missing before.  Undergraduate and graduate school allowed me the opportunity to engulf myself in African as well as African American history, philosophy, culture and rhetoric. It gave me language for what I experienced before – micro-aggressions, tokenization and gas-lighting in my teacher’s misguided pedagogy. It was my connection to music that also deepened my roots to my family. I may still be different — the records played during my childhood aren’t the same as my neighbor’s — but we’re in tune.

I’ve often navigated the space of “observant other” simply because I was afraid to take up spaces that weren’t historically for those who look like me. The misguided stereotypes of being “too urban” for one setting or “too culturally outspoken,” or “too intelligent” in another necessitates many who are “young, gifted and black” to carve a space for ourselves. My hope if that you can begin to allow yourself and others to authentically show up in your fullness, and not wait for a sometimes disapproving world to catch up.