The Door Was Not Always Open

One of my Sunday conversations in essay form with my eldest grandson.

The Front Door Was Not Always Open
A Sunday Conversation with My Eldest Grandson

"Do not take where you are today for granted. Many trials and tribulations were overcome to get you here. The front door has not always been open to everyone."

Today I received my usual Sunday call from my eldest grandson, Marvion Antonio Criddle. These conversations have become a quiet tradition between us. Almost every Sunday, we spar over words, debate world issues, compare notes on life, and talk about our families and the directions our lives are taking.
This morning's conversation began with a little honesty on my part.

I spoke about losing my driver's license because of low vision, the loss of some independence, and the emotional adjustments that come with it. For most of my life, I could simply get in my car and go wherever I needed to go. That freedom ended on November 13, 2025, and learning to depend on others for transportation has required patience and humility.

Still, I thank God that I can see, move about, and continue to live a full life, even if it now requires more planning and allows far less spontaneity.

Driving has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. At the age of seven, I was placed on a tractor in a tobacco field and told to drive it straight down the rows without running over the plants. Later, I received my driver's license at fourteen, and from that day forward, I drove wherever life required me to go.

For decades, driving represented freedom and independence.
Now I find myself learning a different kind of strength, the strength that comes with adaptation.

Our conversation soon turned to family history. Marvion and I talked about how each generation seems to find a reason to write about their grandmother or great-grandmother. In recent years, some of my great-grandchildren have written Black History Month papers about me and invited me to appear at their schools after submitting their assignments.

Marvion was the first to do so, and most recently, his 2nd cousin, Kaniya (Kay-Kay), followed in that tradition.

That discussion led us to reflect on his own journey.

Like many people who juggle responsibilities while pursuing their goals, Marvion has spent thirty-eight years navigating his way to Duke University in North Carolina. Today, he serves as an adjunct professor there, teaching cybersecurity to students from every background. His eldest daughter is now a second-year student at Duke, and Marvion himself has earned at least one master's degree in cybersecurity from the university.

To understand the significance of that achievement, one must understand a little of Duke University's history.

Date and Events
March 8, 1961, Duke's Board of Trustees announced that graduate and professional schools would admit students without regard to race, creed, or national origin.

On June 2, 1962, the same policy was extended to undergraduate admissions.

In September 1963, five Black students enrolled at Duke as first-year undergraduates.

1966 Dr. Samuel DuBois Cook became the University's first Black faculty member.

1967 Three African American students became the first Black undergraduates to graduate from Duke.

Marvion's intelligence and determination helped him reach that position, but the door itself did not open on its own. Others before him pushed it open through struggle, sacrifice, and perseverance.

During our conversation, we traveled even further back in time.

Marvion's great-great aunt, Janie Barnes, had once been enslaved. She did not receive her freedom until after 1865. After emancipation, she helped raise my grandfather. In time, he became a landowner and overseer who ensured Black laborers were given work and properly paid for their labor.

Another strong thread runs through our family, the field of medicine. That tradition stretches back generations. Both Aunt Janie and my grandmother Mary served as midwives in their communities.

Today, that legacy continues. Our family includes doctors, nurses, nurse practitioners, physical therapists, medical billing specialists, and medical assistants. Alongside them are computer specialists, writers, authors, politicians, teachers, long-distance truck drivers, and many others who have pursued their own paths.

Education and opportunity have become pillars within our family.

Today, we proudly stand as fourth-generation college-educated, with master's and doctoral degrees among us. We stand on the shoulders of education and on the courage of those who opened doors that had long been closed to people who looked like us.

And that brings me back to the thought this reflection started with.
The front door has not always been open to everyone.

When I moved to Mount Rainier, Maryland, in December 1968, the town still carried the legacy of being a sundown town. Years earlier, Black people were expected to leave town before the sun went down, thus the name sundown town, unless they carried written permission explaining why they were there. Though those rules had begun to fade by the time I arrived, the attitudes behind them had not disappeared, and many of the people still lived in the town.

I remember being called names that no human being should have to hear, words meant to remind me that some believed I did not belong. Racial slurs were commonplace, and police brutality was very real.

Yet history has a way of moving forward.

Communities change. Families grow. Doors that once stood firmly closed slowly began to open.

Today, my grandson stands at the front of a classroom at Duke University teaching cybersecurity. His daughter walks the same campus as a student. And our family continues to move forward, generation by generation.

As I ended my conversation with Marvion today, I was reminded of something very simple and very true.

The journey from the cotton fields of Georgia, through the struggles of the decades that followed, and into the opportunities of today has not been easy.
But it has been worth it.
And when I look at my eldest grandson and the generations coming behind him, I know the journey continues.

Marvion is part of that legacy, and he has made me very proud.

The road from the cotton fields of Georgia to the changing streets of Maryland has not been straight, easy, or gentle. It has been shaped by hardship, faith, perseverance, and the determination of generations who refused to give up.
From ancestors who endured slavery to midwives who brought life into struggling communities to farmers, teachers, and laborers who worked with dignity, each generation carried the next a little farther forward.

Today, their descendants stand in classrooms, hospitals, offices, and communities across this nation, continuing a journey that began long before they were born.

The doors we walk through today did not open by accident.

They were pushed open by trials, tribulations, AND YES, courage.
And it is our responsibility to keep them open for those generations who will follow.