My history lessons in school started with European travelers and settlers, then on to the under-ground railroad, finally ending with the civil rights movement of the 1960's. That was the extent of what I knew about "me." As I got older, I began to inquire about everything related to being black and it became an obsession that got de-railed over a million times by confusion over religion, politics and guilt that in my pursuit of "knowledge of self" I was somehow separating myself from non-black people. One day, I woke up and realized that I had fallen in love with who I really was through the study of my ancestors. It took me forty two years but I don't want it to take that long for anyone else This story is for anyone and everyone of all ages, but most specifically, children who are currently being introduced to American History subjects in school because I truly believe it will help to fill in the missing pieces and help to paint a picture of our complete heritage, not just what is presented in school. With so much love and respect, I dedicate this to all of the descendants of Africa. I hope you enjoy this story about a girl, receiving a beautiful lesson through a loving conversation with her father. Renee Rochelle