Some of my fondest Christmas memories as a young child were traveling to downtown Knoxville to watch the annual Christmas Parade. While bundled in a winter coat and sometimes a blanket, I would huddle with my younger brother or sometimes sit on the curb to witness the amazing floats and colorful bands.

So imagine my excitement when at the age of 14, I was to be on a float in the Knoxville Parade. As a freshman at Central High School, I joined the Civics Club. I recall that we met after school to plan our project. After some discussion, we decided to do a float with the theme of Ole Timey Christmas. The father of one member got us a flatbed wagon and agreed to drive the truck. We spent hours building a backdrop of a log cabin wall with a door only to have it collapse many times because we could not secure it to the wagon. Another student found us a rocking chair. I helped get the Christmas tree and decorate with natural elements: popcorn, pine cones, homemade ornaments. When the big day came, only three of us managed to ride on the float. Being the only girl and dressed in a long grandma looking dress, I sat in the rocking chair and occasionally got up to help the other two students decorate the tree or pretend to hang a stocking. Truthfully, the scene lacked a lot of detail. But we were proud of our float because we had built it ourselves.

We traveled part way down Gay Street and the crowd seemed supportive. Several even clapped as we rolled by. The farther we traveled, the more we noticed a handful of African American elementary aged boys walking near the curb and shouting something toward us. We strained to hear above the motor and crowd noise.

“Ancha...., Ant Juh...., “ Then the parade paused and the band was silent. At that moment, the boys came nearer to the float and with great clarity sang out, “Aunt Jemima, Aunt Jemima! You look just like Aunt Jemima!'

Now for those readers who may be unaware, Aunt Jemima is a brand of pancake mix and pancake syrup that was promoted by a plump, well rounded matronly figured African American woman with a bandana or kerchief covering her hair and wearing a polka dotted dress.

My dress was purple and I wore a bonnet. " I am not Aunt Jemima," I thought. But instead I smiled at the boys and remarked, “I’m not Aunt Jemima, but I like pancakes with syrup too!” To which the boys responded, “Yes, you are Aunt Jemima, too.” My response had only confirmed their opinion!

I learned a valuable lesson that day. As we enter the New Year, may we strive to realize that the message intended is not always the message received. Happy 2018!