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With the recent passing of Jesse Jackson, the students were reminded of his association with the poem, “I Am Somebody.” They were asked to consider this concept.

MINGO…reflects on the work in progress that she is, toward becoming the somebody she doesn’t yet know.

 The Passage of Time

I am somebody who I don’t know yet, and I don’t know what I want to be. There is a lot that I do not know at this point, things I think that I should have figured out by now. What career do I want? What religion do I follow? Where do I want to live? I don’t even know my name! Am I Mingo or Tallulah? Recently, I’ve been thinking about that question. From a silly little nickname I got in fifth grade, to my name, to what everyone in my family knows me as, and friends call me. I never hear ‘Tallulah’ anymore. That makes me sad.

I think about my past a lot. I definitely had a great childhood, (I can thank my parents for that). I have memories that I can review for hours. Being a little kid was so fun. Using imagination, playing on the playground that seemed to tower over me, and sitting with my best friend at lunch.

Sometimes I felt overlooked in school, when I wasn’t able to understand something that everyone else could. And I’d watch as the teacher moved on, and me, afraid to say anything. I am hard on myself, even back then. I got upset when I was slower to complete an assignment than my peers. I got upset when I had to beg for the extra time on work that I was owed. I got upset when I couldn’t spell a word that was easy for everyone else.

In third grade, I noticed the ways that I was different; my friend at the time pointed it out to me. I remember being in art class, and my friend said that I was dumb because I was in specialED, and I believed her. When I told my mom about it, she started crying and I didn’t understand why. 

Being at The Community School, I have realized that I love learning, and that I actually care about my grades. Maybe a bit too much. The mindset that I have been struggling with can be simplified down to: The higher my grades, the more self-worth I feel. And anything that drops below 94% is disappointing. This type of thinking was so sudden. In eighth grade I comfortably lived with B’s on my report card and didn’t bother to change them. But now I think that if I’m not the best at everything, then I am failing. I want to believe that I am worth more than my grades. I want to believe that I am somebody outside of school and academics.

The pictures of my years as a little girl are important to me. My yearbooks, school pictures, and photoshoots with my family remind me that I still am that girl. It is hard to imagine it, but she is me, and I am her. 

I had been thinking about my summer camp recently, and decided to google it. The camp is still rounding year-round and posts frequently on Instagram. I was scrolling through the page, while thinking about all the friends and memories I had made there. I wondered if I would be there. In one of the pictures amongst the group. To be honest, I was scared that I wouldn’t recognize myself. I kept going until I got to the year that I went. Going slower, I looked at each face in the photos. There I found it, posted in July of 2018. I was about 7 years old. A picture of me that I had no idea I’d see eight years in the future. When I saw that photo, I burst out into tears. I don’t remember the picture being taken, but it happened, and the evidence is there. Looking at that girl, I thought about all the times that I couldn’t fathom growing up. Like the time I sat in my 3rd grade math class, drowning out the sound of talking and chalk on the board. I was thinking about how long it would take for me to graduate 8th grade. Five years sounded like an eternity to little me. I concluded that it would never happen. And then I blinked, now I’m a highschool looking right back at that girl. I know everything about her, and yet she knows nothing about me. 

Tallulah Cord

February 20, 2026