I grew up in Alabama, born and raised in the south. I never thought I would be a part of something bigger than myself. This is my story.

It was March of 1955.

Nine months before Rosa Parks refused to give her seat up on the bus. An uprise throughout the country had led to many marches, sit ins, and protests with people fighting for desegregation.

I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was riding the bus home from school, minding my own business. When I was asked to move for a middle-aged white woman. There went plenty of open seats, even 3 in my row. So I said no. That is where it all began. Before I knew it, I was being dragged off the bus in handcuffs.

They took me to the jail. I wanted to fight. I wanted a better future for people like me. But some of the Black leaders decided that I was not the best choice for the face of the movement. My mom told me to stay quiet about what I did. Someone else could lead the way.