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I've come to realize through this blog that I have a bigger voice than I realized. I may not be beatin' down the steps of Washington or throwin' Bibles in the faces of others. All things I think are a hot mess mind ya. Well, only sorta on the marchin' on Washington. But I do have a chance to spread love, as small a platform as it may be. Often time we stay quite cause we feel it isn't our story to tell. Well, one thing I've learned over the last few years is, it may not be our story to tell, but if we don't tell it then who will?!?! If we don't speak up for the lesser of those, then who will? I chose to speak life. HA! As cliché, corny and cheesy as that sounds.

Last year I wrote a post entitled Not Monday's Hot Mess Post {Week 3}: The Pro-Life Addition   In that post I talked about attendin' the Dallas March for Life for the first time and hinted that my Momma chose life and then left it at that. Now, that I've got  few post under my belt, a second Dallas March for Life attended a few weeks back and feel like I'm ownin' things, I think I'll expand a little. Ya know, tell a story that's only partly mine to tell. See what I did there. But in all seriousness.


Much bed rest and Many Taco Bell Enchiritos later, at 7&1/2 months, family, friends, doctors and nurses alike filled my tiny hospital room in Carrollton, Texas for nearly 13 hours waitin' on my arrival. Care flight sat willin' and ready on the hospital launch pad waitin' to fly me to Presbyterian Hospital in Dallas. The leadin' hospital for preemies in the state. A hospital that was better equipped at handlin' babies born with "Syndromes and low quality of life." The doubters on pins and needles as I made my entrance into the world. I, Aleshea Dominique was born on September 29th 1987, at 8:56 in the evening weighin' in at only 4 lbs and 13 ounces. My eyes shone bright as I looked around at all the commotion in my hospital room. Family, friends, doctors and nurses alike, not knowing whether to breath a sign of relief or continue to be astounded. Years later I called my Momma on the phone from college and asked her if she had it to do all over again would she. Her response simple but profound: when you came into the world and those big eyes looked up at me... she trails off. Yes, yes I'd do it all again. I know God loves all his children equally but to this day I joke about how I'm God's favorite.   

And that's why I march. Why I refuse to remain silent. Why I smile when others question. That's why I'm pro-life. Because life was first given to me. And this, this is my story to tell.

"A person's a person no matter how small"

Let this be the start of  I am the South and the South is me: Southern Portraits. 52 far to lofty of a goal since we've already passed a few. One for every week left in the year. 49 portraits to be exact. This is my story, once written, repeated again.

 "The Texas sun has kissed my face. Muddy waters run through my veins. My people come from the Bayou. Cajun/Creole is not just in my food and last name, but it is in me. I am the generations of family members who have lived off the Louisiana land for decades. I am the Irish side of my family much care not to remember because it means we were slaves in Rural Mississippi/Arkansas. I am a descendant of the great Virginia Colonel George Waller. I am Ann Eliza Walters. The girl in my family who passed as white and therefore escaped slavery to marry in North Carolina. And eventually lived in Texas as a "white woman."  I am my Momma crying while watching "The Help" because it is her life story since she was named after the last child my Great Grandma raised for the "White Doctor" in town. I am my aunt walking down the streets of Greenville Mississippi hand in hand with my Momma and Grandma as the camera crews film her being the first black student to integrate her elementary school. I am my Father enduring Southern Louisiana summers as he worked the Oil Rigs on the Bayou so that he could pay for college. I am my Uncle Jeff who grew up picking cotton. I am my Paw Paw who rode on the back of the Ice Truck in the 1940's as an Ice Pick Boy delivering the contents to the families in Northern Mississippi. I am my Great Grandpa who left Mississippi to live in Rural Arkansas and be a sharecropper and provide for his family. I am my Grandma who left her home as a child in Rural Arkansas to attend school in Mississippi because the education system was better for black children. I am my Great Grandma's and their Choctaw and Cherokee heritage. I am the strong woman they raised me to be. I am the red dirt that stains my car as I drive the backboards. I am my Uncle piloting planes throughout the south as he sprayed the crops with Pesticides. I am my Uncle Jarvis as he proudly defended his country. I am my Uncle Dan who only works six months of the year driving trucks so that he is always home in the fall for hunting season. Texas raised me, but the South made me.

Southern Potraits: 1/2/3/4/5/6 /7

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#GiveLove has been in swing for one week. *Everybody claps and says amen* Well, I'll pretend y'all did. Anyway, let's see where I've been leavin' letters. Let me know If y'all have left any letters or happen to find any of my letters. And at the end of le post you can find a giveaway I'm helpin' host. Y'all go get ya some and let's remember to spread some love this weekend.
Wednesday: Nature Trail Love


Thursday: Parking Lot Love:
Friday: Port Potty Love




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