How I Learned About Juneteenth

An electric guitar, a parade, and a lesson learned.

This is a picture of my son Nick and me from the late 1980s. I show it, not just because he’s adorable, but because of the t-shirt I’m wearing.

It’s this t-shirt:

Now, I considered myself a reasonably well-informed and progressive person in the 1980s, but I’d never even heard of Juneteenth.

Here’s how I found out about it: A friend of mine was an accomplished percussionist in the Afro-Cuban and Brazilian styles. He was working with a group of young kids at a community recreation center in Richmond, CA, showing them how to play percussion instruments (i.e., bang on things, which most kids love to do). He was doing it in the style of their ancestors, having them play home-made versions of traditional instruments.

The kids had an ambitious goal: they wanted to become good enough to march in a community parade by next June.

My friend asked if I would join him each week and accompany them on electric guitar. I was happy to help the kids. I was also a huge fan of the electric guitar styles coming out of West Africa in those years. Here was a chance to try my hand at that very melodic, yet highly percussive, style.

They made the parade! But they wanted their electric guitar player. The solution? The kids took turns pulling my portable amplifier on a little red wagon while I walked alongside them playing my Fender Strat.

The theme of the parade was “Juneteenth.” I may have been the only person there who hadn’t heard about Juneteenth. I learned. I was struck by the fact that this commemoration wasn’t better-known—something that has fortunately changed.

They gave me the t-shirt as a thank-you, but all my gratitude was for them. After all, I had been welcomed to a great event on a beautiful (if scorchingly hot) day. I had learned something beautiful and significant. Plus, the food was great.

Then, as now, I send my love and respect to all who celebrate.

Oh, and I still have the shirt.