Growing up in one of the few Black towns in Northern California had its perks. I grew up with a sense of community, respect for my elders and the knowledge that if I ever set a toe out of line, somehow it was going to get back to my mother or grandmother. In a small town, everyone knows or thinks they know your business, and they are not afraid to tell everyone what they have heard.

My mother moved from L.A. with my brother and I, after my dad was sent to prison. Their marriage had not been an easy one. My mother was only 18 when she met and married my 29- year-old father. He had lived his life hand-to-mouth on the streets of Boston since he ran away at the tender age of fourteen. My mother was a quiet, sheltered bookworm, starting out her first year in college when they met. She had me 9 months after their union.

My dad was a hard man and didn’t know how to provide or care for a family. When they met, he was in the Mosque trying to turn his life around. But he soon found that family life was much harder than he had anticipated, and he quickly turned back to the life that he had known before — hustling to make ends meet.

I remember listening to a professor speak on epigenetics and DNA.  He said that unresolved trauma becomes trapped energy. Cellular memories pass down from one generation to the next, until someone within the family tree changes their dysfunctional environment — which leads to the trauma being released.  That release creates change, that change creates healing, and that healing removes sickness and trauma from being turned on or expressed within the genes.

The end result is healthy DNA to pass on to future generations. For me, ARCS is that professor’s words in action --- and the healing journey is that release and change.