The first time I met Betty Shabazz I was, frankly, in open-mouthed
awe of her. I sort of buzzed around her, hovered in her orbit, but
didn’t say a word. She had been married to Malcolm X, I told myself.
And after his assassination, she raised six daughters by herself. She
earned a Ph.D. as an adult, and was running a major department at
Medgar Evers College. The woman must be awesome, I told myself. So I
watched and I wondered when and how I could approach her and share my
admiration.
As things happen, she and I ended up at the same side of the
swimming pool, our lounge chairs separated by one of those rickety
tables that tries to support an umbrella. I introduced myself and
awkwardly gushed out my admiration for her, so brimming over with
hyperbole that I realized I was being foolish.
Still, I continued on for several minutes, until a deep chuckle emerged from someplace near her gut.
“Child,” she told me with a husky laugh, “you had better get over all that.”
That’s the thing about Betty Shabazz that the obituaries missed –
that humor, that approachability, that self-imposed notion that she was
not larger than life, but simply life itself.
Since June 1, when the news that she was badly burned hit the media,
I’ve thought much about Dr. Shabazz, her approachability and about the
way she was able to put everyone at ease – all the while carrying the
Malcolm X torch, all the while protecting his legacy.
Betty loved life, which is perhaps why she clung so tenaciously to
it, living for three weeks after doctors said she would not make it
because of the severity of her burns. Her love for life was reflected
in her determination to live it well and wisely, – and to communicate
that desire to others. As counselor and dean at Medgar Evers College,
“Dr. Betty’s” love for life equipped her to teach and talk about
overcoming adversity. After all, who can say they “can’t” overcome when
they are speaking to an icon of a woman who has cleared every hurdle
that adversity placed in her way.
