One of my biggest childhood heroes was the astronaut Ronald McNair.
McNair was born in 1950 in Lake City, S.C. He went on to become a physicist and was among the select few accepted into NASA’s astronaut program.
In the early 1980s, it was common to admire astronauts. The American space program was popular, and I saw something in two astronauts with whom I readily identified: McNair and Christa McAuliffe, a teacher tapped to travel on a special mission. (McNair and McAuliffe were on the Challenger and died when the shuttle exploded in January 1986.)
McNair fascinated me largely because of the fearlessness he showed in pursuing his academic and professional aspirations. He was among very few black history-makers I learned about in school, and his story didn’t originate in or revolve around enslavement. He defied odds and fought discrimination, going on to earn a doctorate and a coveted spot in the American space program.
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My dad encouraged me to write McNair a letter in care of NASA. I did so eagerly, and I was rewarded with a reply: several publicity photos, including one signed by McNair, samples of astronaut food rations and other items.
This was the heyday of NASA marketing efforts. Even at 9 years old, I was sure the package I received was expertly mass produced on a large scale. (My dad and I even studied the signature for several minutes to determine if it was “real.”) I was nonetheless excited and proud to have my fan letter acknowledge in such a grand way.
McNair is one of many people whose story helps me see myself in history.
When he was 9, he wanted to use the library in Lake City. However, only whites could check out books. He tried it anyway, and the librarian called the police to arrest him.
What occurred was a true inspiration -- and a great moment in the history of whites, too: The white police officers encouraged the librarian to let McNair check out the books.
That library was later renamed in his honor. (You can listen to his brother, Carl McNair, tell the brief story by following the link at KarrisGolden.com.)
That story about the bravery McNair demonstrated even as a child reminds me of how I came to admire him. It also illustrates why I remain convinced Black History Month remains relevant.
McNair is someone of whom we all can be proud. He used his talents and gifts to make a difference and contribute to what we’d call “the greater good.” He adds new dimension and a different context to our culture -- creating a broader, more meaningful blend of experiences.
When we open ourselves to them and add them to our own cultures, contexts and histories, we create deeper opportunities for outreach, service and accompaniment. Just think of how much more good can we do in the world when we acknowledge our own capacity to learn, receive and understand.
Yes, it’s true the so-called dominant culture must expand to fully encompass the full depth of our co-existence. Until then, we’ll need reminders to seek out and tell stories beyond those with which the dominant culture most easily identifies.
