An Author Writing to Remember and Celebrate Black Children

With an undergraduate degree in sociology from Morgan State University (Baltimore, MD) and a master’s degree in Library Science from the Catholic University of America (Washington, DC), Sharon Bell Mathis is a librarian and a multiple award-winning children’s and young adult book author. Among her awards are Child Study Association of America’s Book of the Year for her early middle-school novel Sidewalk Story (1971). Teacup Full of Roses (1972), another middle-school novel, received a notable recognition by the American Library Association, and in 1974, Bell Mathis won the Coretta Scott King Award for her picture book Ray Charles (1973). Her book The Hundred Penny Box (1975) won a Newberry Honor in 1976. Bell Mathis “writes stories that celebrate the fortitude, resilience, and beauty of African Americans.”

Sharon Bell Mathis was one of the featured speakers at the inaugural African Americans and Children’s Literature Symposium in Washington, DC (2 March 2024) that the Guest Editor of this Special Issue attended. Here is Bell Mathis’ interview, “In Conversation,” with poet and memoirist E. Ethelbert Miller about her writing for Black children audiences. See their recorded conversation at the following link: https://tinyurl.com/4743wkef. For this Special Issue, Bell Mathis reflects on her commitment to writing for children, especially for Black children and youth.

• Vivid Memories...

For me as an author, the beginning of a book occurs in quiet moments. A solitary character enters my thoughts and settles there, allowing me to seek openings and closings amid a myriad of paths backward and forward—and on and on and on.

I simply wait. Other figures enter. I feel anxious. Will I be able to write this story? What must I say? There is a responsibility to write carefully—to show the love that children take for granted—or love they have not known. My words must gather them close, show their extraordinary strength amid extraordinary pressures to break them down and down and down.

The children must realize their strengths when it seems there are none.

African American children are among the bravest youngsters in civilization. Taking care of one another, they step up to the plate and hope for miracles, sometimes praying, sometimes not. Dependence on self, however young, is the rule.

Happily, most children have ordinary lives filled with the silliness they love and enjoy. Other children are not so “lucky,” if you will.

My story begins. I hope that my words pay homage to them.

I was young and hurt by a teacher who was paid to bring about my intellectual growth. As a young Black girl, I knew our class was fearful due to what seemed like the teacher’s swiftly changing moods. Her words were often scary and harsh. When I write, I think of youngsters like me, a second grader at PS 70 in Brooklyn, New York. I know what it feels like to be young and vulnerable. I know how it is to feel that you are less than other youngsters due to learning difficulties, subjected to an unfeeling, cruel teacher who was not African American. I remember. I remember. I remember.

My professional career began as a Special Education instructor in the DC Public School System—teaching youngsters with special needs. I remember. I remember. I remember. We had small classes under a track system. It was ideal. The students went to regular Physical Education, music, and arts. Other than that, the students were in classes with youngsters like themselves. They were insulated, celebrated. They could have straight “A” grades in all their classes if they worked hard enough. Report cards listed an “A” (with the letters SP printed).

Then the Washington, DC Schools shattered the track system as a result of a decision by Judge Skelly Wright. A disgruntled parent sued the system and won! What happened then? All children had to be mainstreamed. They had to be in classes with other children, never to be separated again. The regular teachers were overwhelmed. They now had a class within a class. The former Special Education teachers wrote plans and hoped the children would have the attention they were used to getting. These children were now subjected to bullying, laughter, and whatever. Gone was the small class that centered them, gone was the class store where they could buy empty boxes of cereals using real currency. No such thing in regular classrooms. Large regular classes became even larger. Many teachers did their very best in less-than-ideal situations. I was heartbroken. I took a sabbatical leave and earned a master’s degree in Library Science at Catholic University. I re-entered the school system as a library media specialist.

As a writer, there is a responsibility never to mislead the children. You embark on a journey with them. On the path, you want laughter and joy, mixed perhaps with some uncertainness. I want to celebrate them, to remind them of their formidable strengths, of triumphs to come, and to trust their capabilities.

My characters are never perfect human beings. They are growing and learning, standing tall, and looking out for one another. The adults are child-centered. Yes, I do have adult villains in my tales. There are others, however, who see them through awful moments. In Listen for the Fig Tree (1974), there is Mr. Dale for Muffin. In Sidewalk Story (1971), a journalist has a hunch and acts upon it. In Teacup Full of Roses (1973)—a New York Times Outstanding Book of the Year—Joe wants to take care of his brilliant, younger brother. Perhaps joining the United States military will help. In Running Girl: The Diary of Ebonee Rose (1997), Ebonee comes to realize that her track and field team is better even with a very prickly teammate. Ebonee reaches out to her and magic happens. In The Hundred Penny Box (1975)—recipient of the Newberry Honor Book Award, the Boston Globe Horn Book Award and an American Library Association Notable Children’s Book recognition—Michael loves his elderly aunt so much that he stands up to his overwhelmed mother. He is determined that his Aunt Dew has everything she needs. He understands that she would rather be in her own house where there is a “yard way bigger than this!”

When I am creating a story, I try to hold these children and young adults close in my arms. I want them to feel safe, to feel important, to know that in an imperfect world, they are valuable. I wrote the nonfictional biography Ray Charles (1973)—recipient of the Coretta Scott King Award—to show Black youngsters that they can not only overcome difficulties, but they can also triumph!

The children I create are on a journey that will have “ups and downs and turnarounds,” but they will survive their trials, somehow.

Today, African American children are being saluted by some of the greatest writers of all time. There are the celebrated late authors, such as Eloise Greenfield, Virginia Hamilton, and Walter Dean Meyers. African American authors specializing in children’s literature are extraordinary, best-in-the-business, standard-bearers! A few others include Kwame Alexander, Vera Ahiyya, Derrick Barnes, Winsome Bingham, Tami Charles, Christopher Paul Curtis, Matthew Curry, Sharon Draper, Lamar Giles, Nikki Grimes, Rita Lorraine Hubbard, Ty Allan Jackson, Leah Johnson, Amina Luqman-Dawson, Amber McBridge, Kwami M’balia, Ibtihaj Muhammad, Dwayne Reed, Jason Reynolds, Christian Robinson, Nic Stone, Angie Thomas, Carole Boston Weatherford, Natasha Williams, Julian Winters, Jacqueline Woodson, and Nicola Yoon.

The age of Scottish author Hellen Bannerman’s Little Black Sambo (1899) is over. Forever.