I knew God as the flailing of black hands during Sunday morning service. I knew motherhood as the brown hands resting on my forehead, praying for protection every morning before school. I knew fatherhood as the deep hue of a man floating in the water, ensuring that I wouldn’t drown during swimming lessons. I saw the creative side of blackness every time the community would put on of theatrical performance. The joyful side of blackness at those Saturday cookouts in the park. The mourning of lost black life translated into a three-part harmonies.