Love is an Action

bell hooks was my friend. I don't say that lightly. Our friendship was something I rarely talked about to people who were not close to me because I never wanted to be one of those people who wanted something from her–who were biding their time until they made the big "ask" for what they wanted all along. Our friendship happened naturally. It started with a once a week lunch meeting, and evolved into two-three times a week lunches, coffees, phone calls. I never expected that one of my best friends in the world would be this feminist icon–this person who taught me so much about life, and love, and self-care. bell and I shared many things–a love of good, old-fashioned Southern food, especially my macaroni and cheese, sweet potato pies and greens, and my special baked beans. We also loved hot fudge sundaes from Dairy Queen, and often shared one because bell loved to share food with those she loved. I can't believe sometimes that she loved me, but she did, and I loved her.

bell and I had many things in common–we were both sassy little Southern girls who talked too much–who talked back–who loved to read. We both had five sisters (I have two brothers, while she had one–her beloved Ken), and we both loved music–gospel music, old school R&B, good country music–so much music. We both loved beautiful men–men who were not just beautiful on the outside, but the inside as well. And because of bell I learned to love to dance–I was, and still am one of those Black people who does have any natural rhythm–but with bell, I danced and laughed and found my voice. She helped me to fully embrace my Black feminist self.

Like most good friends, bell and I also often disagreed. For instance, I still love The Color Purple–it is one of my favorite books, and bell hated it. I agreed with Michelle Obama's decision to focus on her daughters when Barack became President, because, as the mother of Black daughters myself, I worried more about how the world would react to and treat my amazing, articulate, intelligent daughters than almost anything else. I understood Michelle's decision. I loved dogs, and she hated and feared them, so whenever she came to my home, I would put the dog outside so that she would feel safe. We argued, we laughed, and we cried together when we lost loved ones. I was with her in Puerto Rico when she shook the National Women's Studies Association with her powerful speech. I remember our amazing week at Martha's Vineyard–she took me there for my fiftieth birthday–when we walked to the Inkwell to watch the beautiful Black women gather together to swim, and when we were walking back and she stopped a stranger to drive us back because she was tired. I remember when we were in the airport traveling, and people would walk by and say, is that bell hooks? and she would just smile.

I remember how she lit up when she saw babies and small children–she loved babies and children. I remember most of all that small voice–that powerful voice–the way she challenged all of us to live our lives out loud, to speak our truths. She taught me that I, we, all deserve to be loved with a capital L–love as an action–love as a verb. I loved my friend, and I miss her, and I still cannot believe that she is gone.

We will keep bell's work and memory alive. She worried about all of the Black women writers who died, and whose memories seemed to fade into the distance–every time another Black women writer left us, we would talk about her project–The bell hooks Institute–and how she wanted the Institute to live on long after she was gone. So I proudly announce today that Berea College, in conjunction with The bell...