Meet The Future of Excellence . . .
“Ladies, you have asked amazing questions. Like my sister, Hera, said this morning that it was intentional when we created this program that each cohort begins in your junior year and finishes when you graduate high school. We want to see you to the finish line. We want to be there for the college applications, the college acceptance, and let’s be realistic, because it will happen at times, the college rejections. I am here to tell you that rejections hurt, but they are necessary for pivots.” I glanced around the room, then at Hera.
She stepped forward. “Okay, ladies, as you can see, we have mentors around the room set up. I know a lot of you came here with an idea of what you want to do. Some of you have no idea. That was me!” She tittered. “I went from wanting to be a hairstylist to a realtor to a trucker—yes, a trucker—until I landed on a registered nurse. We want you to walk around and talk to our mentors and check out what they do.
“If you’re still not sure, that’s alright. We do rotations so that you can learn more about your interest. You can sign up for three career areas of interest. Now go! Fly, my future Black women of excellence!”
The girls laughed when she flapped her wings like a bird. I started my way toward my table. On my way there, I had a question for my sister. “Why are you so silly?”
There were girls already at my table when I got there. My heart was so full to see them. We had amazing conversations. Halfway through, I had six girls sign up. That was amazing.
Our cohort only consisted of twenty girls at a time. That was a manageable headcount for us at one time. All our girls also received five-thousand-dollar scholarships at the end of the program. Our program did have criteria like any program, as well as an application and essay process.
The group of girls eventually left my table. A girl that I’d seen eyeing my table most of the afternoon finally approachedit. I noted that she went up to other tables, but she didn’t seem interested. She was a pretty, chocolate girl. “Hi, how are you today?” I asked her.
“I’m fine. My name is Eloise Conners. I would like to be a surgeon eventually, Dr. Basil. I’m not sure what kind, but I do know that I want to be a surgeon.” Her confidence was bold.
I nodded. “Okay, it sounds like you know exactly what you want to do. That’s a good thing. What inspired you to want to become not just a doctor, but a surgeon?”
“When I was twelve, my grandfather got sick and needed an emergency coronary artery bypass grafting. I was scared, and I had no idea what that was. I did a lot of research and went down a rabbit hole. The surgery saved my granddad’s life. I knew then that I wanted to do the same,” she finished with a warm smile.
I returned her smile. “Our stories on how we became inspired are similar. It was one of my classmates who got very sick.”
“Wow. I read your bio. Is it true that you’re Greek too?” After I confirmed that I was, she asked her next question. “Can you speak Greek?”
“Nai, miláo áptaista elliniká chári ston pappoú mou kai ton patéra mou. (Yes, I speak fluent Greek thanks to my grandfather and father),” I said in my native Greek language.
Her eyes bucked, and I laughed. I made sure to translate so she wouldn’t be left in the dark. “That is so cool. Silly me, all I took was Spanish.”
I giggled. “Trust me, you’ll use Spanish more than Greek,” I assured her. “Let’s get you signed up so we can get you started with the rotation.”
“Oh, I didn’t sign up for anything else. I know what I want to do.” She picked up the clipboard to write her information down. “Hopefully, I can work as hard as you and become one of the youngest surgeons in my discipline too.”
Pride swarmed in my chest. That was a great accomplishment that a lot of my colleagues said that I wouldn’t be able to do. “Eloise, I’m going to be here to make sure you do.” I leaned in toward her. In a whisper, I said, “We’re gonna give these white people hell.”
Daddy-Daughter Time . . .
“She was so amazing, Dad! I got to talk to her one-on-one. She talked to me longer than any of the girls. I did what you told me to do, and I was intentional.” Eloise raved about her afternoon at her new mentoring program that she was accepted into.
I’d gotten home about an hour ago from the office. Three days of the week, I made sure that I was home before six so that I could cook dinner and spend the evening with my baby girl. That was non-negotiable when it came to my work-life balance.
My life as a successful investment banker at the senior vice president level kept me busy. I worked my way up the ladder atWashington-Smith Brokerage Firmto be where I was today.My job was to build generational wealth for my private clients, and while I did that, I built it for myself. I also worked with corporations, which was where the big money came in.
I stopped my motion around the kitchen to give my full attention to Eloise. “Oh, did you? Tell me how you were intentional.”
She leaned forward on the kitchen island. “So, as soon as they told us to go to the tables, a bunch of girls swarmed her table. I already knew what it was. Dr. Basil and her sisters are the founders, so I knew girls were going to want to suck up. Half the girls that went to her table I knew for a fact aren’t interested in the medical field at all. I walked around and looked at other tables, but I didn’t sign up for anything. I just bided my time.
“I waited until everyone left the table, then I went up to talk to her. Daddy, we talked for like fifteen, twenty minutes.” Her smile was so beautiful. “I told her that I didn’t sign up for anything else because I know exactly what I want to do,” she told me.
I leaned on the island. “That did sound intentional. I’m proud of you, baby girl.”
“Daddy, I told her that I wanted to work hard to be the youngest surgeon like her. She said that she would be there to make sure I do.” She chuckled, then said, “She said we’re gonna give those white people hell.”
Now, that was funny. I laughed boisterously. I turned around to tend to the pot that was on the stove. “You better give their asses hell. What did you say her name was?”
With excitement in her voice, she responded, “Her name is Dr. Hestia Basil. Oh, Daddy, she’s Greek and Black. She speaks fluent Greek.”
I paused for a moment because that name sounded really familiar. “Dr. Hestia Basil, huh? Okay, I’m gonna have to lookher up. Go get your homework done so we can watch a movie after dinner.”
