The Kwanzaa Collection: How I Killed the Kwanzaa Carol
The story behind a Kwanza feud and an iconic song that will never die.
This Kwanzaa, we’re sharing the complete collection of stories about the greatest holiday since Juneteenth. This post was originally published on Jan. 1, 2019.
If I’m ever sent to prison on charges of first-degree Blackness or mayonnaise-related hate speech, I will probably have to do my time in solitary confinement. I’m pretty sure there are prison gangs that are waiting to stab me with a shank made out of a Bic pen to get a teardrop tattoo symbolizing that they killed the man who disrespected their connection to the outside world. And it’s all because of the Great Kwanzaa Carol War.
Long before Angela Helm informed me of the existence of Teddy Pendergrass’ legendary opus, “Happy Kwanzaa,” I was already familiar with Kwanzaa Carols.
Well, actually, I was aware of one Kwanzaa carol, “We Are Celebrating Kwanzaa,” penned by the great songwriter, choirmaster and singer Rosa Lee Huntington.
Rosa Lee Huntington was a music teacher who lived across the street from me. She didn’t have any children that I knew of, and she lived alone in the only two-story house on my block. Now, I can’t be sure Miss Huntington was a music teacher because I don’t really recall anyone ever saying that to me. I knew she had a voice like Mahalia Jackson, but I don’t even know if she was a teacher. However, in my head, I always thought she was a music teacher who had retired before I was born.
Miss Huntington loved puzzles. She had completed so many jigsaw puzzles that she was once featured on the news for breaking some kind of world record. Instead of wallpaper, the walls of her home were literally plastered with completed puzzles. She loved children, too. She probably babysat three or four generations of children from my neighborhood on every day except Saturdays.
Everyone knew that Miss Huntington had her women’s meetings on Saturdays. Miss Huntington always had a group of women over on Saturdays, and no one in the neighborhood would bother her during her meetings.
Except me.
Miss Huntington loved me. She gave me my own Kwanzaa gift every year, and we became close because she knew one thing that I also knew:
Jesus be tripping.
