How Road Trips Became My Daughter’s First Black History Classroom

Some of the most meaningful lessons I’ve taught my daughter didn’t happen in a classroom. They happened on the road—between mile markers, long stretches of highway, and conversations that couldn’t wait for a textbook.

I knew early on that she wasn’t going to learn Black American history in school the way it deserved to be taught. Not fully. Not honestly. And not with the context and pride I wanted her to carry with her. So I made a decision: I would teach her myself—through travel, lived experience, and intentional moments wherever we were.

Memphis: History You Can Feel

Trips to Memphis were especially powerful. Walking down Beale Street, my daughter didn’t just learn about music—she felt it. We talked about how Black creativity thrived even under oppression, and how music became both resistance and release.

Our visit to the National Civil Rights Museum was one of the heaviest and most necessary stops we ever made. Standing at the Lorraine Motel, we talked about the Civil Rights Movement not as a distant chapter, but as something real, painful, and unfinished. I wanted her to understand that freedom came at a cost—and that everyday people made history by standing firm.

Nashville: Education, Excellence, and Honest Contrast

In Nashville, our lessons expanded. We visited Fisk University, where I wanted my daughter to see Black excellence in higher education—long-standing, intentional, and powerful. We talked about HBCUs, why they exist, and the generations of leaders they’ve produced.

We also visited The Hermitage, and that contrast mattered. It opened up honest conversations about slavery, power, and how American history is often celebrated without accountability. I wanted her to see the full picture—the beauty and the brutality—because both are part of the truth.

Dallas: Seeing Ourselves Reflected

In Dallas, we made time for the African American Museum of Dallas. That space reinforced something I always wanted my daughter to know: Black history is not one story. It’s art, military service, innovation, joy, and community. Seeing those narratives presented with pride helped her understand that our contributions are vast—and undeniable.

Kansas City: Home as a Classroom

Here at home in Kansas City, learning never stopped. Visits to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum and the American Jazz Museum became regular experiences—not one-off field trips.

We talked about athletes who played at a professional level while being barred from white leagues. We talked about jazz as a Black American art form that shaped music around the world. These spaces taught her that greatness often flourished despite exclusion—not because of acceptance.

We also attended local jazz concerts—many of them free or low-cost—where she learned that Black history isn’t only something you read about. It’s something you hear, feel, and experience in real time.

Topeka, Kansas: History That Hits Home

Kansas holds a deeply personal place in this journey—not just historically, but personally. I was born and raised in Kansas, which made our visit to the Brown v. Board of Education National Historic Site especially meaningful.

Standing in that space with my daughter felt full circle. We talked about segregation in education, about Black children being denied equal access to schools, and about the courage it took for families to challenge a system designed to exclude them. I wanted her to understand that this wasn’t abstract history—it happened right where I come from.

Nicodemus, Kansas: A Lesson Found on the Road

On an entirely different road trip—one taken so I could sit for my EMT Basics exam—we passed a sign for Nicodemus National Historic Site.

That sign became a classroom.

I explained to my daughter why Nicodemus exists: a town founded by formerly enslaved Black Americans after Reconstruction, who migrated west seeking freedom, land ownership, and self-determination. We talked about hope, broken promises, resilience, and what it meant to build community against impossible odds.

There was no planned stop that day. No museum visit. Just a Kansas highway and a truth that deserved to be told.

History Lessons Close to Home

Not every lesson required a long drive. Some started right outside our front door. I remember walking from our home in Wichita to the Wichita Art Museum, where my daughter was introduced to the work of William H. Johnson. Through his bold colors and honest depictions of Black life, she learned that art can preserve culture and tell truth.

I didn’t have a lot of money during that season of my life—but I had intention. We walked when we needed to. We found free museums, community events, and local performances. And I made it work, because teaching my child the truth about her history mattered more than anything else.

Teaching the History We Didn’t Learn

Across Memphis, Nashville, Dallas, Kansas City, Topeka, Nicodemus, and the roads in between, I had one goal: to teach my child the true history of America—not the version we learned in school, but the one rooted in lived experience, resistance, brilliance, and truth.

These moments—planned and unplanned—are where my love for cultural heritage travel was born. Long before curated itineraries or hosted trips, it started with road trips, hard conversations, and a mother determined to make sure her child knew exactly who she came from.

Because sometimes, the most powerful classroom isn’t a building at all.

It’s the journey.

If cultural heritage travel speaks to you, you’re not alone. This is why I curate experiences rooted in history, truth, and connection. Explore upcoming hosted trips or follow along on The Culture Journal for more stories like this.