A heads up, we explore the use of plant medicines and illegal drugs.

This series is for entertainment and informational purposes only.

Always consult with a medical professional before starting any form of treatment.

Listener discretion is advised.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Linceston Hughes wrote in his famous poem Harlem.

Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun or fester like a sore and then run. Does it stink like rotten meat or crust and

sugar over like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load, or does it explode?

Or do we pass our dreams down somehow?

From generation to generation until one day, those dreams are fulfilled.

In 1926, the year my grandmother was born, the great migration was in full swing.

Black descendants of enslaved Africans fled the South by the millions to escape racist terror, for the hope and promise of the North.

Tanya, I grew up. My family grew up on the farm and everybody on the farm was the same poor.

And we worked hard and the pleasures that we got were very few.

By the time my grandmother was three, the country was in the grips of the Great Depression.

And the women's suffrage movement had little impact on a young black girl from

DeKalb Mississippi. At 17 she and my grandpa migrated to Detroit, the motor city

capital of the world. Marriage was her ticket to freedom,

but big dreams were impractical.

Survival was all that she could hope for.

I've always wanted to be a public speaker. I don't know if you knew that or not. I always wanted to be able

to captivate to get people's attention and to be able to give great speeches.

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