How an African American Couple Achieved Dual Ph.Ds.
No, not the Obamas.
I recently purchased my academic regalia for graduation. As faculty, the college usually provides the appropriate dress. This semester, I finally invested money into buying the three-piece regalia at a pretty penny cost. A twentieth graduation anniversary seems like a stately time to confirm my title with the three-stripe fancy robe, abundant scarf, and poofy hat.
When the Shoe Fits
As I took the pieces out of the plastic shipping wrap, I couldn’t help but reminisce about the year 2000. I felt a sense of pride then, and now. The boldness of a young black couple created generational change, before the thought of a Black president or Beyonce headlining Coachella.
If you like Cinderella stories, we’re one in living color. Boy meets girl; boy moves away from girl; boy asks girl to marry him; girl drops everything to follow boy. That two-hour movie took 20 months. The next 20 months brought us two bundles of joy. Within nine years, we got married, had two babies, and earned two Ph.Ds. Everything, the marriage, babies, and degrees, was his idea.
Prince charming
We were in our late 20s and early 30s when we met at work. More than five years after completing my Master’s degree, I finally landed a great job with a good salary. He was in an entry-level position while completing his Master’s degree. Once he completed his degree, he left the state. We had been dating for six months and were just falling in love.
He had been gone all of three months before he asked me to meet him at a conference. He was chaperoning a group of college students. Inviting a woman to spend a weekend at a conference is as good of a compatibility test as anything, I guess. On our last night together, he asked me to move to Wisconsin with him, as his wife.
We remained separated during our nine-month engagement. While living in New York and Wisconsin, we planned a wedding in Philadelphia, my hometown. Of all that can be said about our 28-year marriage, boring was never a chapter.
On Becoming
I remember the conversation when my husband got his acceptance letter to attend the University of Northern Colorado. We laid in bed in our first home and discussed the practicality of moving our family from Wisconsin to Colorado.
Fifty shades of Black
My husband had not received any scholarships or grants. He didn’t feel comfortable putting a financial burden on the family as well as relocating. I sat up in bed in response to his suggestion to decline his admission. “How would white people do it?” I asked a serious question, although my husband chuckled. They go to school without scholarships. We just have to figure out how they do it.
We decided to “take the path of the white man.” We had $2,000 in savings. My husband negotiated $4000 from his employer to return after completing his program in four years. We took out a $6,000 second mortgage, rented our house, packed up the children, and drove into uncertainty the summer of 1996.
We saw ourselves as futurist thinkers as Paul Myers MBA defines in How to Work and Think Like a Futurist. According to Myers, The futurists’ function is to observe and extrapolate to prepare for challenges, risks, and opportunities that may arise. Of course, our Black mommas had told us all of our lives that racism would require us to be twice as prepared to go half as far in America.
Babies and fools
At any rate, my husband and I quickly realized that $12,000 doesn’t last long with toddlers growing out of clothes. Most of our savings went toward rent. I got a job working ten hours a week for little more than minimum wage. I was homeschooling our children as a priority.
God takes care of babies and fools. We were fools with babies, so I guess we were a priority to the universe. After the first year, my husband’s academic mentors helped him secure a position as a resident hall director.
Secure food and housing relieved most of our burdens. My husband urged me to take advantage of the opportunity to earn my degree as well. So, I applied to the psychology department while my husband was earning his degree in higher education administration.
Achilles Heel
My husband and I greeted the year 2000 separated, not as in divorce, as in focus. Divide and conquer was our last resort as we continuously argued over schedules. We both needed to spend a great deal of time in the university library, not a place to take children.
Library resources were not yet available online. We spent about $50 worth of dimes each month copying research articles in the library. Once I gathered all of the resources I needed to write, I went to my childhood home for help. My mother cared for our children while I worked on my writing.
Our peers considered us irrational since the world, as we knew it, was predicted to end. The news warned that everything electronic could stop working because we had only been using two digits for the year. 1999 was digitally referred to as “99.” The lack of sophistication in the digital world left doubt as to whether we would end up in 1900 or 2000. Of course, nothing bad happened, except we started using four digits to identify the year.
My husband started his program a year before me in 1996. But in 2000, we left the University of Northern Colorado as Dr. and Dr. Bakari.
Even if you weren’t concerned about the world ending, most lovers wanted to be with one another on such an epic occasion as bringing in a new century. We wanted academic achievement and career advancement so our children could have health insurance again.
My husband and I decided to spend the Christmas and New Year holidays apart during a time of world uncertainty and celebration. My husband stayed alone in the residence hall with fifty cans of tuna and an equal amount of water, just in case. The children and I reunited with my husband when I was ready to set a date to defend my dissertation.
The crowning
My husband started his program a year before me in 1996. But in 2000, we left the University of Northern Colorado as Dr. and Dr. Bakari. My department chair told me that no student had ever completed my rigorous program in such a short time. I knew that no Black couple had ever completed dual programs simultaneously.
My husband was selected to give the student graduation speech. I received the “Dissertation of the Year” honor. So, my husband and I both sat on the platform. Our mothers and siblings sat with our 7-year-old daughter and 8-year-old son in the audience. The day was epic.
Twenty years have gone by fast. After graduation, we moved to New York state again. We both worked there for three years before my husband took a job in Iowa. We eventually moved back to Colorado. But, at the end of 2019, my husband moved to guess where? Yes, New York state.
Loving apart together
We entered this decade with a third round of separation. My husband works in the state where we met, and I am in the state where we advanced to Dr. and Dr. Bakari. Serendipity is the third wheel in our marriage.
The pandemic makes separation a more significant challenge than two decades ago. We haven’t been able to visit for two months, longer than the period I spent away from my husband to finish my degree. Like in 2000, he is the one stuck working in a small apartment alone. I’m living in our family home with our adult son.
The Mirror Tells No Lies
I look in the mirror to straighten my poofy cap and make sure the tassel is on the correct side. I am filled with long-term gratitude and fleeting vanity. I grab my cell phone and snap a selfie to send to my husband.
Just last month I made my last student loan payment. We could not afford to pay off two student loans in the customary ten years, so we extended mine to 20 years. Academia life is not one of wealth. But it is an abundant life.
When my daughter was in college, one of her professors was trying to make a point about privilege. In comparing Black and white privilege, she asked the students to raise their hands if they could see their parents as president. My daughter raised her hand and did not attempt to resolve the professor’s dissonance. Achievement was just part of our children’s world.
Now and again, sexism rears its ugly head, and my husband and I are introduced as Dr. and Mrs. Bakari. I sometimes jokingly respond by insisting they not refer to my husband as Mrs.
My daughter also got a kick out of answering the house phone when the caller asked to speak to Dr. Bakari. She’d ask the caller to clarify which one. Hearing, “R. Bakari,” she would repeat, “Which one?” My husband and I also share the first initial.
Most people call us by our first names. However, I do have a rule that any time my husband is addressed as Dr., my title must be used as well. Now and again, sexism rears its ugly head, and my husband and I are introduced as Dr. and Mrs. Bakari. I sometimes jokingly respond by insisting they not refer to my husband as Mrs.
Twenty years of moving back and forth across the country as Dr. and Dr. Bakari has left trails of inspiration. We serve as mentors, as well as witnesses to potential. We especially remind students of color to blaze their own paths, take risks, and live creatively. Be kind, humble, and let your work speak for you.
The Doctor is in the House
The Drs. Bakari mostly inspire each other. As a university administrator, he takes a calm and investigative approach to life. As psychology faculty, I use a rational processing style to solve problems. After 28 years of marriage, we have earned our Ph.D. in love.
My regalia is for a virtual graduation ceremony for our students. The reality of my presence feels a bit surreal. I am debt-free, married to the man who invited me into the academic life, and just as enthusiastic about learning as I am teaching.