Celebrating Juneteenth and Freedom Is in My DNA — Now I’m Passing the Tradition on to My Daughter

Written by

Cori Murray
Cori Murray
Cori Murray is an award-winning editor and the former deputy editor of ESSENCE. She’s a respected journalist, who covers entertainment, women’s lifestyle, and travel for many outlets including The Hollywood Reporter, Marie Claire, InStyle, emmys and EBONY. She’s been featured as a cultural critic for Good Morning America 3, where she spoke about Beyonce’s Texas influence on Cowboy Carter.
published Jun 18, 2024
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graphic collage with photo of the author and her daughter and a photo of the author holding up a bottle of Big Red
Credit: Cori Murray

For a very long time I called any carbonated drink “soda water.” In Fort Worth, Texas, where I lived with my Big Momma, mama, and brother, I drank soda water all the time at our kitchen table. On Sundays, when my family would gather after church, we’d head over to Wyatt’s Cafeteria and I’d order my usual: chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, smothered green beans and Big Red, a syrupy-sweet soda water worshipped in the Lone Star State. 

But when we left Texas in the summer after fourth grade, decades went by before I had a Big Red again. When I did, it was on June 19, 2020 — Juneteenth, a holiday my family has observed as long as I can remember, and that carries a whole new meaning for me now as an adult with my own family. 

My first experiences with Juneteenth — the day when enslaved African Americans in Galveston, Texas, were first informed they were freed by the Emancipation Proclamation on June 19, 1865 — were with two important men in life. My grandfathers, both of whom I lovingly called Big Daddy, introduced me to the history that started in the state where our roots run deep. (Since the 1850s, five generations of my family have been born and raised between Houston and Wichita Falls.) 

Credit: Cori Murray

Long before Texas became the first state to recognize June 19 as a holiday in 1980, my mama would recall how her father used to take her to Juneteenth parades filled with Black cowboys riding horseback along Horne Street in Como, a historically Black neighborhood on the west side of Fort Worth. Big Daddy would regale these memories to my brother and I, but sadly he never had a chance to take us before he passed. After his death, my dad’s father stepped up his grandfather duties and taught us what it meant to honor Emancipation Day. 

He drove us to a Juneteenth celebration in Forest Park, Fort Worth. Churches, community groups, and families were encamped under umbrellas and balloons, while grills smoked with burgers and chicken. Adults relaxed in portable lawn chairs, as groups of kids played tag and hide-and-seek. My Big Daddy, brother, and I found a spot for our blanket near his church’s table setup. Then he gave us only one rule: “Go have fun.” After hours of running free, I only wanted one drink to cool down. My salty sweat mixed in with the syrup of my Big Red, and it never tasted sweeter. 

Truthfully, once we were on the East Coast, our Texas traditions quickly faded. Juneteenth would come and go without much fanfare in the suburbs surrounding Washington, D.C. After college, I moved to New York City and within a few years started my own family. My partner’s Caribbean traditions became the cultural touchstone for our young daughter (but she knew that her mama’s black-eyed peas and greens must be eaten on New Year’s). 

When June 19 would roll around, I was often in the throes of work as an entertainment editor attending summer festivals in Miami, Los Angeles, or New Orleans. I acknowledged Juneteenth on social media but didn’t do much else.

Credit: Cori Murray

Then on June 19, 2019, I was invited to “Blackspace: Juneteenth Freedom Drinks” at a Black-owned bar in Brooklyn. I was pleasantly surprised by the small group of Black Southerners, especially Texans, who had gathered. We instantly connected over our shared cultures through memories of soul food, drinks, and music. 

I chatted with new friends about missing authentic Tex-Mex, crispy Whataburgers and properly smoked beef ribs (good ribs don’t require BBQ sauce, and the meat should fall off the bone). A DJ spun cookout classics from Maze, Cameo, The Gap Band and more, bringing back memories of aunties dancing with their eyes closed and hands in the air. That evening, we celebrated our personal freedoms with red-colored libations (the unofficial beverage of Juneteenth). The collective energy in the room was palpable: We were our ancestors’ wildest dreams.  

In June 2020, less than a month after George Floyd’s murder, the country’s racial awakening amplified the need for a day celebrating Blackness. The Layout, a Brooklyn-based community group, announced a Juneteenth gathering in Fort Greene Park. The callout on their social media page said it all: “Join us at 11 am for a day of jubilation, bonding and soulful restoration.” 

Credit: Cori Murray

My daughter and I put on our Juneteenth tees, I picked up some ribs, and we headed to the park. I told my then-10-year-old daughter that we were starting a new family tradition. Growing up, my Juneteenths only scratched the surface at the history of the hard-fought freedoms won by our enslaved ancestors. 

From that day, I have made space for us to commune with Southern food, music, and drinks under the biggest sky we can find. But not only that — we’re also educating ourselves on the tireless work Opal Lee, “The Godmother of Juneteenth,” did in making June 19 a national holiday. In addition, I’m reading Harvard scholar Annette Gordon-Reed’s memoir, On Juneteenth, which details the painful, but prideful, history of Black folks in Texas.

Many summers have passed since my Juneteenth in Forest Park. My dear Big Momma and Big Daddy have passed on, so my Texas trips are few and far between. Thinking of what I’ve lost makes me somber, but then a flash of gratitude sweeps over me. I’m thankful that while my early freedom days were drenched in sweat and syrup, they’re now filled with renewal and reverence. My daughter is learning that remembering our past honors our present and informs our future.

As Juneteenth arrives, we’ll continue celebrating our freedom unapologetically every day. Now pass me a red soda water.