I remember looking at the rocking chair that was outside the Coastal Discovery Museum in Hilton Head, South Carolina. It was one of so many things that had a significant impact on me during the Gullah Geechee tour.

We had seen many rocking chairs outside on the porches of the homes that were still owned by the Gullah families, who were fortunate enough to have delayed the powerful forces of gentrification—at least for now. But something about this particular rocking chair hit differently.

Maybe it was the fact that the white workers in the store asked us how we enjoyed the tour. “I hear it’s great!” How could you work at a store on an historic island where tourists frequent and have never even been on the tour yourself? Were you only interested in “selling” the story instead of actually “knowing” it?

Maybe it was the fact that I was looking around the store wondering who profited from the sale of the memorabilia and history of a land, culture, and people who were still struggling to hold on to any existence of the only life they have ever known?

Maybe it was the fact that the rocking chair almost seemed to be used as a prop: yet another historical artifact for tourists to gawk at. It “fit” the “theme” of the preservation of culture this museum was attempting to convey, but was it all a part of the facade to convince outsiders they actually cared about the history, culture, and language of the Gullah Geechee people?

On the other hand, the rocking chairs on the porches held a history of everything these chairs symbolize: rest, comfort, tranquility, and a sense of home.

I could see my ancestors rocking back and forth, humming hymnals or other familial or historical songs passed down through generations.

I saw grandmothers and grandfathers rocking back and forth comforting grandchildren with a rhythmic dance, caressing their lineage with the type of hands Bill Withers talks about in his song, “Grandma’s Hands”.

I saw my neurodiverse, beautiful Black son running to any and every rocking chair he has ever encountered, yearning for the comfort of the eternal manifestation of his stemming. After all, rocking chairs have a repetitive motion and movement others saw as “normal” and even participated in themselves.

But even more significant to me, this rocking chair outside of the Coastal Discovery Museum hit differently. It seemed oddly out of place. But maybe it wasn’t.

The store worker hadn’t even been on the tour she promoted.

The history and culture of Gullah Geechee was on display, and some for sale.

There were many “props” strategically set up to “preserve” things on this island.

So maybe the rocking chair wasn’t so out of place at all.

Selah.