<p style="text-align:center;">For the past three years, I have had the privilege to say that I am a member of a <span style="color:#0000ff;">great</span> <span style="color:#0000ff;">sorority</span>. Unlike many people however, I can&#8217;t say that it was something that I &#8220;dreamed of&#8221; or &#8220;fantasized&#8221; about since I was young. Then again, that may be because I&#8217;m not like most people. Ever since I could remember, I knew my mom was apart of something. I was too young to know what a sorority was but I did know that she&#8217;d take me to meetings with her every week and I could prepare to be there for a few hours. The ladies were always nice and I could almost bet at least half of them would be wearing something with the same three letters on them.</p>
<p style="text-align:center;">When I was old enough to join a youth group, my mom did just that. (I was actually too young to be with the group that I was with but the advisor took me under her care and carried me through.) All throughout middle school and high school I remained with the group and as a result, I was constantly around the women of the organization. During this time, they never made me feel as if the organization was centered around <span style="color:#ff6600;">elitism</span>.</p>
<p style="text-align:center;">(<em><span style="color:#ff6600;">elitism</span>: the attitude or behavior of a person or group who regard themselves as belonging to an elite)</em></p>
<p style="text-align:center;">It was actually the complete opposite. The women were always all-inclusive of me and other people. They didn&#8217;t talk in codes, bunch in cliques at events, or anything that would give off an unapproachable image. So, when my senior year of high school came around, it was almost a no brainer to the women that had seen me grow that I would soon be a member of their organization. Little did they know, I had other plans. See, I loved them with all of my heart but I&#8217;d decided that I could wait until graduate school to join.</p>
<p style="text-align:center;">When I entered my unive<a href="https://queentoqueens.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/vh1-sorority-sisters.jpg"><img class="alignleft wp-image-990 size-medium" src="https://queentoqueens.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/vh1-sorority-sisters.jpg?w=300" alt="vh1-Sorority-Sisters" width="300" height="180" /></a>rsity as a freshman, sororities were the last thing on my mind. I joined the NAACP, which was about all that we (freshmen) could join at the time due to a previous hazing incident surrounding the campus. I didn&#8217;t attend any sorority sponsored events and I couldn&#8217;t name you two people in a sorority on campus if my life depended on it. One night, I went with my mother to a scholarship banquet in which a few members of the undergraduate chapter were in attendance. A friend of mine asked me to ask them if they were having a <span style="color:#ff9900;"><em>line</em></span> soon, (a dated name for new members of the organization). Me, not knowing <span style="color:#ff9900;">proper greek protocol</span>, went and asked. I can&#8217;t remember their responses but I do recall the disgusted looks on their faces. It were as if I&#8217;d said I were voting for Donald Trump as the next president. I soon learned that I&#8217;d made the <strong><span style="color:#ff9900;">wrong move</span></strong>.</p>
<p style="text-align:center;">To be continued&#8230;.</p>
<p style="text-align:center;"><em><span style="color:#800000;">-From Me to You, Love.</span></em></p>
<p style="text-align:center;">

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So You Want to be Greek?: The Beginning
