I see myself being a great-grandmother at my great-grandson's

Hear, O listener, the luminous and prophetic words of Jill Scott, a woman whose voice has carried songs of love, strength, and legacy: “I see myself being a great-grandmother at my great-grandson’s graduation from a school that has my name on it.” Though spoken in the language of vision and hope, these words are not a mere dream — they are a declaration of endurance, of legacy, of the sacred desire to plant something that will outlive the body and echo through generations. In this statement, Scott does not simply imagine her future; she calls forth a vision of belonging, of permanence, and of the profound power of one life to shape many.

The meaning of this quote lies in the union of family and legacy — the blending of the personal and the eternal. When Jill Scott envisions herself as a great-grandmother, she is not only expressing the natural wish to witness her descendants grow; she is proclaiming a faith in continuity, in the passing of wisdom from one generation to another. Yet she goes further still. Her dream is not only to attend her great-grandson’s graduation, but to do so in a place bearing her name — a school, a temple of learning, a house of growth that embodies her spirit. This is the dream of the ancients: that one’s name shall not fade when the body returns to dust, but shall live on as a source of light for those yet unborn.

The origin of this vision flows from Scott’s life and artistry — a woman who rose from the soil of Philadelphia to become not just a singer and poet, but a teacher of the heart. Her work has always carried the pulse of community, the devotion to uplift her people through education, art, and empowerment. In imagining a school bearing her name, she is not boasting of fame, but dreaming of service — of a place where future generations might find the same light that once guided her. This is no idle fantasy, but a call to build something that nourishes others — for a name carved upon a building is nothing unless the spirit behind it inspires those who walk its halls.

Consider, O reader, the story of Mary McLeod Bethune, the daughter of former slaves, who began with one dollar and five students, and built a school that would grow into a university. She taught that knowledge was the key to freedom, that education was not merely a privilege but a sacred duty. When she walked through the halls of her school, she was not walking alone — she carried the hopes of generations past and the dreams of those yet to come. Jill Scott’s vision echoes this same legacy — the understanding that to create a school is to create a bridge across time, binding one’s ancestors to one’s descendants.

In Scott’s dream, we see also the sacred circle of life — the graduation not only of a child, but of a lineage. To imagine oneself as a great-grandmother is to honor both age and youth, the twilight and the dawn. It is to see the self as part of a continuum, to understand that our lives are chapters in a story much longer than our own. There is humility in this, but also triumph — for to live long enough to witness the flourishing of one’s descendants is among the greatest blessings the human heart can know. And to see them thrive in a place that bears your name is to know that your existence mattered, that you sowed seeds that grew into shelter and wisdom.

The lesson within these words is one of foresight and faith. We live in an age that often glorifies the immediate — the fleeting triumph, the momentary fame. But Jill Scott reminds us that true greatness is not in the moment, but in the legacy one leaves behind. The question, then, is not only what you will achieve in your own life, but what will continue after you are gone. What foundation will you lay for those who come after you? Will your name be spoken as one who consumed, or as one who created? The wise understand that immortality is not granted by monuments of stone, but by the hearts and minds you shape through your work and your love.

So take this, O listener, as both inspiration and challenge: live not merely for yourself, but for your descendants. Dream boldly, as Jill Scott does — dream of a world where your name becomes a symbol of empowerment, of wisdom, of generosity. Whether your legacy is a school, a home, a poem, or the quiet strength you leave in your family, build it with care. See yourself not only as who you are, but as the ancestor of those who will one day carry your spirit forward. For the truest measure of a life is not how brightly it shines in its own time, but how long its light endures after it has set.

And when your great-grandchildren walk across the stage at their graduation, may they do so beneath the sound of your name — not only engraved on a wall, but engraved upon their hearts. For that is the legacy of Jill Scott’s vision: a life that teaches, a love that endures, and a name that becomes, not a monument, but a melody carried on by generations yet to be born.