In Brooklyn Center, diversity reigns in homecoming court

Words failed 18-year-old Annie Vue when she tried to tell her parents that she had been voted onto her high school homecoming court.

"I didn't know how to translate it," said Vue, a senior at Brooklyn Center Secondary whose parents are from Laos. "I just told them, 'It's a big party. It means that people like you.' And they said, 'Oh, OK. That's good.' "

At Brooklyn Center Secondary, as in many high schools, students see making the homecoming court as a hallmark of social achievement.

But in a school where all 10 court nominees are students of color — and where the majority of those nominees come from immigrant homes — homecoming has a special meaning. Students say that being selected by your peers stokes a deep sense of pride, as well as some occasional cultural confusion among family members.

While immigration, race and culture have become incendiary issues in national politics, the students at Brooklyn Center Secondary describe diversity as a way of life.

More than half the residents living in the suburb are people of color, and 1 in 5 are immigrants. In fact, among big cities in Minnesota, it has the highest percentage of people of color. Across the state, there has been a recent surge in racial and cultural diversity. Nearly 1 in 6 Minnesota children has at least one immigrant parent.

Brooklyn Center teenagers say they're used to navigating the occasional gulf between home traditions and American school rituals — a task on spirited display during homecoming, a quintessentially American rite of passage.

"In African schools, we don't do this kind of thing," said senior Teta Gibson, who was born in Liberia and voted this year's court princess (she received the second-most votes among the five girls). "Ever since I was young, I've always wanted to be on homecoming court."

The court's annual festivities — the spirit week, the crowning of king and queen, the football game, the dance — began at homecoming assembly. It's the event court members consider the most exhilarating of their reign.

Thirty minutes before this assembly kicked off in the gymnasium last week, Evelyn Omoregbe sat in the front row of folding chairs near the stage. While she waited, she clutched a homespun sign made more than a decade ago by her 17-year-old son for Mother's Day. It read: "Your biggest fan."

The Nigerian native waved the sign and cheered from her front-and-center seat as she watched each nominated pair of students parade to the stage in their finery, including her son Roland Osagiede.

Moments later, as Osagiede was named prince of the homecoming court, Omoregbe jumped to her feet and joined the buoyant screams.

"There was nothing like homecoming at all in Nigeria," Omoregbe said. "I've heard about it from other students and what a big deal it is. That's why I'm so proud of him."

Omoregbe admitted she may have been more excited than her taciturn son, whom she took out for a special dinner after the assembly.

"He's a good boy," she said, "and for him to be on court is extra special."

On stage, the Brooklyn Center homecoming court formed a striking blur of smiles and sequins and bow ties — with a newly crowned queen whose mother is from Mexico and an array of nominees with family ties in such far-flung places as Liberia, Nigeria, Laos and Thailand.

"We're like family here," said Gena Burns, the shy queen who traded her black-rimmed glasses for heels during her ceremonial stroll to the stage.

Days later, the homecoming court members reunited by the football field for their final introduction at Friday's home game.

The homecoming dance Saturday night was a more casual affair in the school cafeteria. But halftime at the game meant one last moment of recognition in front of their peers, escorted by family and friends.

Jade Yang stood hand-in-hand with her little sisters as she waited for her name to boom from the loudspeaker.

"[My sisters] asked me why my friends don't have sashes," Yang said. "I just told them it was like in the movies."

Yang, who plans to study medicine after she graduates, said she wants to remember her last months in high school by making a spot on her wall for senior-year mementos.

"A bulletin board maybe," she said. And somewhere, she added, hanging amid the goofy photos and other relics, will be her homecoming sash.

Yang's Hmong parents said they were surprised both by their quiet daughter's inclusion on the court, as well as by the rich diversity of the court itself.

"It tells me that the world is changing," said Yang's mother, Zoua Her. "We're more ­accepting now."

Hannah Covington • 612-673-4751