I remember the first time I heard about Black History Month. It’s one of those memories that’s etched in my mind from elementary school.

Unlike the time we were called to the cafeteria for free candy bars and comic books — though I can’t remember why — this moment wasn’t one of the best. It was a jarring realization, the first of many to come as I became more aware of the status of Black Americans in this country.

The teachers told me that February was Black History Month, which sounded cool. They told me about the people and places we’d be learning about for the next few weeks, some of the names I recognized, but many of them were new to me.

The younger version of myself wondered how Black people had managed to set this up, where we get a month of education and celebration every year, and everyone else was expected to join in, to some extent. It was later that I heard the reasoning and the history behind what was once known as “Negro History Week,” when it was created by Carter G. Woodson back in 1926.

Woodson, an educator known as the “father of Black history,” established the weeklong focus on Black history to shed light on the stories that were left out of mainstream textbooks and common historical narratives. In 1976, Gerald Ford, the first president I remember, expanded it to a month and it became what we know today.

Here’s what disturbed me as a young man: The powers that be recognized Black History Month and, in doing so, acknowledged the reasons for it.

Yet those same powers continued to push Black history to the margins in textbooks and allowed stories of African Americans to go untold in museums, mainstream media and government policy.

Maybe I didn’t have the words for it back then, but I wondered: If we all know this injustice is happening in our schools and beyond, why is it allowed to continue? The month serves as a balm, but why does the pain persist? I feared what kind of hypocritical and complex world that awaited me in adulthood. I found that out later.

Every year, it seems some people complain about the existence of Black History Month. I won’t repeat their tired arguments, which stem from having to confront the reality of American history for just 28 days each year. What they don’t realize is that, by voicing their ignorance, they’re actually making the case for keeping the annual celebration. They need to learn; it’s a shame that they won’t give themselves a chance.

As long as Black History Month exists, the struggle to make this history a part of everyday life will continue. So, as we celebrate, let’s remember to ensure that the history we honor is reflected every day of the year.