I watching a movie entitled, "Skin", about a girl growing up in South Africa born to while parents but has dark skin. Although Sandra is white in blood, the law interpreted race by skin tone, perception. The perception defined who Sandra what she felt and saw in and for herself. She found it easier, if there was a such thing, to live black.
Her father, after Sandra chose to live black, marry a black man and bear his children ... he declared her dead to him.
After the death of Sandra's father, she searched for her mother. Her children asked her wasn't they enough for her. Sandra's reply, "You always need your parent. They are always apart of you."
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My mother, a piece of work. I don't think she ever wanted to be a mother. She just had children. I have no "motherly" memories of her. My grandfather told my father, her husband, was mean to her. Perhaps, he may have even beat on her. Not sure. All I ever heard from her was that there was a custody battle. She won. He paid child support.
I don't remember the names of all of her "Mr. Rights". Mr. Bill Day, Harry Dunn ... Joseph Lonesome, Westcott ... She did have a few girl friends, Miss Delores, Lavinia, Chicken ...
What about the bill collector's?? My earliest memory could have been a scene from "Good Times".
Gosh, I had to be about 8 or 10 years old. There was a knock at the door. There were two sheriff deputies with badges at the door. They wanted to see her. She wasn't in but told me that I had to let them in because they were officers of the law. So I did. They were they to collect the television that she didn't make payments on. Sent by Western Auto. Oh, she was so mad when she got home. She sent me to my room. Told me that when she got the television back it may be months before I get to look at it.
Or when she would have the television repair man come to the house and then have me answer the door and tell him she wasn't home when he came to collect payment of the bill. Answer the phone, tell them she not home.
I never really dated. Every year we were moving. Running from eviction notice after eviction notice. Notices hanging on the door when I got home from school, month after month. Once Michael Statham, promising attorney from a good family, told me that he had to put my name on a page by itself I moved so much. I remember really liking him. He took me to my first Goucher dance. If I come across the pic of us, I'll add it. He married a beautiful lady with probably no way near the baggage.
When we lived in Painters Mill Apts. She would see Kweisi Mfume, before he became Councilman or President of the NAACP. I had the misfortune of having a bedroom that shared a wall. They banged and banged without regard that her daughter was in the next room. I left. Took the keys to the car and left until morning. I was punished for taking the car.
I've worked since I was 14 or maybe 13. She took my paychecks. I do remember getting to spend the first one. I took Keenan Conigland out to dinner to celebrate. After that, she gave me what she wanted me to have. When I was 16, I rebelled. I told her I wasn't giving her my paychecks any more. Instead, give me a bill. What bill did she give me .... the highest bill outside of the rent ... the gas and electric bill ... that was delinquent. Of course. I continued that until I went away to college. Ran away to college.
In college, she called and told me, but wanted to ask me, like there's was an option. We shared a checking account that had my student loan money. Her boyfriend had car trouble and she wanted to lend him the money out of that account. Of course, she said he promises to pay it back. I never met him nor did I ever see the $2000.00 that she gave him.
I remember talking to my mom on the payphone. Remember telling her before I hung up, "I love you." I remember the silence. Then the "Good-bye", never saying or giving me I love you back.
Drugs and my mother. My mother and drugs went together as long as I can remember. Sex, drugs and men ... my mother's diet of choice. My memories, like parents, are always a part of you ...
Did it manifest in my life ... yes, I guess that will be a hard writing. Did it manifest in the lives of my children ... yes. This will be an even harder, deeper pain ....
My son walking through an unlocked door on his grandmother having sex. Did she stop, no ... just told him to get out. Much like the same experience when I was 16. Later, she would retell me the story of finding him with a straw up his nose.
A mother that wasn't a mother ... can't expected to be a grandmother ... at least not in spirit and truth.
Thanks for always being there Lord,
Yo
