Excerpt

Back to Mommie, she was focused on getting us out of that cold house. See, we had to move from Oakford Street, the house we lived in as a family, I’m guessing because Mommie couldn’t afford it alone. After Oakford Street, we moved to another house that was only referred to as the “cold house.” No matter how old she or I became, that house had no address. It was just the “cold house.” I kept colds in that house, and Miss Marie would be so angry, but my mom stayed sick too. If I was sick, Miss Marie would make Mommie let me stay on Bucknell Street. Miss Marie would make me a hot toddy, and I would be well the next day. Mommie always said she had no idea what Miss Marie was giving me, but it sure did work. Mommie said Miss Marie wouldn’t give the kids’ mothers anything to cure them and she would never tell what she was giving the kids. That story always made me laugh, because that was Miss Marie. She loved her kids. God always has a ram in the bush, doesn’t He?

Things started coming around for my mom. She had a friend from Metropolitan named Miss Parthenia. She was actually the woman who rented us the cold house. She helped my mom get a job with the government, and I guess shortly thereafter, Mommie started looking for another place to live. As a kid, you never seem to know how difficult your circumstances are—or at least I didn’t. When we moved, I thought we had made it to mansion status. We moved to Tasker Home Projects, and we lived in Lanier Court.

Lanier Court was an area where the elderly residents resided. Mommie later told me that she could have moved sooner to some other housing authority resident, but she had to consider her little girl, so she patiently waited on the Lord. You do know the Lord was in the projects, too, right? So we lived on the second floor in a one-bedroom apartment, which was two doors away from the housing authority police station. You know, in the projects, you didn’t have to pay for utilities, so that house was always hot. I was an easy kid to please.

My mom was always a proud woman, so the apartment was as clean as a pin. When she became tired of cleaning, she paid a nice teenage girl to clean for her.

It was just us, and we didn’t care who knew it. We shared the same bedroom. I am sure we always slept together, but that is my first memory of us sleeping together. I was always a kid who kept to herself. I would open up around a select few, but really the only person who knew how much I talked was Mommie. I was a shy kid. Not with her. Boy, I would keep her up all night talking. She would try to make me go to sleep, but truth be told, she loved talking to me as much as I loved talking to her. Don’t let the weekends show up; she was toast. I had a million questions, and she answered them all.

I guess I asked all the questions to satisfy my imagination. I’ve always had a vivid imagination.

Keitmo is another name we called Carol. I will always remember the time I kept her on the phone for two hours easy, giving a blow-by-blow description of a fight that never occurred. Maybe she didn’t know I lived in the seniors area of Tasker, two doors from the housing authority police. How could such a fight ever take place? I got Kietmo there.

I have some fond memories of Lanier Court. Some of my best Christmases were spent in Lanier Court. I would have so much stuff that Mommie said my dad told her she was crazy, but she didn’t care. The toys and gifts would take up the entire living room sometimes. Then there were the prettiest clothes you had ever seen in your life. She was working for the government and only had to pay rent; I guess we considered ourselves loaded.

I had a bad memory in Lanier Court as well. I was a kid who took chances. For some reason, I liked playing with matches.

Mommie was in the living room talking on the phone. She had just finished cleaning the house. The floor had been scrubbed and waxed. I did that night what I had done many times before. I loved starting fires and putting them out like the firemen, but something went seriously wrong that night. I started the fire in the bedroom, but the fire would not go out. The curtains caught on fire. Mommie smelled the smoke, and she came running into the room. She grabbed the bucket used to clean the house that day and threw water on the fire. My mom, thank God, was able to contain the fire; the flames eventually diminished and disappeared.

Then she ignited another fire—on my behind. That night was my first encounter with the extension cord. I landed myself a visit to the emergency room. My mom said she was scared to death that they were going to take me away from her. See, that whipping I was getting, I didn’t receive well, and I started running on the shiny, newly waxed floors. I slid into the coffee table and busted open my head, not to mention, the welts that were all over my body. I had to get stitches, and to this day, I still have the scar to prove it. I should call it “my badge of love.”

When we returned from the hospital, Mommie and I got in the bed. She explained tome what could have happened. I was so sorry that I made her so angry that I never started fires again. Lessons.

I learned so much while living in Tasker. I’ll never forget Mommie teaching me to ride my new bike. It was a pink Huffy girl’s bike with a white basket. She purchased it for me from Blair’s on my most favorite Christmas growing up. I still have pictures to support my memory. Mommie held the back of the seat of the bike and talked me through the process. She started by saying, “Okay, baby, pay close attention,” and then the instructions began. Before I knew it, her voice was in a distance and I was screaming, “Look at me, Mommie!” I can never forget the smile on her face.

Later in life, I learned to drive quicker than I learned to ride a bike. Mommie started giving me driving instructions, but before she could finish, well, I was safely driving. All she really had to teach me was how to parallel park.

She always asked, “How did you learn to drive?” I would answer, “I was watching you, Mommie.” She was the best driver ever. My dad taught her to drive.

Mommie taught me another lesson I’ll never forget. This lesson was in a game of jacks. At age forty, I still asked, “Mommie, why in the world would you beat a little girl so bad in a game of jacks?” I always asked this same question throughout our life span, and her answer never changed.

She would say, “Your face said it all. You never liked losing. Each time we played a game of jacks, you always showed up for the challenge and played harder each game. You always played to win. I never let you win for a reason. Knowing the challenges that faced you, I wanted you to know that no one will ever give you anything. You will have to work hard for anything you want in life. I taught you how to play life in a game of jacks. You’ve done well, baby.” Mommie, my girl!

Somewhere between the cold house and Lanier Court, my mom purchased a sporty piece of transportation. It was a used, black Mustang with red leather interior. My mom was really good-looking and dressed very smart. Guess what; I dressed just as smart too. That’s another thing Mommie said my dad would tell her about, that she spent too much money on our clothes. She didn’t care what Daddy thought. We styled ourselves for the places she believed God would take us. I know this because she later shared that she was dressing us for the places we were going. She always said, “Just because you are poor, you shouldn’t look it.”

If you look good, then you will feel good, and people always take notice of people with pride. She was smart, but what I learned later was she operated on vision from the Lord. She didn’t have to tell me that. I figured that one out for myself.

Well, back to that Mustang. Mr. Sonny had the car more than us. Mr. Sonny was Mommie’s mechanic. A friend of hers from the VA, where she used to work, recommended him, and every time I turned around we were giving the car to Mr. Sonny and catching the bus home. Even I got sick of that car.

Mommie worked for the Veterans Administration Regional Office on Wissahickon Drive. She would get off of work and pick up my cousin Darrin and me from Miss Marie’s. Darrin would wait at our house until his mom got off of work. Darrin and his mom lived in Tasker too. They lived in Patton Drive. I loved visiting my aunt and cousin, but there were some bad kids over there. I guess I had just become used to the tranquility of Lanier Court, but anyway, this was our routine: My mom would drop me off in the mornings at Aunt Queen’s house and Aunt Queen would take us to Miss Marie’s. Miss Marie would get us to school, which was around the corner from where she lived. We used Miss Marie’s address to get to go to that particular school. Mommie would pick us up and take us home. I would always talk her into the scenic route. We dreamed a lot. That was one of the things we had in common. We always wanted more for each other.

Then one day, my mom came to pick up Darrin and me in a white Plymouth Duster with a green vinyl top. The interior was green, and all it had was an AM radio, but I thought I was riding in a Bentley, I guess. The smile on her little girl’s face made the payments easy to make. Every time we went to that car, we were always going somewhere good. My cousin Darrin was always in the backseat.

My mom’s motivation was always me, and her strength came from the Lord. On Sundays, that AM radio would give us the sounds of Tramaine Hawkins as she sang our song. Mommie and I could not help but agree with Tramaine that it would be worth working for Jesus until He returned. I know everyone remembers “Change.” We loved that song!

Excerpt

Preface
This is the story I often thought of writing. I always believed we had something very special, but only those who knew us well will fully understand. I know most daughter-mother relationships should be considered special, but ours was somewhat different. We were all we had for life, and our life was a perfect tale from heaven. God smiled on our meeting, and we realized it early. We were joined, not only by blood, heritage, and love, but much more than that. My mom and I met by grace.

God blessed me to have Mommie, and that became most apparent in her departure of this world. I say this because even the ending of our meeting had God’s stamped approval. He had aligned our position to a point that there really was nothing much left to say. He had, in our lifetime, blessed us both with faith that prepared us for the moment. It happened; God spoke for her to come home, and he spoke peace in my heart simultaneously, the perfect ending to our love story. God said so.

This is the story of us; a tribute in my mother’s memory, but most importantly, an opportunity to honor the Most High God, who made it all possible. He sent help on our journey, so this is also in loving memory of my grandmother, Petronia Lewis; the baby-sitter angel, the late Marie Bailey; and a neighbor you wanted to live with, the late Theresa Vann. Also, to my godmother, Erma Jones, who God has allowed to see her eighty-second birthday. I tell this story, forgetting not the shoulders God made available along our path.