When life happens

Over the years, I have had many times when I thought that life happened to me. I knew that those happenings would forever alter my life because my progress and journey were slowed to what felt like a crawl. Often, I felt that my movement was stunted by the figurative boulders and gravel blocking my pathway. There were other times when I just felt like the road just blew up into a million pieces and made the road completely impassable.

I remember shortly after my mother had a stroke about six years ago I found myself holding my breath. I found that I was anxious and afraid. I couldn’t believe that the circumstances in my life meant that I had to manage affairs at my house in addition to my mother’s affairs three states away. I had to think about her medical care, the best places for her to receive the care she needed, and how to maintain her stuff. I had to deal with the critics who always had commentary about my decisions, but no demonstrated desire to step in and provide a refuge or source of positivity for my mother or for me. I had to trust the opinions and information of many strangers while keeping my emotions and physical weariness under control. Well, at least I thought I was keeping it all under control. The moment you realize that you are having recurring episodes of holding your breath and feeling like you are going to hyperventilate you have to admit to yourself that life is happening to you and that you must figure out how to manage the madness. Involuntary episodes of shallow breathing frightened me and made me feel insecure about my ability to manage my life and the lives of those in my care. I had to learn to take intentional breaths, six counts in and six counts out, while I envisioned beautiful sunsets in the distance over the bluest body of water imaginable. I imagined brilliant rays of sun brushing across the waves.

Once I calmed my insides and my mind, I did what anyone in the midst of life happening would do – cry and wish things were different. After shedding some tears of disbelief, talking to God about this unbelievable situation, and wishing it was different, I had to do what my son’s kindergarten teacher said her mother would tell her to do, “Buck up, Joan.” Haha. In times of crisis and chaos, there is just not a lot of time for crying and wishing for change. I had to retrieve some memories of good days past, develop a plan, breath, and keep things moving in a positive direction. Over the years, I have entertained myself and used verbal power to infuse the positive forces I needed into the moment. Those powerful words enabled me to rise up and take control of the madness. I dug deep for memories of comments and situations that made me chuckle or laugh. For example, when we lived through what I called “The Kentucky Experience” a friend told me that my church should be upset with me for using up all the prayers when life handed me the top five things that cause stress – a hiring, a firing, a move, the birth of a child, and the death of a family member in six months. Well, it’s funny now. I remember the laugh I got when my mother was finally “passing” the test with the long term care insurance company and she asked me how she was doing. As sad as it was, I found reason to be happy that she was finally going to receive the benefit of the years of paying premiums to the company and not being able to qualify when we requested consideration previously. I would entertain myself by creating bumper sticker phrases to describe my world like “chaos is my normal” and “Laughter is all I got.”

I heard Justin Timberlake tell Oprah in an interview that he practices his routines so many times that it looks easy when he performs for an audience. I have had times in my life when I wondered if the Master plan for me was to look like an expert at adjusting my emotional, physical, and organizational registers to deal with chaos. I have thought that life brought challenges repeatedly until I demonstrated the ability to manage the crazy. However, that train of thought failed to produce the positivity I needed to overcome the challenges. In past and present situations, instead of thinking about the fact that there were recurring chaotic situations, I learned that I needed to force my brain to own that I was not that much of a failure. My story had to be more about me being the best person on the planet to deal with the parade of chaotic situations moving through my space. Moreover, I had to be the one uniquely designed to make the decisions and provide the direction that would guide my family members through whatever situation arose. I had to learn to celebrate the gifts and skill sets that made me able to manage it all. Prayers, perspective, breathing, laughing, and a positive attitude are key factors in managing your world “when life happens.”

Hey, Ma what should I be?

When I was in the eighth grade, my junior high school administration decided to create clubs focused on career and professional choices. The idea was to bring professionals from the community into the school to tell us about their career fields and afford us an opportunity to ask questions about their daily grind. I joined the modeling club and the interior decorating club. I remember a lady who worked for a local department store spoke to us about the joys of working with modeling boards in her store. We learned about how they selected the women and children who participated in their store fashion shows. The idea of wearing new clothes and receiving discounts on them seemed pretty cool to me.

One day, during our interior decorator meeting, a woman from a different department store visited us to tell us about her life as a decorator. She explained how she assisted people in the store and at their homes or businesses with decorating decisions. She talked about helping clients create an atmosphere that would be compatible with their personality, company, or group. My heart was happy about looking at color palates and selecting colors to set the desired mood or invoke a particular emotion. I began to dream about using my creative juices to cultivate cozy, warm spaces for families using comfy chairs and sofas and dark wood accents. I could not wait to get home to tell my parents that I had decided on my career path.

Well, dinner time arrived and I sat at the table with my mom and dad. My dad always wanted to know how my school day went. With a smile on my face and excitement oozing from my insides I said, “Great! I know what I want to be when I grow up now!” My parents said, “Really?!” I couldn’t wait to tell them the excellent news. “I want to be an interior decorator.” My proclamation was met with silence coupled with looks of shock. After their nonverbal communication of amazement and confusion, my father spoke. He said, “You can’t make no damn money decorating nobody’s house.” Can you say dream crusher?!

He didn’t mean to crush my dream. He was doing what he thought was best for me. He told me how smart I was and how I was so good in math and science and how I could be anything I wanted to be. Haha. I guess that meant anything except a decorator. He encouraged me to consider obtaining a teaching certificate so that I would “have something to fall back on.” His rationalization continued with dialogue about how there was only one decorator at one or two stores in Montgomery and I would have a hard time getting either one of those jobs if those two ladies ever retired. For some reason he never considered that I could live and work in a city other than Montgomery and I often wonder what he would say if he could see all the money being made by decorators of popular television network shows today.
As a result of that conversation, I tossed the idea of becoming an interior decorator, but not my passion about colors, fabrics, textures, and furniture. I dismissed the decorating ideas and focused on my math and science skill sets. I decided I would be an engineer. After two years of engineering school, I called my father to ask if I could give up my scholarship, change my major to English, and use the other side of my brain to make my soul happy. He agreed and gave me his blessing with the caveat that I should consider obtaining a teaching certificate as a back up plan. I can smile about it now, but the back up plan talk feel on deaf ears back then. Haha. Maybe my father knew that my life would lead me to be a villager for a number of children later in my life. Just maybe he had an inkling that I would need the professional education training that I would receive if I sought after that teaching certificate that he believed would create security for me. I could not argue with the fact that he and my mother and my siblings were excellent teachers and teaching certificates served them and many young people well. In spite of his loving wisdom, I was not trying to extend my undergraduate college career beyond four years. I had things to do and places to go.

Although I felt like he crushed my dream, I know that he believed he was the voice of wisdom I needed to hear. His response shaped my decision about how I would handle the discussions with my kids when they came with questions about career decisions or when they came bursting with excitement about their career visions. Instead of telling them that their decision should be based on the amount of money they could earn or limiting their dreams because of perceived limitations in a seemingly over saturated market, I told them to think about their passions. I advised my kids to select career paths based on a two criteria: their passions and the calling on their lives. I tell my kids to pick career fields that they enjoy because regardless of the amount of money they make they will always feel rewarded from their work and they will most often be glad to get up and go to work every day. Additionally, I advised my kids to let challenges in their studies or school environments spark them to think outside of the realm of what seems normal for their chosen field or group. For example, if you chose professional school and you don’t get selected to work in an office in the preferred field right out of school or you figure out you really could care less about wearing suits, pantyhose, and heels every day, think about other places where people with the same training and skill sets can work. While some people plan career path with great detail and find that things line up just as they plan, that is not everyone’s testimony and it certainly was not my testimony.

I am that student who went to professional school and bought into the dream of seeking work in a traditional office. I found that my heart was not passionate about the stiff, rigid, formal environments in which I worked even though I loved the academic pursuits. What I found during my sabbatical from the career pursuits is that my passion and calling was to be a villager for young people. I was most happy and satisfied when my kids were with me and when I was driving the “kid kab” for any kids who needed a safe ride home or to the school. I have learned that when you operate within your passion wheel and the calling of service to mankind that rests in your spirit it will be obvious to others. As a result, more opportunities will arise for you to hone the skills needed to make you the best at whatever you love to do.

As I watch my kids sort through their options for career paths, I had to be very careful to support them through the exercise of decision making on a career field. We had to discuss which colleges offered compatible fields of study. I suggested that their ability to realize their dream be a primary consideration and not selecting a college or high education situation based on the school location or the colors or the mascot or what other people say you are “good at” or the celebrity graduates from said school. I think my kids have demonstrated that classes are much more interesting when you are studying subject matter that interests you. When you enjoy your field of study, the grades are better. In addition, you won’t describe success in terms of how many pay checks you have received, but rather how you have impacted people in your space.

Finally, I told my kids the story of my dream of decorating and their grandfather’s response. I admitted to them that his response shaped my thoughts about dreaming and chasing goals that other people believe unattainable or they don’t believe the dream makes sense for you. I encourage my kids and other people’s kids to dream outside of the neighborhood and be the first in your hood to do something excellent that will inspire others to dream big and achieve. Encourage your children and those around them to be amazingly fabulous while instilling in them the belief that you will be a safety net for them as they experiment with hobbies, classes, sports, clubs, community service events, and uncertainty while they work to figure out. Although I never got a teaching certificate, my father was correct that I would spend most of my life being a villager for young people. He was probably right about a little girl who remained in a small town in Alabama not becoming the next great designer at a local department store. I am thankful that his comment forced me to think larger than my childhood brain knew that it could and he made me believe that he would support me through any choice I made. Ultimately, I knew that he was proud of me just as I am of the kiddos I raised.

To Mama, with love!

I am so blessed to have had you as my mother. You loved me unconditionally and supported me through the great times in my life and the most challenging moments I encountered. We stood together during the illnesses of our immediate family members as a formidable team. You were a rock and you displayed such quiet strength. You were a quiet, pensive woman with a passion and love for your family and the students you taught. Many people, including me, sometimes mistook your softness and quietness for weakness. It took me growing up and maturing to realize you were a pillar of strength, courage, and love.

It took time to start feeling better about daddy dying and there have been days this last six years when I have sobbed over missing your touch, your voice, your advice, your laugh, your smile, or our conversations. Being without those things has been hard and being without your physical presence right now is even harder. My family has been excellent through it all. Between my sister’s illness and daddy’s heart issues, we have always had a special caregiver relationship and you told me that one day I would be the one to care for you. It was hard to become your caretaker and see you ill. Sickness and death do not happen at times of convenience and my response to your needs couldn’t either. I am so thankful for the folks who made adjustments in their schedules to help me travel, care for my kids, my dog, my husband, and you.

Mama we have been dealing with crisis situations since my childhood and you know the stuff nobody else does and we loved each other through it all. God has shown himself faithful, reliable, and a God of amazingly awesome timing. I am so blessed to have had you, Mama, and I know you felt blessed to have me. I always wanted to make you proud and it was fitting that the last word I ever heard you say was “Proud.” My family remained supportive even when it wasn’t convenient because they loved you and respected the relationship and bond between us. God provided many villagers to help me love you in the way you needed me as I moved and lived in three different states in the last five years. The village cared and prayed for me, fed my family, checked on our precious Yorkie Swaggy, visited you, let me FaceTime with you, put the phone to your ear to let me get you caught up on our goings on, sent me pictures of you, got my kids to and from school in snow storms, purchased gifts for you when I didn’t get something in the mail on time, read to you, and did so many other things over the years to offer support and encouragement. Mama, some friends even gave me keys to their homes so that I would always have a place to stay when I traveled to care for you.

His favor rested upon you and all who were in your presence. I am walking in that favor. I can say that in helping you make adjustments needed to care for others and by doing whatever we had to do whenever we had to do it I was well-prepared to juggle so many moving parts in my life to care for you. I am now more certain than ever that God orders our steps and God does honor sacrifice. Ha! I couldn’t have and wouldn’t have written this script.

You fought the good fight! You were a good and faithful servant for all of the ninety years the Lord let you bless this earth! Rest in peace until we see each other again. I love you, Mama!

Hey Ma, everybody has one!

If you are a parent, you have probably heard, “Everybody has one!” One can be whatever the fad or trend is for whatever age group you may be dealing with at the time. I heard this with the trading cards I refused to buy and all of the things related to at least two popular kids fads when my kids were younger. Once, I refused to spend money on one popular kids’ trend because I thought the books and subsequent films were too dark. I believed I was saving them from some darkness that made me live and dream in fear. I told them stories from my childhood about my nightmares and fear of walking outside to the car at night because I was allowed to watch horror thrillers on tv. Those monsters that lived in the dreams of folks in the movies and the monsters traveling down neighborhood streets wreaking havoc on unsuspecting residents kept me looking over my shoulder and dreaming about craziness when I should have been getting my beauty sleep. I just didn’t want my kids to deal with the visions of monsters created by cinema while they slept.

I refused to buy some stuff because I thought it wasn’t worth the money or because it would be a waste of their time. Mean mama you say. Well, that’s why they call me mama because I get to make those executive decisions. Shoot, I would often feed my mama ego by asking my kids, “What’s my name?” They would shake their heads and roll their eyes and say, “Mama.” “You dang skippy and don’t forget it,” would be my reply (with a giggle and smirk.) Heck, I will still ask them the question, albeit more rhetorical now, since they are both grown for all intents and purposes. The only thing I may have left to fuel the mama ego now is that they still need me for some pocket change.

Well, fast forward to middle school when the “Everybody has one” mantra got louder and more frequent. I heard it when I refused to buy cell phones in the sixth grade. “Everybody has one,” they proclaimed. “Well, no everybody doesn’t have one, cuz you don’t,” said I. Harsh, but true. One time a friend and neighbor said to me that she didn’t know how I could say no to my daughter. She said that she had trouble with no where her kids were concerned because they cry. Hmmm. Well, my response to her was, “They stop crying.” While they are crying and when they stop crying, you have to explain to them your rationale. With many things like cell phones, clothing options with too much spandex, pants choices that lead to sagging, and a ticket to a horror movie at a young age, my discussion was always the same: Everything available to you is not always good for you. (I didn’t make that up, by the way; it’s in the book of Proverbs.) I would say to my kids, “I am on your team.” All of my decisions were for their good. I would also tell them that the decision I made at the time might not always be the decision when they got older and had a better understanding about the world and the dangers. Honestly, I was not and am not the parent who wants to spend my time surveying phone logs to see who kids are calling or texting. So, I decided they couldn’t have one until I could trust them with one. The same was true for social media accounts, messaging accounts, and picture mail. When they were allowed to have social media accounts, the task of keeping them safe online was assigned to the villagers. Villagers checked in on my daughter and my daughter was required to maintain access to my son’s accounts at all time or he would lose them. They got some freedom from parental control, but there was still what I like to call “a safety net” and if anything got out of control I would hear from a villager about the issue. I was cool with the fact that the villagers rarely gave details to violate a confidence of my kids, but they shared enough so that I could have a discussion about the matter that concerned them.

“Everybody” also had the capacity to watch videos in their cars. Well, everybody except us. I only allowed movie watching on long trips. When I was in the car with my kids, that time was for us to pay attention to each other. When the car doors close, the magic happened. They told me all about school and who did what and who said what to who. I got to ask questions about the school day and find out who had homework or events on the calendar that required my attention. We listened to music and radio commentary together that sometime led to them teaching me a few things. I remember once they taught me a dance that went with a song and I got caught at a red light gettin’ it. I remember the roar of laughter in my car and in the car full of young boys next to us when I realized everybody was looking at me doing the latest dance craze. I cherished the rides in the car and honestly I still do (even if I have to share them with those evil handheld devices now :-)).

My parents used to talk about “keeping up with the Jones’s” when I was younger. I tried to make sure there was a balance for my kids between having some things that made them feel like they fit in with their peers and making sure they understood the things in life that everybody really needs. Everybody needs the basic things like food, clothing, and shelter, but I am talking about those intangible things that people need that can’t be substituted for stuff. I realized that my kids wanted my time and my undivided attention more than the stuff. They wanted to know that I would be available to them when they needed me. I made efforts to create the space and time for them by reading stories at night, by banning videos in the car, by making everyone eat dinner at the table at the same time, and by being a presence at their schools. The time built trust, made them respect me when I said no, and made room for them to respectfully ask questions about my decisions and thoughts. I also think they appreciated the things they got later because I didn’t give in to the “But Ma, everybody has one!” mantra every time I heard it.

My #Selma

“Charles, we are signed up to work the polls election day,” my mom would say. One of my childhood memories is that my mother and my father always made working the polls a priority. At the time, I did not truly understand their commitment to perform this civic duty. I did not understand that this was more than just a civic duty. I later understood that they had experienced a time when they could not vote. They both lived through a time in our American history when they witnessed the poll taxes and other methods used to prevent Black Americans from participating in the democratic process. My parents were faces in the crowd during the Civil Rights Movement birthed in Montgomery, Alabama. They were rooted in the process that led to the integration of public facilities and transportation in this country. Additionally, they were a part of the march from Selma to Montgomery that eventually led to legislation that gave them and others the right to vote in elections in this country.

I have been looking forward to the movie “Selma” since I learned it would be on the big screen. Last weekend, I set the DVR to record the Sunday night line up on the OWN network. Then, we sat down as a family and watched two hours of Oprah presenting the history of my home state. We listened intently as she introduced the actors who would usher us into the movement that served as a catalyst to the passage of the voting rights act. The personal accounts shared by the actors and director increased our anticipation for the day the movie was to be shown in theaters in our town.

I was born in Montgomery, Alabama about two years after Dr. King won the Nobel Peace prize and about two years prior to his assassination. As a child, my parents often reminisced about their encounters with racism in this country, but more specifically about their lives in Alabama before, during, and after the Civil Rights Movement. There were many nights at the dinner table when they would tell me about school integration, the bus boycott, and the march from Selma to Montgomery.

I thought it was really cool that my mother was an active participant in the bus boycott in Montgomery. She received her first traffic citation for a moving violation during the time of the bus boycott. She said that the boycott was successful because ordinary people like her decided to use their cars to offer rides to “folks who were headed in the same direction.” She said that the Black community created “bus stops” so that those who needed rides would have places to wait for drivers who were willing to drive them near their destinations, if not all the way to the destination. My mom’s beauty shop was one of the new “bus stops.” Apparently, when the city officials learned of this new “bus stop,” they erected a “No U-Turn” sign over night in order to prevent drivers from making the u-turn to pick up people in need of a ride who were choosing not to use the city bus system. My mother was one of the first ticketed for making a u-turn at a place where she had routinely made u-turns. My parents were proud that their sacrifice and unified efforts resulted in change for many. The history books used in my schools covered the civil rights movement in a few pages predominately covered in pictures of Dr. King and the groups of people who gathered to hear him speak. The school textbooks did not acknowledge the strategic plan that led from one focus to the next in an effort to “Let freedom ring” for all disenfranchised people in the country. After the bus boycott, came the march from Selma to Montgomery.

My parents also told me about the night the marchers arrived in Montgomery in route from Selma. At that time, my family home was in a neighborhood called Mobile Heights which was behind George Washington Carver High School on Fairview Avenue. This public high school for Black students was across the street from The City of St. Jude which included a Catholic school, a Catholic church, and a Catholic hospital. Like me, many of the Black kids I knew were born at St. Jude hospital. The St. Jude city welcomed Black people into the school and the church also. So, it was not surprising that the rally held for the marchers was held there. Mama said that the day the marchers got to Montgomery there was rain. According to my mother, she was excited about the opportunity to take a stand for a cause and against the racist behaviors, laws, and attitudes that kept Black folks suppressed. My mother was a quite woman who chose her words carefully. She was a prim and proper kind of woman who dressed to go to the store and ate her pound cake on a plate. So, it was really a big deal for her to stand in the rain and mud and dirty her shoes for a cause. That was a statement within itself. I often wonder what happened to those muddy shoes that she placed in the attic of the small house we lived in when she got home from the march.

My father loved music and entertainment so he made certain to tell me about all of the celebrities who came to Montgomery to show their support for the movement. He always mentioned Harry Belefonte and Sammy Davis, Jr. My father also made sure that he told me, “Your brother carried the Alabama state flag in the march with Dr. King.” I envisioned my brother on the front line of the march formation with the flag hoisted high, singing freedom songs walking beside Dr. King from Selma to Montgomery. After I got grown and had children of my own, I was asked to speak at a Dr. King breakfast at my kids’ school. I decided to share the stories my family lived. So, I asked my brother about his Selma to Montgomery experience and I learned that my imagined experience was not exactly my brother’s reality. Ha!

My brother said that the marchers spent the night at The City of St. Jude right across the street from his high school. He told me that from his classroom he and his classmates watched as the marcher organized to continue their journey to the Alabama state capital in downtown Montgomery. My brother recalled that the administrators at George Washington Carver High School advised the students to remain in the building. The administrators told the students that parents had been assured that the students would remain in the school and not be in harms way. Well, my brother said that as the marchers left St. Jude and began marching toward downtown he and other students made a decision to defy the administrators and join the march. On his way out of the school, he took the Alabama state flag from the entryway of the school. He said the coolest memory he had of the march was watching some people come out of businesses and others leave their cars parked on the side of the road in order to join the march as the marchers passed by them.

Sometimes people wonder why I get really agitated by injustice and find a need to speak about injustices that often seem to be none of my business. Well, I find that we are often products of our environments. I grew up in a house with people who sacrificed not only for themselves, but for generations of people to come. I lived with proud folks who taught in segregated schools and were strategically placed by the Autauga County School Board to help integrate schools in rural Alabama while receiving threats from the klan for being figures of authority in the newly integrated public schools. My family was not written about in history books or made the subjects of any documentaries or movies. However, their service, sacrifice, and labor made a difference. Their contributions to the movement were critical to the realization of Dr. King’s dream and the dreams of many who followed, including me.

I salute my parents, Lola and Charles, and my brother for their commitment to the cause of civil rights. I thank them for sharing their stories with me and allowing me to see the strength and the voices that are a part of my lineage. I appreciate their willingness to stand in the face of danger and uncertainty in order to raise awareness about some of the challenges of being a Black American. Because of their actions, the president, the courts, and the congress heard them and acted to protect the rights of Americans who experienced oppression as a result of laws founded in racism, hate, and fear. To paraphrase a statement by Common, a musical artist, my family members and those who stood with them “awakened [the] humanity” in this country and around the world. I am forever grateful and proud. That is my #Selma.

Thanksgiving 2009

I recently wrote a post about making memories during the holiday season and I reflected on some good times from my childhood. Well, my son reminded me of Thanksgiving 2009, the last Thanksgiving dinner we had with my mother at her house in Montgomery. As previously stated, Thanksgiving dinner was always excellent and my mom always had some staple dishes so our expectation for this Thanksgiving was that everything would remain the same. However, when we go to the house, we knew that this would be the last Thanksgiving dinner she would prepare for us.

Weeks before Thanksgiving Day, I spoke to my mom and I told her that the kids and I would be driving to Alabama from Indiana for Thanksgiving. She was excited and we were excited. My brother was a high school band director and he had a couple of tickets for the kids to go to the Turkey Day Classic to see Alabama State University play Tuskegee University. The plan was coming together. My mom and I agree that I would bake and bring sweet potato pies. I was also in charge of making the sweet tea. She said that she would make candied yams, cornbread, order a ham from a local establishment, and have Aunt Pinky make us a pound cake. She asked if we would prefer collard greens or green beans. With haste, I vocalized the need for collards in the Thanksgiving spread. Well, what about the turkey you ask? Well, my husband coached a kid at a junior college some years ago and his family loved turduckins. Neither of us had ever had a turduckin and nobody had a clue what one looked like or tasted like, but we trusted the public opinion poll that said we would like them. So, I solicited the help of a friend and chef in Indianapolis to prepare this rare “bird” and I hauled it to Alabama for this special dinner.

For some reason that I can’t remember now (but I’m guessing it had something to do with the public school schedule), we couldn’t leave until Wednesday evening, Thanksgiving eve. With coolers loaded with pies, sweet tea, and turduckins, we gathered our playlist and hit the road headed south. I made a decision to spend the night in Nashville and finish the drive the next morning. We got up the next morning, Thanksgiving Day, and resumed travel. In all this great planning, I forgot about businesses being closed for the holiday which made the search for breakfast challenging. We saw a sign for a popular coffee shop and we took the next exit. We got there and the line was out the door and stretched through the parking lot. OMG! Apparently, we had the same brilliant idea as all who ran in the early morning Thanksgiving fundraiser race. It was one of those moments when you just take a deep breath, get in line, and make the best of the situation.

After a delay, we got back on I-65 and headed toward our destination. On the way, a friend called to say that they had an extra ticket so now all three of us could go to the game. Yipee! I called my mom to relay the news and to find out if she was good with the change in the plan. She was good with it. She asked that I call her when we were leaving the football game so that she could start warming the food. Yes! It’s all good. We were really hungry, but we could grab a snack at the game — just enough to keep from being hungry, but not enough to ruin our appetites for the special dinner awaiting us at Mama’s house.

The game ended and we called Mama to alert her that we would be there soon. When she saw the car pull up into the driveway, she hurried to the door to greet us with a big smile and hugs and kisses all around. We entered the house and we all had a very curious feeling. Where was the robust smell of collards and yams? Where is she hiding the honey ham she ordered? And the cornbread was missing too. Hmmm. I was certain that the stove just wasn’t warm enough to heat the food yet and within the next few minutes we would be engulfed with the aroma of the much anticipated Thanksgiving dinner.

To my surprise, Mama asked if we were ready to eat. I asked if the ham was warming in the over. “Well,” she said, “I didn’t order one. The people from the senior center stopped by with a basket and there was a canned ham in there so I just decided to use it. Oh no — I forgot to put pineapples on the ham.” I’m thinking what the what?! Canned ham for Thanksgiving?! She opened a can of sliced pineapples and then opened the oven and placed a couple of slices of pineapple on the canned ham. umph! When she opened the oven, we saw the candied yams and our eyes began to bulge. It turns out that she didn’t feel like peeling sweet potatoes so she used the canned sweet potatoes soaking in syrup from that gift basket for the starchy goodness that she usually made from scratch. Oh wow! At this point, we are in disbelief and a little nervous about the other items on the menu. This was not supposed to be one of those holidays where you get surprise gifts from family, but heck the suspense was literally killing me. I was melting on the inside from hunger and from the thought that I didn’t cook and load another cooler. I told her that I didn’t smell greens. She said, “Well, I didn’t feel like picking [cleaning] greens so I just got some canned beans.” Oh no! My mom always said fresh then frozen, then canned so her choosing canned first was uncharacteristic of her and gave me visions of the taste of salty canned beans sprinkled with metal. Historically, she had been able to season some canned beans in an emergency and make you believe they were not from a can, but this was not that time. So, to take a tally of the dinner menu: collards-no check, yams-no check, honey ham-no check. We had sweet tea, sweet potato pies, pound cake, store brand grape and strawberry sodas, and the turduckin that was stuffed with “dressing.” With anxiousness and apprehension, we opened the packaging around the “bird” and proceeded to slice it. “Oh wow!” said everybody in the room as we all let out chuckles. My mom said, “Well, if I had known you were gonna bring a meatloaf, I would have gotten a turkey.” Lol! What?! She would have gotten a turkey.

That was the only Thanksgiving that we didn’t eat turkey. The truth is we couldn’t figure out which part of the “bird” was turkey which was the duck and which was the chicken. We ended up loading the plates with samplings of all of the offerings, but we only ate pie, cake, and rolls. My daughter and I drank sweet tea and my son had a few grape sodas. We did a nice job of carrying on a normal holiday dinner discussion about the trip down, school, and the game without ever making mama feel any kind of way about the shocking lack of yumminess at the dinner table. My daughter said, “This is the first Thanksgiving we won’t have any leftovers to eat tomorrow.”

I am also thankful that my kids loved their grandmother enough to enjoy her Thanksgiving dinner without giving her any notion that we knew she probably would not ever prepare for us the kind of Thanksgiving dinner spread we remembered again. I am so thankful that we were able to be at the table with Mama the last time she prepared Thanksgiving dinner. Every time we talk about this Thanksgiving memory, we laugh so hard that our stomachs hurt and our eyes tear.

Please don’t do the laundry

My husband generally works long hours and most of the chores around the house belong to me most of the year. Sometimes when he gets a bye week he thinks that doing the laundry will help me out. While I appreciate the thoughtfulness, I really prefer to maintain control of laundry duty.

When the kids were younger, I reserved laundry detail for the times when he was out of town. I used the act of sorting laundry to teach the difference between light colors and dark colors and which articles of clothing could go into the “white” pile. I tend to have two piles that can be categorized as white: the one with solid white things and the other with things that are mostly white with some color to make the garment interesting. This lesson in sorting proved very helpful as the kids got older and needed to do their own laundry. It also helped me when they were able to bring their dirty laundry to the laundry room and place it in the
correct pile.

Secondly, the kids and I would sort the clean clothes. We would have a basket for each family member’s clothes or designate a spot in the room for each person. We would have clothes folding lessons while we watched Sunday football. After the sorting and the folding, we would scurry around putting away laundry during commercials. My son’s clothes were not always put away as neatly as I would have liked, but heck they were no longer smelly or cluttering up my laundry room or den. We threw the rolled socks at the tv when we didn’t like calls by refs or plays we saw on the screen. When I wasn’t throwing socks at the tv, I threw socks at the kids. It was like dodge ball with socks. It kept the task fun and meaningful.

FInally, laundry fed my compulsive disorder that requires that the towels and shirts be folded a certain way so that they fit into the closets and drawers perfectly. My husband after all these years still can’t fold the towels right (and we won’t even discuss the fitted sheets). Ha! The process of doing laundry somehow is therapeutic for me. I have time to busy myself and quiet my spirit at the same time.

I often say, “If somebody really wants to help me, sweep and mop the floors.” I would also be overjoyed if someone would give me at least a week off from kitchen detail. I wouldn’t object to the dishwashing and cooking, but I still think I need to put them away. My type A, compulsive issue would require that I reorganize everything if they didn’t put them away properly. I guess my particular ways may be the reason they let me do most of the chores. Ha!

“Nobody Owns the Sky”

One of my favorite children’s books is “The Story of ‘Brave Bessie’ Coleman Nobody Owns the Sky” by Reeve Lindbergh. In addition to the inspiring story about Bessie Coleman, the illustrations by Pamela Paparone are absolutely marvelous. Bessie Coleman was “the first licensed black aviator in the world.” In this book, the author takes the reader on a journey from Bessie’s childhood in Texas to part of her journey that ended with her life as a stunt pilot and lecturer.

When I read this story to children, I always point out that Bessie Coleman had a dream that took her outside of her neighborhood. I encourage children to dream outside their blocks, outside their neighborhood. I want them to believe that they too can be the first to do something that nobody else they know has done. I tell them of my father being the first person in his family to go to college.

Additionally, the reader sees Bessie Coleman work hard in the cotton fields as a child to help her family earn money. We also learn that she worked in a barber shop to earn money to pay for pilot training. My husband brought me some cotton from
a trip he made down south. I take the cotton to classrooms so that kids can touch and feel the cotton. We talk about the seeds in the puff of cotton and the prickly nature of the plant. We discuss what it must be like for a child to pick enough cotton to fill a burlap sack in the hot Texas sun. Suddenly, kids don’t think being asked to clean their rooms is a big deal.

The discussion about the state of Texas makes for a great opportunity to talk about the climate in the southern United States and its proximity to the equator. I am always so excited when kids can tell me about the equator and the heat. It is great to see the kids make the connection that picking cotton was not fun or easy. I love to see the kids go through the mental process of realizing that real cotton is not a cotton ball from a bag.

The first illustration and the last one are aerial views which emphasize her goal of flying high and being a champion of dreaming. I have the kids practice saying aerial view a couple of times then we talk about what that means exactly. We talk about when they might see aerial views. The kids usually remember seeing aerial views during sporting events on television or when they have been passengers in a plane. They think it’s really cool to learn a new phrase. I always tell them to teach their families this fancy phrase the next time they watch a parade or sporting event together and a view of the city or the stadium is shown from above.

I enjoy reading this book aloud because of the rhyming words. The words bounce from the bright, colorful pages. I love that Bessie Coleman encouraged people to dream and work hard to realize their dreams. I love that her life story furthers her passion to help people soar to heights that seem unattainable. Her story teaches us that dreams and hard work can lead to greatness even if there are folks saying your goals can’t be reached.

It’s that time of year!

Halloween was last Friday and a week later we still have leftover candy from the trick or treaters. Prior to last year, I hadn’t participated in trick or treating in at least fifteen or sixteen years. I made the decision to turn off all of the lights except the one in the back bedroom and watch movies with my daughter many years ago. My daughter was three, I was pregnant with my son, and we were living in a new and unfamiliar city. My husband’s work schedule was brutal and kept him away from home until late at night. Since he would not be home Halloween night, I decided it was not safe for a woman late in her pregnancy with a three year old to open her door at night for strangers dressed in costumes. I thought I might look silly explaining how an unrecognizable person in a mask spooked me or victimized me. Over the years, we developed our own traditions for Halloween. The kids and I would go out for dinner and then to a movie. Sometimes we participated in local harvest parties where they would play games and eat treats. I also had neighbors who made special goodie bags for my kids because they knew we didn’t trick or treat. Now, the kids shake their heads at me because the dog has costumes and I buy candy to hand out to trick or treaters who stop by our house. I am thankful that my kids enjoyed the tradition we started and at least acted like they understood my thought process. Well, at least I don’t think my approach to Halloween eternally scarred our kids.

Immediately after closing the door to Halloween and the kids in costumes, we woke up planning for Thanksgiving. Oh my gosh! It seems that the pressure to plan and create special environments for our friends and family is at an all time high from the end of October through February 14^th. The holiday season can be brutal emotionally, financially, and socially. When I think about the holiday season during my childhood and even my adult years, I generally remember the food and the experiences I had with my friends and family.

Recently, I was talking to a friend about growing up in Montgomery, Alabama, also known as “The Gump.” In The Gump, Thanksgiving included getting up early for the Turkey Day Parade and watching my brother marching with the Alabama State University Marching Hornets. I was about four years old and my brother was a drum major. The band was so large that the crowd had to take steps back so the band could fit through the parade route. My brother would wink at me as he passed me on the street. I would blush and smile and hold my head up higher hoping that everyone witnessed him showing the world how special I was to him. We would go home, eat a traditional Thanksgiving dinner complete with turkey, cornbread dressing, cranberry sauce, collard greens, candied yams, sweet potato pie, pound cake, and sweet tea. Thank goodness for Mama’s cooking!

It was years later that I realized the sacrifice and love that went into preparing Thanksgiving dinner. My parents came from families of good cooks where food was the common denominator at all family gatherings. As a result, holiday meals were designed to create an atmosphere that would fill our needs for warmth, fun, and physical nourishment. Now that I am many miles away from my family, my father is deceased, and my mother is in a nursing home unable to communicate with me, those well-crafted, special moments we had back in the day are etched in my memory and in my heart forever. I am thankful that the experiences that blessed me then are still blessing me today. I am thankful for the lessons my parents taught me about simplicity, hospitality, and family.

I work each holiday season to remind myself that it’s really not about the stuff, but rather the experience. Since we can’t go to the Turkey Day Classic every year, we look forward to spending the day eating our traditional dinner, watching football, and napping. I am thankful that life often affords us an opportunity to evolve and create new traditions and experiences that can be as rewarding as those no longer available to us.
Each holiday season brings on memories of my mom and dad and other family members and friends who are far away. I work hard not to allow the thought of missing them to consume my being. Whenever those thoughts linger, I start to have a thanksgiving rally in my head. I start to say how thankful I am for parents who loved me and wanted the best for me. I express my thankfulness for my brother who loves me and supports me. I celebrate my thankfulness for my husband and my kids who look forward to sharing Thanksgiving dinner with me. I am thankful that my family enjoys the food I cook. I focus on my family and friends who find humor in my sarcasm and quick wit.

I have to transform every negative thought during the holiday season into a positive reason to give thanks. This takes some practice. So, let the rehearsal begin:

When the person cuts in front of me in the line at the grocery store, I will be thankful that I have a reason to be standing in line and money to pay for my groceries.

When my kids are home for holidays and complaining about the food choices or the lack of food, I will be thankful that I know where they are and that they have the ability to talk.

When I have to pick up socks and shoes from the family room, I will be thankful that my kids came home the night before.

I must make staying in the thankful zone every day my focus. I encourage my readers to speak words of Thanksgiving and to encourage others to do the same. Hey, I hope you feel thankful and that you stay in the thankful zone throughout the holiday season. Don’t let the holiday season overwhelm you and suck you into the great abyss of chaos, negativity, and needless spending. Instead, focus on being thankful for some past experiences and memories. If you say you don’t have any, make it your business to create some this year and be thankful for the life and breath you have to accomplish that feat.

Swaggy The Great!

If this little dog could talk, I can only imagine the things he would say. For fifteen years my kids begged for a dog. Daddy, “Can we have a dog?” they would ask. The answer was always a resounding, “No, I don’t think so, not right now.” Well, two and a half years ago when one kid was about to begin her sophomore year of college and the other his sophomore year of high school my daughter asked again and my husband said nothing. “Huh?!” filled the thought bubble over my head. My next thought was “You have got to be kidding me.” My girl heard what I heard: the pregnant silence in the car after the age old question about a dog. Pure shock was the only emotion I had while she was beaming with anticipation and the possibility that his failure to say no meant yes. I suggested she follow up with how much he would let them spend on the dog to test him to see if he was really going to let them move forward or if he would back peddle into that dog free zone like we had seen him do in the past. After he maintained his position, she told her brother and the excitement escalated. Within the hour they found two dogs in the area that fit the requirements established by their dad and made contact with the owners. The next day they met our favorite pup and the love affair with Swaggy was born.

The only dog I ever had as a child was given to me by my grandmother because somebody dropped her off on the dirt road near my grandmother’s house. I don’t remember dogs living in the house when I was a kid except Toby, the poodle across the street. None of my neighbors had small dogs who rode in the car. I don’t remember a dog in my neighborhood having a wardrobe either. All of the dogs in my neighborhood were large breed, guard dog types. They had fierce names and you always prayed they were safely behind a fence or on a chain before you rode your bike by the houses where they lived or else you would be frantically riding that bike as fast as you could to avoid getting caught by King or Killer or Butch. When I walk through my old neighborhood I still think about that german shepherd that lived on the corner down the street from me.

Swaggy is our first family pet. He was about thirteen weeks old and about two and a half pounds when we brought him home. He was so small that he could fit in my son’s size twelve shoe. He could sleep in the bed intended for a stuffed animal one of the kids owned. We had to put a cat collar on him because all of the dog collars were too big and we needed the bell so that we could keep up with him. He was and is the cutest yorkie on the planet and he knows it!

I never thought I could learn anything from a dog, but Swaggy has become a teacher. Swaggy has taught us the following lessons:

1. Walk with confidence and believe that you are a champion. When people see him they comment on his posture and his stride. He walks with purpose and his head held high. He’s friendly, but knows that he’s a show stopper. We have his groomer to thank for helping us keeping this champion looking the part.

2. Leave the mess outside. Well, I like to think that is self explanatory. In short, just work to make your inside space calm and mess free. The ability to do this on the regular takes practice much like training Swaggy to leave his mess outside and not in some secret corner of the house. His celebration includes some verbal praise and a treat. When you notice that you are consistently keeping your house free of the mess you should celebrate too.

3. Ignore the stupid stuff. Sometimes when we are walking we encounter other dogs who get really worked up barking and lunging in Swaggy’s direction. You would think that he would reply with similar behaviors, but he looks straight ahead or he looks at them like they are really out of their minds then turns and struts off focused on his enjoyment of the outdoors. Like Swaggy, we should just learn the value of silence in situation where someone has difficulty controlling their mouths or their actions. My mama used to say somebody has to take the high road. That advice is great advice, but not always easy to execute. I can only hope that I can be cool, calm, and collected like by boy Swaggy when the crazy rises up around me.

4. Stop and smell the flowers. My dog, Swaggy, loves flowers. I have never seen a dog stop and smell flowers. One would think he is selecting flowers for a garden or floral arrangement. He gets so distracted on our walks by the plants and flowers along the route. Good for him for being able to really inhale the fragrances of the terrain. I often comment on how my feelings about the outdoors fluctuates from thoughts of the beauty of it all to dread because is seems so brown and lifeless. Every day this little dog goes out to walk he finds something beautiful and deserving of his attention and admiration.

5. Never bite the hand that feeds you. Swaggy loves us and he has figured out who supplies his particular needs. He knows that his boy will play with him and teach him tricks. He knows that his girl will cuddle him, take him for rides in the car, and slip him a taste of her food. Swaggy looks forward to
the big guy coming home because the big guy has a soft heart and will give him more treats than he is supposed to have. And then there’s mama who does it all for him. I feed him, walk him, and boil chicken for his special treat moments. I take him for rides and have conversations with him that I am certain he can understand. Haha! Unlike Swaggy, we don’t always appreciate the roles of our loved ones. He has figured out that his life can be whole and complete if he trusts each person in the family to do just what he knows they have proven they can be trusted to do.