My Mom, My Dad and Me

"My Momma said, 'Don't lose you 'cuz the best luck I had was you.'

But I know one thing, that I love you."

Michael Franti singing in "Hey, I love you."

Michael Franti sings these words throughout his song, "Hey, I love you!" I sing it most mornings when I need a pick me up. But, the part I like best is when Michael sings about his mother's love for him. I guess in many ways, I have always known my mother loved me. I wasn't so sure about my father. However, I think I understand why. I can sympathize with him for many reasons and hopefully these vignettes will help you see as I finally was able to see. Everybody needs someone to love them.

     As I sat in the backseat of the car with my mother and father, I wonder what I was thinking. I was leaving the comfort of the only home I knew at Steven's Court in Texarkana, Texas with my Grandmother and her husband, Mr. Leon. I was leaving cousins I adored, aunts who adored me. I was heading somewhere and I only understood that it was away. I guess you don't actually explain these things to a 3 year-old child, do you? I imagine not. 

     The Fifties was an unusual time for blacks in this country. There was unrest and the treatment of black people in this country, especially in the South, was bad. Both my parents were educated. Their combined intelligence is probably what made me a somewhat gifted child. I don't say that to brag, only that I realize my DNA comes from two remarkable people. Isn't it a shame that we don't recognize the best of us. I think perhaps people have always focused on what is wrong rather than what is right when analyzing the past. I am finally recognizing that it must be the whole truth--the entire story--that helps us to understand.

     My father, as I've come to understand, wanted to take us away to a better life. The west beckoned a lot of blacks during this time. Even so, I imagine that the trip out West was difficult. Since I don't remember the drive and only have the memory of wanting to stay with my Grandmother when she asked if I wanted to stay with her, I have to use my knowledge of what that drive might have been. It was summer, I know, probably late summer so it would have been hot. I imagine that we stopped often and that I was probably a little clingy to my mother. Children would be, would they not?

     Seeing my father with other children and even remembering him with my younger sisters and brothers, I would imagine that he tried to engage me. Did I only just meet him? Had he been a regular visitor? The answer, I know now, is no. He saw me for the first time when I was about 18 months old. I don't think he saw me again until he came from Kansas City with my mother to take me away.

      After my birth, my mother went back to work at the Negro Hospital in Kansas City. It has always been a source of pride for me that my mother seemed to have gotten on with her life after such a huge disappointment. My father had married someone else. According to my aunts, he married someone who was socially his equal. She was also fair as he was, meaning that they were both light skinned. My father decided soon after my birth to enter into the ministry. My grandfather, his father, was a minister. He would become one, too.

     I understand that my mother started dating a black doctor during this time. His name was Dr. Hill. Like her, he was dark chocolate in coloring and according to my aunts, "a dream." They were happy for my mother, too, until they learned that my father was entering into the ministry. My aunts thought this was the height of hypocrisy after what he did to their sister. I don't think my mother knew what my aunts were planning that day. In fact, I am sure of it. My Aunt Ollie (ne Olive) and my Aunt Josephine had taken me to Kansas City to visit their sister, which I understand they did regularly. That Sunday while Mom was at work, they dressed me up and took me to church, the church where my father was being ordained. They sat me on the front pew. Have I said how much I look like my father? I think that is why they did it.
     After the service, according to my aunt, they took me away and didn't let him talk or touch me. I don't know what happened after that. Did his wife know? Did the members of the church know? It seems that they did after that. It was a year later that my mother and father married. How did that happen? What was the catalyst that not only brought them together and caused my father's divorce? Was it me? 

     When my father was in his eighties and in the hospital, I went to see him. When I walked into his room, he said, "You were the prettiest child I had ever seen the first time I laid eyes on you." There was pure love in his eyes it seemed as he remembered that moment. But, I needed to know. 

     "What was I? Two or Three?" I asked.

     "Yes." He said it quietly and simply.

     The tears spilled from my eyes. It was the first time he had admitted that he hadn't been married to my mother when I was born. Sometimes over the course of the years between my sixteenth birthday and my late forties, I felt I didn't matter to him. This memory triggered something for both of us that day. Was it forgiveness? Healing? Love? Maybe all three?

     ... but I know one thing--that I love you.

More--Life in Alamogordo