The thought was just so heavy on my mind this morning my
head was pounding. Reminiscing how every Sunday morning as a child I
would be up early to what seemed like the break of dawn. As I awoke I
could smell the aroma of fried potatoes and onions, fried bacon, fried apples
being cooked with a scent of cinnamon and fried in bacon grease she had saved and
kept in an empty applesauce jar, country sausage links, and hearing the water
on the stove hiss and boil indicating the water was ready for my grandma to
drop the grits in. The smell of 1820 brand biscuits coming from the oven
and peeking out one corner of my eye enough to also see the molasses to dip the
biscuits in sitting on the kitchen counter beside the real butter she had sat
out to soften to spread on the biscuits. She had the pan sitting on the
stove to fry the eggs to order so they wouldn't get cold. She always
cooked hers last, running (sunny side up). My grandma had apparently
already been up for hours.
There she was in the kitchen like it was her duty station
shouting out admonitions before I could even wake up good. She knew I detested
this Sunday morning routine. I could have used a motivational coach back
then to provide light as to why going to Church and making the most of it would
a tremendous impact in a positive way for the rest of my life, which it
has.
I would ask "Why do we have to go to Church every
Sunday?" Then I would go further and chant off all the names of so
many folks who didn't go to Church trying to make the point they were doing
just fine not going. My grandma would shout back just worry about you!
You don't need to worry about other folks just worry about you and I know what
you're going to do you're going to shut up and get ready." My grandma would say “you going to Church
because I said you going you aren’t grown.”
My inner thoughts would be I can’t wait until I’m grown.
My grandmother would be in the kitchen speaking out to me as
I hastily started in motion to get ready for yet another Sunday when it would
feel like I was going to spend my whole life in Church. All the cooking would stop so she could make
her presence known to me. Mind you she had already yelled up the stairs
for us to get up and start getting ready to go to Church. I knew she was
there. Why did she always have to pick on me? I had been going to
Church every Sunday since before I could remember. She would chant at me
as I entered the dining area on my way to the bathroom stumbling on my way half
sleep with my hand covering my eyes to not to look at her. She would say
to me "get in motion and get ready so you won't be late for Sunday school."
If I could have turned around and asked her "when did you ever let me be late for
anything?" it would have started a war. I pity the fool who
would even open their mouth to motion to back talk her. She would be in
your face and done popped you in your mouth before you could get your sentence
out.
Her hair was done, lipstick on, stockings on with bedroom
slippers, a robe to cover her dress so she wouldn't get anything on it while
cooking. It was her outfit she wore to drop us off at 9 a.m. for Junior
Worship and Sunday school. We would
later see her in Church when she arrived for the 11 a.m. service.
We knew exactly were to go sit each Sunday and sit quietly
whether she would come to join us or usher that Sunday. Please don’t let anyone tell her a word came
out of either one of her grandchildren she was going to get all of us. Whatever you did you didn’t dare embarrass her
in Church.
The menu often changed from Sunday to Sunday but it was
always more food for Sunday breakfast than during the week. A breakfast
was cooked every school day and every Sunday as well. On her off duty
days it was cereal, pop tarts, etc. on your own. You just had to clean up your mess. The skillet for the eggs served as reinforcement
on her cooking days. Say something crazy to her first thing in the
morning and she would offer to bop you in the head with the skillet. The
stove was her duty post and she kept an eye on that kitchen and all the way
through to the front door.
I walked down the stairs one summer morning during summer
break. It was one of her off duty
days. I saw how pretty it was
outside. Why did the crazy thought cross
my mind to challenge this woman on this day?
After I got dressed to go out, I stood by the front door and she was in
the laundry room. And as I felt complaining at the site of me like she
normally did. The front exterior door
was ajar and the screen door was unlocked. For some reason it was just
the two of us at home. We had our usual
disagreements for the day. On a warm and
beautiful day listening to anyone’s crap is just too much for me. On this particular day I was fed up with her
stating her mind and my having to suffer through listening to it and not being
able to say anything of substance or get my viewpoint across. She wouldn’t
let you make excuses for your actions or inaction and as a child she felt you
could offer absolutely nothing that she hadn’t seen or heard before. Only sorry people made excuses and children
were to be seen and not heard. The
disagreements got heated (one sided as usual). Yes they would get heated
without my even being able to say much back. Well this one day she was in
the process of doing laundry as the two of us had the displeasure of being the
only two at home together.
The laundry was in the room off the kitchen. I walked through to see how she was
progressing on doing the laundry. She
thought I was headed to the garage to get something. Because the garage stored a lot of items and
there was even a storage area above the garage.
I saw her load of wash was just about finished. That meant she would be putting the wet
laundry in the dryer then heading back up to the hamper in the hallway outside
the bathroom for her next load. This
woman raised me so her actions and reactions for the most part were predictable.
I had a novel in my hand I had been reading that day. I was half way through it. Her she comes with something else to say as
she was getting ready to get the clothes out the hamper to go down and start
her next wash. I was sick of listening
to her for that one day and besides I probably could have been finished reading
my book already if she would just shut up.
I had just had enough. I was standing at the front door reading my
book. And I was looking up from reading
the book to looking to the outside to make sure the coast was clear and no one
was pulling up anywhere close outside. I
tossed my book on the sofa and shouted to her from the front door area just as
she crossed the threshold from the kitchen to head back to the laundry area
after listening to more of her rants and raves boldly "YOU MAKE ME SICK!" and dashed through the door and took the threshold,
the porch, and steps in one single leap and ran off running down the street the
fastest I could ever remember. I don't know how long it took her to get
to the front door because I didn’t look back.
Well, I didn’t think about the aftermath. It just felt good and invigorating in that
moment to speak my mind. When I returned
home many hours later she was there close by the door apparently waiting on me. She knew I would be home by dark because that
was my curfew. No matter what part of
Norfolk I was in I would run home to meet my curfew. Don’t let the dark catch you is what she would
say to me any day I would announce my departure. She knew it warmed my blood for people to
keep telling me the same thing more than once.
When I got back home she pulled me inside the door and
started whipping me with a black leather belt from front to back repeating what
I had said and told me she was going to make me sick. It seemed like everyone had gotten home. She had her audience for her victory stance
as usual. I heard someone ask her what I
had done “this time”. It was one of
those rare times when I remember I got a beating and a punishment
simultaneously. It was normally either a beating or a punishment and it
was normally my choice as to which one. I often wonder if she even went anywhere at
all that day herself or was she just waiting for me to get home.
After the whipping I went to my room and cried my heart out
until I did make myself sick. When I
came down later to use the bathroom I imagine the look on my face projected the
disdain in my heart. She said "you may hate me now but you are going
love me later."
Later came too late for me to ever tell her how much.
