I will be 51 years old in June and I cannot recall ever wishing my mother a Happy Mother’s Day. She passed in 2007 and will never hear me say it. As a double whammy, my father was not present during my upbringing, so there was no one to share Father's Day memories and wishes with.
For some of us, when Mother's and/or Father's Day comes around, it is a very challenging time of the year.
I was reviewing my book, Wildflower, for the umpteenth time before sending it off to print. For the first time, I felt an uneasiness in how I was portraying my mother in my book. I think this was because of the head space that I found myself in after just recently starting to read Viola Davis’ new book, Finding Me. I'd also recently finished reading Will Smith's memoir, Will.
Just like me, I noted how both Viola and Will had gone through very traumatic and dysfunctional events during their childhood upbringings.
Nevertheless, both seemed to had grown to understand and empathize with their parent's own humanity, struggles, and childhood traumas. Like me, they noted that there were some good memories in the midst of all those terrible ones. As they grew older and wiser, they both realized that going through such strife and challenges earlier on in life was the motivating factor that shaped their greatness, success, and abilities to endure and overcome.
Wildflower is not the memoir of my life that I do plan to share someday. Therefore, within it I am only sharing glimpses into the traumatic events that I endured when I was younger. Yet and still, there isn't much more there to let my readers know that my mother was actually much more to me than the part of her that I was sharing. She was more than those painful memories that had left me with scars so deep that here I am 51 years later and several years after her death, still aching on paper.
I start the Introduction of my book by pointing out that my mother gave birth to me at the tender age of 15. Of course, to many of us, that is far too young to bring a child into this world. Even so, in retrospect my mother had to be pretty brave to bring a child into this world at that age, keep and care for me, and still continue her education. And although for reasons unknown to me, my mother found herself unable to go forward with a higher education, she was often described by others as being very intelligent and mature as a young woman. I imagine that losing her own mother at the age of only 8 years old, forced a level of maturity and independence upon her.
While attending my first semester as a freshman at the University of Buffalo, I too found myself pregnant with my first child at the tender age of 18. I now believe that folks raving about my mother's intelligence and maturity, had a hand in motivating me to only take one semester off to care for my first born, Eric, then return to the Rochester Institute of Technology to complete my degree.
Growing up those earlier years in Ma's house, she sparked my love for reading, learning and excelling. She instilled within me possessing common sense and a no shit taking mentality. I suspect that it was this mentality that enabled her to navigate a new city all alone, 2 young children in tow, with a courage and know how to get shit done. At some point later in her life, she seems to have lost that capability or given it up. Nonetheless, I inherited it all and some and I am who I am today because she was my mother; she was my example in all things, good and bad.
If cleanliness is next to godliness, then Ma was truly a goddess in those earlier years of my life. Ever since I was big enough to reach the kitchen sink, I’d been keeping a clean house at her instruction. With even the little bit we had, used or not, it was to be kept neat and clean. Ma didn't play about getting chores done! Saturday was breakfast, chores, more chores, and then playtime. To this day, I keep a pretty immaculate home that at times I've been told looks like I don't even have 4 kids! LOL!
Not everyone sees this side of me but I really can be quite silly and outgoing at times. My kids and close loved ones get to see this side of me. I love cracking jokes, singing off key, making up silly songs, and all types of shenanigans and horseplay! In the earlier years, Ma was like this with us. She taught me how to play Spades, Gin Rummy, Tunk, I Declare War, Crazy Eights and more. She'd always label the score paper, “The Champ” and “The Chump” after our games. Of course, she only labeled it that way when she won! LOL! She taught me to be silly and as a parent to laugh with my kids. I am so grateful for those early, happier memories before things got scary and unstable.
There are many other positive attributes about me that were inspired by my mother. My mother was hot back in her day. I can still envision her neat, big afro, face all made up and the fly-ass, pant suits she'd sport. She was like Foxy Brown! I suppose that I inherited my unique sense of style and flavor from her.
Anyone who knows me knows that I possess an absolute LOVE and obsession for all things music. This love was bred from my mother playing lots of jazz, soul and R & B in our home. She played all of the greats! And during the very worst times, music was by far the one thing that brought me my biggest relief and sanctuary from all of the insanity.
In the introduction of Wildflower, I write:
For the most part, those early recollections are relatively normal. However, later in life, my childhood memories are mostly sad, filled with loneliness, and at times rather traumatic. The trauma that I endured during the latter part of my childhood, make the earlier recollections seem almost non-existent.
It seems as though while acknowledging all of the bad, I was totally missing out on also remembering all the good and giving Ma proper credit for providing me earlier on in life with the foundation I needed to get me to where I am today. The best parts of her rubbed off on me as well as some of the worst. However, because I had both to reference, I primarily chose the wiser and continue to strive for such.
Sometimes I really wish that I understood then what I understand now. I wish that I understood her story, while she lived. I wish I would have been more mature or savvy enough to help Ma through her stuff. I wish that she was alive now that I'm more mature and experienced in life.
At the very least, I wish she could read these words:
Happy Mother's Day, Ma! I love and thank you for helping to shape me into the woman that I am today. Rest in eternal peace, I got this.
Your one and only daughter,
Monalisa
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