My First God!
She was gorgeous! A petite, little bitty light-skinned beauty, with a short fro, sometimes worn under custom-made wigs. She was friends with one of the city's legends in the beauty industry! Connie, of course. Connie had a little shop next to Church's Chicken on 38th and Emerson, right in the corner. Mama would bring us along when she went to get a new wig, and shoot the shit with Connie. Connie would take us to the back of her shop, in her private area that was decorated like a small living room. I cannot recall if Connie's children were there with us. I'm working on that, but that's a whole other story that we will tap into, later. Mama and Connie would be in there for hours, talking and laughing, trying on wigs for Mama.
Mama's make-up was always done to perfection. She wore false eye-lashes that were just the right length for her small round face. Each finger was adorned with a ring. I can't recall if they were silver or gold, but I do remember some of them had stones. I remember the stones because they left a cut each time she back-handed one of us in the mouth, for one reason or another. 'Us' being the seven children she birthed.
Yes, she was beautiful, but she took no shit from her children nor whatever man she allowed to grace her presence. The last man I most vividly recall gracing her presence was my father. I only remember flashes of the two of them together. From listening to the stories from my older siblings, he was a huge presence in their lives. I've blocked out a lot of the interactions between those two because the majority of the time they were fighting. Trauma will do that. Block the memories.
She was my first God, and I was her favorite, so I've been told. I recall always sitting up under her. I use to rub her temples when she had a headache. I would stand behind her while she sat on the couch, and place my fingers at the temple points on each side of her head, and go to work. It must have worked, because she never said otherwise. She always spoke her mind, so I would know if it wasn't bringing her any relief. I'm sure she showed me how to do this. I can't imagine that I just knew what to do to relieve her headaches. You never know. I surely could have been led by Spirit.
My siblings and I would do anything for her. When tragedy struck, we lied for her. She was all we knew. We didn't know we were products of dysfunction, until we were removed from it. Until we were on the outside looking in.
She was gorgeous! A petite, little bitty light-skinned beauty, with a short fro, sometimes worn under custom-made wigs. She was friends with one of the city's legends in the beauty industry! Connie, of course. Connie had a little shop next to Church's Chicken on 38th and Emerson, right in the corner. Mama would bring us along when she went to get a new wig, and shoot the shit with Connie. Connie would take us to the back of her shop, in her private area that was decorated like a small living room. I cannot recall if Connie's children were there with us. I'm working on that, but that's a whole other story that we will tap into, later. Mama and Connie would be in there for hours, talking and laughing, trying on wigs for Mama.
Mama's make-up was always done to perfection. She wore false eye-lashes that were just the right length for her small round face. Each finger was adorned with a ring. I can't recall if they were silver or gold, but I do remember some of them had stones. I remember the stones because they left a cut each time she back-handed one of us in the mouth, for one reason or another. 'Us' being the seven children she birthed.
Yes, she was beautiful, but she took no shit from her children nor whatever man she allowed to grace her presence. The last man I most vividly recall gracing her presence was my father. I only remember flashes of the two of them together. From listening to the stories from my older siblings, he was a huge presence in their lives. I've blocked out a lot of the interactions between those two because the majority of the time they were fighting. Trauma will do that. Block the memories.
She was my first God, and I was her favorite, so I've been told. I recall always sitting up under her. I use to rub her temples when she had a headache. I would stand behind her while she sat on the couch, and place my fingers at the temple points on each side of her head, and go to work. It must have worked, because she never said otherwise. She always spoke her mind, so I would know if it wasn't bringing her any relief. I'm sure she showed me how to do this. I can't imagine that I just knew what to do to relieve her headaches. You never know. I surely could have been led by Spirit.
My siblings and I would do anything for her. When tragedy struck, we lied for her. She was all we knew. We didn't know we were products of dysfunction, until we were removed from it. Until we were on the outside looking in.
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