PTA Night... I wasn't ready

Being able to review report cards a week or so before PTA meetings is like being able to read the blurb of a book before you dig in.  Got a taste, now you need the ingredients!  Amari's PTA meetings are usually pretty easy because she does extremely well in school.  So, it's nice to hear what the teachers think and to also get a chance to thank them for all that they do with her to keep her advanced. 

This year was my first year having Deonte since he went to live with his father four years ago.  And as you will soon read, it hasn't been pretty at all.  There are a lot of changes we have to go through to make things work and to basically learn each other all over again.  And it doesn't help that he's a teenager!  (Lord help me)  So, I have had to lock myself in my room on a few occasions just to collect my thoughts.

Since the first day of 9th grade, Deonte has struggled.  There is a lot Deonte doesn't know academically and is really far behind, thanks to a combination of horrible Maryland school systems, a father who could care less about his education and Deonte becoming withdrawn about desiring to do well.  So, we have been fighting tooth and nail to get this boy to get motivated to take charge of his learning.  The report card had more C's on it than a Cookie Monster episode of Sesame Street!  He received all C's and one F.  In my house, that equates a completely failing report card. 

The consensus from all of the teachers was, Deonte doesn't apply himself.  And that is no news to me, because a child usually doesn't do things one way in school and another way at home.  But, what angered me was that the teachers wanted to downplay his failures.  Maybe it's an educator thing, but if a child's current grade is a D, that is not "ok"!  Don't patronize us because we're black.  Save it for the next family that needs it!  So, we have a long road ahead of us.  Namely, trying to find that motivation button because it needs to be pressed ASAP!!!!

When we got home, during a notebook check, we discovered some kid had written some racial things in his notebook.  And sadly, Deonte didn't see the meaning nor the harm in it.  I was angry at him for allowing a child to take over his possessions like that.  But, more angry at myself for not educating my children more on their ancestry and heritage.  When Deonte told me he didn't know what a "coon" was and some little girl wrote it in his notebook, I realized right then in there why God led me to the Blockbuster store yesterday afternoon to rent the Roots DVD series.  So, we had family movie night with the kids taking notes. 

My heart broke when Deonte expressed sympathy for the ship owner who was very sick due to being on the boat and asked, "Aren't they going to take that man to the hospital?"  I couldn't believe it.  He had just witnessed 170 slaves captured, 98 dead and he felt it necessary to express concern for the white man responsible for transporting them to their new plantation life.  I had to ask, "Deonte, look at your skin.  Do you understand that you are a Black person?  A person of "African" American decent.  That someone on that boat was probably responsible for your life at this very moment?"  I then had to go to bed.  My mind and body was weary at that point. 

Each day the quest for self-realization continues in my home because right now it doesn't exist.

DJ's 1st Birthday Party

Yesterday was baby DJ's 1st birthday and it was wonderful.  Just about everyone who RSVP'd came and had a lot of fun.  We had his party at Pizza Hut, and thanks to their current $6 medium pizza promotion, we were able to stay well within budget.  I am not a birthday party fanatic, especially not for a one-year old.  But, this is my baby's first son and I know it meant a lot to celebrate his baby's day.  So, I loaded up on decorations and goodies from the Dollar Tree and got a nice sheet cake from Giant.  I like that Pizza Hut doesn't charge for birthday parties.  You simply pay for what you order.  We'll definitely be back again!!

I also did well staying on schedule.  I was late for my hair appointment, but Brenda had me in and out in time to get everything done.  I made it to the party pretty much on time, and thanks to my friend Shanna and my little cuz Brandy B, we got everything decorated before the rest of the guests and the guest of honor arrived.  Thanks guys!  I love you so much!!!

Family and friends poured in.  We were running out of space in the party room, but everyone had a great time.  Even the adults had a good time playing with the Match cards that were in the goodie bags.  Although I think Jasmine and Dominique cheated and beat Tyanna and I.  Rematch ladies!!! LOL

DJ really enjoyed the happy birthday song.  We were trying to get a great pic of him smashing in the cake, but this little boy refused to get his hands dirty with icing.  He is definitely his father's child.  It was great spending time with my cousins Tyese and CeCe.  Thank goodness for Facebook, we have been able to reconnect.  We really don't know their sons, Kourri and Chris, but I hope we can hook up more and let the kids start growing up more.  Their boys are some sweet cutie pies.  I was glad my brother and his family was able to make it.  Of course Little Norman didn't warm up to me until he was ready leave, but I was able to get a hug, kiss and to hold him all of about 5 minutes.  Progress!!! :-) 

I had a lot of fun.  Hosting parties can sometimes be overwhelming, especially when you have friends and family from both sides.  People tend to settle in comfort zones and I sometimes feel like I have to "work the room" which I did try to do, while Dwimoh and I made sure everyone had drinks and food.  But, everyone meshed really, really well and I was very glad of that.  All in all, Dwimoh's party was a huge success and all of the kids had a great time.

Afterwards, my hubby let me have a girl's night out with Shanna and his cousin Teara.  It was nice to be out with a group of ladies and just relax and have fun.  I ended the night at 10pm and even beat Dwimoh home, which was good so that I could help get the kids settled since he'd had them basically all morning and evening.  I appreciated that.  Thank you baby! 

Happy Birthday DJ!  Can't wait to do it all again in March for Deonte... Looking for ideas for my soon-to-be 15-year old.  :-o

Thank God for Small Miracles

Thankfully my day has turned around.  I feel much better today than I did the past two days.  I was very productive at work today and I received an additional writing gig with Examiner.  I'll be writing on Baltimore Budget Events and Harrisburg Budget Travel.  So, I'm looking forward to that.  I was able to help out a friend with grant she's writing.  I gotta make sure she get this thing done.  She isn't motivated and school isn't free. 

Off to the homefront I go.  I left the kids with a chore list this morning.  It better be done.  I told my kids that this year, instead of expecting a bunch of gifts for Christmas, they needed to earn money to buy gifts for others.  I'm not a holiday person, but I know my husband's family is and they receive plenty.  So, I want them to understand that life is about giving and not receiving.  I give them assignments to complete every two days.  They have TWO days to get it done for payment.  After two days, they lose the ability to earn and it has to be done before I get home.  In one week, they have earn $2 from doing one job.  What is wrong with my lazy kids???  They better get it together.  I remember looking for jobs and ways to earn money and these kids get opportunities handed to them and they let it go to waste.  Them lips are gonna be poked out Christmas morning when they look under the tree and see nothing but a bunch of pine needles.  And while they are looking in amazement, they might as well vacuum them up and call it a day.

My little man has been fussy for almost two weeks now.  I'm hoping he is having a better night so I can get some sleep.  I have movie date with the man, if we can get the house to bed fast enough.  My fingers are crossed.  I need some adult time bad.  All in all, today was wonderful.  I am hoping I have found my niche with writing.  Lord knows I need something more rewarding than what I am doing now. 

Digging out...

The past two days has had me sort of numb, I guess is the best way to put it.  I spent Monday at the kid's schools for class visits because it's American Education Week.  I started the morning at Amari's school.  Since I got there early, I decided to help set up.  That was funny.  They had all types of delectibles that needed to be arranged on the table and apparently I must have offended one of the volunteers when I told her, "lets clean off these trays because they are a little dusty".  She gave me this look and responded, "it is what it is, you know."  I chuckled to myself and thought, wow.  I'm no Suzy Homemaker, but I sure would hate to see her house.  What took the cake was, these women were setting up the food with their bare hands.  And I was at the sink, so I know NO ONE washed their hands first.  As good as the goodies looked, I decided I'd wait until lunch. 

The visit to Amari's class was really cute.  They stay extremely busy though.  We had been getting on Amari for bringing home unfinished work, thinking she was being slow or not focused, but I realized why.  They never had time to finish an activity before they moved to the next.  But, the class was extremely orderly.  I was really impressed. 

Next stop was Deonte's school.  I missed the important classes and landed in Health.  I really wanted to visit his Physics or Algebra classes because he's seems to not have a clue what they are teaching in these classes.  I noticed that when I am at his school, he tends to be stand-offish to me and acts like I'm not there.  I had to dig in him when he did the same thing at a soccer game.  This has really made me feel some kind of way.  I know he is having identity issues, and everything about me screams, "Black Woman" in the white world he is growing up in, but it affected me more than I expected it to. 

I have spent the past two days down in the dumps and have yet to put my finger on why.  I went home last night to a bunch of activity (house cleaning, kids hyperactive and baby needing attention) but, I was not "there".  I mustered up enough energy to make a pot of spaghetti and put DJ to sleep.  When my husband announced he was going to bed instead of the couch time we usually share, I was completely oblivious to the news.  I rented The Last Airbender and had absolutely no interest in even watching it.  I have to cycle my medication so that it continues to be effective and yesterday was my off-cycle day.  However, by 1:30am I caved hoping for some rest and a better tomorrow.  Let's hope...

When The Term Mental Struggle Becomes Reality

Who knew puberty could change you from this fun-loving kid to someone you and others around you really come to hate?  My teenage years were the worse times of my life.  Growing up as a Jehovah's Witness, you are admonished to live in accordance with God's Laws and not to do everything your body tells you to do.  At an early age, I learned how to escape my own reality at home by escaping into the arms of men/boys. 

My first encounter with boys was summer of 1993.  I had just finished working over the summer and was 40 pounds lighter.  I was ready for high school.  I spent the last few weeks in a College Prep Program at Johns Hopkins University and Gilman School.  Prior to my stay away, I'd met the cousin of a middle school friend, Derrick.  Derrick was older and cute.  And said everything I wanted to hear.  After phone conversations most of the summer, there was nothing left to do but meet.  I was ready.  My heart pounded heavily as I walked to his house, about 10 blocks from mine.  His house was empty and I was sweating.  Anxious and afraid.  He was my first real kiss.  My first passionate kiss.  My body said I wanted him so bad.  And apparently he felt the same.  Until he began to undress me.  Hesitation set in.  But, I couldn't bring myself to make him stop touching me.  It wasn't until we were body to body.  He touched my vagina and I realized I was naked, straddling him in his mama kitchen.  Aw hell no!  I gotta go.  I ran.  I ran to and through the front door all the way home.  I was afraid.  Could I have gotten pregnant?  Did I really have sex?  I had to tell my mother because I was confused.  I told her what happened and if her words were knives, I would have looked like a character in Final Destination.  After she checked me out and realized there was no penetration, in the car we went to confront Derrick and his parents that were unaware of what was going on.  That meeting turned out to be pointless.  His mother was as nutty as a fruitcake and really didn't care what or who her son was getting into.  From then on, my fear turned into fascination. 

On came high school and my first real boyfriend.  Mikal.  I was in love.  I adored that boy right from the start.  He was my best friend's brother and he sang to me.  Sounds silly, but it got me.  He sang to me every time we spoke.  I was intrigued.  I did everything I could to see him and keep it a secret from my mother.  After the last incident, I knew there was no "confiding" in her about boys.  A few months and a loss of virginity later, I thought I was head over heels.  In my head, this was serious!  So, I confronted my mother about what I was feeling.  I got shut down in the worse way.  I was told that I was looking for trouble and basically my desires were taboo.  She didn't want to hear about it ever again.  At 14, it was like waves crashing down on my head.  I tried to commit suicide that night.  I'd taken a handful of pills.  My mom came into my room to find me passed out on the bed.  Because it had been hours since I took them, my aunt (who was a nurse) checked me out and said they would just have to wear off.  When I came around I got scolded even more and was taken to see a counselor.  After two sessions, her only purpose was an ear for me to vent to about my desire for Mikal and my mother wasn't paying for that.  My sessions ended after the therapist recommended compromise. 

I found myself welled up with all of the emotions, hormones and desires that came along with becoming a teenager and no one to direct them.  I wanted to be able to go to my mother like everyone around me was able to, but not only was Sheila unwavering in her standards, I was too far gone.  By 10th grade, I'd slept with several guys and didn't intend to stop.  Until I met Jermaine.  Jermaine is my son's father.  He and I worked together at the Roy Rogers across from my school.  At the time, I'd been in a secret relationship with Larry.  Another one of my boyfriends my mother forced me to stop seeing.  Jermaine and I developed what I thought was a friendship.  He'd come to my house and help with demolition.  His grandmother gave me rides to work when my parents couldn't take me.  I thought it was a normal, platonic relationship.  On May 24, 1995 I went to his apartment to wait for him and his grandmother (who lived upstairs from him and his mother) because our store was being remodeled and we were being trained at the Hunt Valley location.  Neither of them were ready, so meanwhile I sat in his living room watching TV with his brother.  He called me into his room, said he had a tape for me to listen to.  I walked in and I could hear I Like - Kut Klose playing.  I turned around to walk out of the room and he closed it.  He told me to wait until he got dressed.  I didn't move.  He began to undress and I noticed he wasn't putting clothes back on.  He grabbed me and put me on the bed.  My clothes came off and his hand went over my mouth.  I yelled for him to get off of me.  And never stopped.   I laid there... still, repeating for him to stop.  Over and over again.  I remember telling myself to be still.  It will be over soon.  I closed my eyes and listened to the song.  When the song finished playing, I got dressed and walked to the Burger King across the street before I went to my cousin's house.  I asked her to do my hair before I went back home.  I never said a word.  I later found out I was the target of a bet between the guys in the store and he was determined to win. 

Three months later, found out I was 11 weeks pregnant and had been infected with Chlamydia.  I had to tell my parents then.  After I let them know what had happened, my father left looking for him.  He'd already moved.  I came to grips with the reality of my pregnancy.  But, I wasn't long after I delivered that I gave up on finding my own true happiness and began to find solace in men.  I was able to escape everything that hurt.  This ruined what little relationship I had left with my mother.  I became a disappointment to her. I'd go to work after school and come home in the middle of the night, leaving her to take care of my baby.  I was a walking zombie in my own life.  Everything around me was surreal.  I secretly wanted to die. 

I was able to suppress those feeling when I moved out.  It was then I took on the responsibility of caring for myself and Deonte.  I was too busy to confront what I'd been feeling for the past 6 years.  I got married in 1998 and that felt like happiness to me.  Until my parents became too sick to care for themselves.  I moved my family in with them in 1999 and by 2000 I was separated.  Taking care of my parents kept me busy.  And when I wasn't busy I was drunk. 

January 2002, I saw an old friend in a club with my best friend, Marie.  I had looked for him for years, but couldn't reconnect.  But, I was sure I did that night.  From then on, we stayed in touch, spending more and more time together.  The night my mom passed away, I called him and gave him the news.  He met me at my apartment.  I remember crying myself to sleep in my bed as he sat on the floor beside me, stroking my hair staring at me.  When I woke up, he was gone.  We grew closer and closer as the months passed and in August, I had gotten pregnant.  After the birth of my daughter, all of the grief I'd never dealt with, struggle of having a new unplanned child and being in love with a married man sent me over the edge. 

I picked up the phone to call this man of mine, who really was not mine at all.  He was at his ex-wife's house doing some work and instead of ignoring my call, he pressed the talk button.  I could hear him playfully telling her to take her shirt off and let him kiss her.  This went on for about 10 minutes until I couldn't bear to hear anymore.  I found my bottle of prescribed anti-anxiety medication and took as many would fit in my mouth.  When I woke up, I was sitting in a wheelchair in Sinai hospital surrounded by family, with this same man yelling at me.  I could hear him saying, "your ass is crazy! I hope you are happy!  You are about to get everything you deserve!  I'm done!"  And from then on, I did.  Life for me got progressively worse.   Self-inflicted pain over and over again.  Most days it hurt to take a shower. 

It wasn't until August 2009, 6 months pregnant with my baby boy, I was diagnosed with Dysthymia and I realized I could no longer hurt myself by not loving myself.  I have been on a quest for love from within and today I am happy to say... Loving me ain't easy, but it sure is worth it.

Daddy's Little Girl... Always

If you knew my father, you loved my father.  Stormin' Norm.  It took us an hour to walk somewhere that normally took 20 minutes because he seemed to know so many people.  He was an amazing man.  As a little girl, my dad was my hero.  Wherever we went, I always had the best seat in the house... on his shoulders. 

My dad was a construction worker.  He laid concrete foundations.  This was always fascinating to me.  Seeing him come home dusty and dirty.  Hands so rough.  Up and out of the door at what seemed like the middle of the night.  I got to go to work with him one time.  That was a long day!!!  They were working on a new home development.  It was cold outside and I was going through the 5-year old blues.  Cold, hungry, had to use the bathroom... Ready to go home!  He must've developed some type of relationship with a lady living in a home that was already completed, because he took me there to use the bathroom and I stayed there for the remainder of the day.  It was nice being able to see what I had imagined day after day. 

My dad was such a sweet man.  He taught me to ride my bike without training wheels, collect cans for recycling to make money, all of the things we take for granted.  I didn't see him much for the first 8 years of my life.  So that my mother could stay home, he worked long hours.  On the weekends, we'd ride bikes, take walks to family members houses, play Crazy 8's, go fishing.  My dad was a silly man that did anything to make anyone smile.  You couldn't help but let go around him. 

My dad loved my mom more than life itself.  There were so many times I remember being put to bed and sneak downstairs to find them dancing in the living room.  I'd crawl between them until they picked me up and I'd dance with them.  I remember one anniversary, they were really low on money.  My mom said she didn't want him to get her anything.  Well, he must've heard her say she wanted everything.  Throughout that day, he came home with gift after gift and it was my job to hide it.  I think he bought one of everything they sold in the "Chinese Store" around the corner from our house.  There was a music cube that had flowers and sprays inside that lit up different colors as the cube turned, glass figurines, a scarf/hat/gloves set... So many gifts.  I think we all enjoyed that anniversary the most.  I saw a lot of struggles between my parents, but the love shared between them made the struggles seem like a blur.  Now that I'm an adult, I realize that even more. 

Life with my dad wasn't always flowers and chocolates.  The older I got, the worse my relationship with my dad became.  I hurt my dad a lot.  And I live with that regret everyday.  One night, we were having a family meeting.  I remember my mom begging me to talk to them and I was very hesitant to say what was on my mind.  I asked them if it was wrong to love one parent more than another.  She replied to me, "It may not be a matter of loving us any more or any less, but loving us differently."  That answer sufficed.  But, I knew my dad was hurt.  Even at that young age, it was evident in his eyes. 

My dad's life took a downward spiral, as did my respect for him.  I remember being waken up in the middle of the night because he'd been arrested for drunk driving and I had to be taken to my aunt's house until she picked him up.  This happened quite a few times.  There was so much arguining and fighting.  At the age of 6, my mom moved her and I into a small apartment.  We lived there for a few months until my dad convinced her that he'd get better.  And he did for a while.  Until his accident at work.  It was then he fell into a bottle and would take years to get back out.

When we moved to Maine Ave. I was 10 years old.  I had a new brother, was getting ready to go into middle school and was lonely.  I fell into a love a poetry and art.  My mom was consumed by trying to keep food on the table, my brother was enjoying being a boy and my dad was dealing with not being able to provide.  He went from job to job.  Pizza Hut, Denny's, Black & Decker... all were short-lived either due to not showing up or showing up drunk.  At the time, my mom was working as a temporary office worker.  So, work in our home was pretty inconsistent.  But, I never knew it.  My brother and I didn't want for much at all.  We always had food to eat and my parents always made sure we had fun.  During the summer, they would turn the lights off to save money to pay down the bill from the previous winter.  Talk about interesting.  Early nights, outside play and cold showers.  I appreciate it all though.

After a while, my dad got comfortable with the arrangement of him taking care of home.  My mom would leave us all a list of chores we needed to do and they had better been done before she got there.  I always knew it was 3:30pm because he would be scurrying to get his share of the work done and yelling at us to hurry up!  There was one day my mom forgot to do my hair the morning she left for work, and it was up to him to do it.  Oh my goodness!  I went to school looking crazy.  He tried though.  E for effort for sure. 

We encouraged my dad to stop drinking many times.  A few times, we'd come home from being away at our Jehovah's Witnesses District Convention for a weekend and he'd announce his success at not drinking.  This lasted sometimes a few weeks and other times a few days.  The one time his drinking hurt my brother and I the most was in 1991.  It was a Thursday night.  We'd been at the Kingdom Hall for a Service Meeting and we came home to find him in the kitchen having a seizure on the floor.  Needless to say, we were hysterical.  My mom called 911 and upon checking him out, the EMT announced to us that he was ok, he'd just had too much to drink.  Care and concern turned to dissapointment and frustration.  I went in my room and had nothing to say to him.  He later apologized, but I'd heard it all too often from him at that point.  It fell on deaf ears.

From then on, I felt like I had no reason to respect him as a father or even a man.  This created serious tension in our house, with my mother stuck in the middle.  I defied most things he told me to do.  I lashed out.  Fought back. I dared him to try to be a father to me.  I rejected him on so many levels.  In hindsight, I realized I was doing things to hurt him in response to what he was doing that hurt us.  He would tell me to clean and I'd have something smart to say.  He became argumentive because I challenged him.  I would dare him to touch me and we'd start fighting.  I am so embarrassed and ashamed to even type these words right now. 

The one day that still taunts me was Fall, 1993.  I remember it so vividly.  My best friend Z and I were on the phone one night and I was punished and wasn't even supposed to be on the phone.  He yanked the cord out of the wall and scolded me.  Since I could not talk to her, I wrote her a letter.  In the middle of writing the letter, I stopped and went outside and sat on the porch with the rest of my family (grandmother, aunts and cousins living in the other apartments).  My mom walked toward me with my spiral notebook in her hand and right then, I knew I was dead.  She repeated what I had wrote in front of everyone: I'm sorry for hanging up on you.  My father unplugged the phone.  He is such a fuck up.  Always fucking something up!  The next thing I knew, I was laid back on my bed in my room, being wailed on by my mother.  I was kicking, screaming and fighting back.  I had lost my mind.  In comes my father.  He tried talking to me, but he began to hit me too.  And what did I do?  Swing back.  I remember seeing his face as he pinned me down on the bed.  He asked me, "Why do you hate me so much?  Why do you hate me as much as I love you?"  All I could do was lay there and cry.  And he cried with me.  I was so hurt and I hated him so much, yet I couldn't put it into any words that made any sense because I KNEW how much he loved me.  My father adored me.  And knowing that made me hurt even more. 

After that day, things between us would never be the same.  We barely spoke for a long time.  I crawled into a shell that I wouldn't emerge from for years.  He focused more on my brother and mom, who was diagnosed with Scleroderma 2 years prior.  He found a way to deliver telephone directories to make money.  This consumed a lot of his time and gave him something to look forward to.  This became a family event real quick.  He and my Aunt Rachel would load up on pallets of phone books and deliver them until it was too dark to see house numbers.  Of course, after school, we all had to pitch in.  We had to do this twice a year.  This kept the bills paid. 

In 1995, my parents found a house to purchase.  It was a handy man special so it was perfect for my dad.  They bought it in March 1995 and had completed all of the work by April 1996.  March 1995, I turned 16.  That meant I was old enough to get a job and that is exactly what I did.  Between school and my new job, I was rarely home.  I got pregnant in May 1995 and it was my father that realized it and brought it to MY attention.  My mother was furious and until I was honest with her about how it happened, she wanted me out of her house.  The day we came back from the doctor's office with the positive result, I walked outside hurt and sat on the step and cried.  My dad sat down beside me and said, "baby girl, all things happen for a reason and at this moment, we have no idea why this happened.  But, you are my firstborn and I love you.  And I promise you will not have to go through this alone."  My life felt like it was in ruins, but he made me feel like it didn't have to be. 

Two weeks before I was due to have my baby, I had a doctor's appointment.  During an ultrasound, doctors discovered my amniotic fluid level was low and the baby's heart rate was not increasing with activity.  I was told I would be admitted.  But, I was at the hospital alone.  My mom had to go back to her crossing guard post for the afternoon run and my dad was at home.  I called him and in a panic, he told me, "I'll be there.  I have no money, but I'll find some.  If I gotta walk, I'll be there".  And that's just what he did.  He got there around 6pm.  My daddy had walked from West Baltimore City to Downtown Baltimore.  My face lit up when I saw him come in.  He missed the birth of my son because he had gone outside to smoke and sat in the car and fell asleep.  I was so hurt.  He came back with balloons and apologized. 

My dad took care of Deonte while I went to school and work.  He did everything he could to make sure nothing hindered me from finishing school.  And I love him dearly for his dedication to me.  In April 1997, my father was arrested for drunk driving again.  But this time, he received a sentence of 6 months in jail.  He missed my graduation.  Those six months were hard.  My mom's health was failing more and more and it was during phonebook season.  I went to school, worked at McDonald's and delivered phone books with a toddler and young brother.  My dad came home in October and I was so glad to see him!  Between spending time in jail and his doctor telling him he had to quit drinking or he'd die, he then he decided enough was enough. 

In March 1998, I moved out of my parent's home and got my first apartment.  Only then, did my relationship with my father change.  I began to miss him.  His phone calls didn't annoy me anymore.  His rambling didn't matter.  His hugs weren't smelly.  His kisses felt like Daddy's Kisses again.  But, little did I know him not drinking would lead to his health failing.  My dad began to suffer gastrointestinal issues.  He slipped into two comas, one he would not recover from. 

He began to study the bible and became such a nicer person.  When he would try to quit drinking before, he became irritated.  I think this time, he knew in his heart he was done.  He was in and out of the hospital a lot for the last two years of his life.  So much so, I began to take his being discharged for granted.  The last time he was in the hospital was no different.  I remember one week, he'd been in the hospital for two days and Monday he was back at home.  But, by Thursday he had to go back.  I never even knew he was in the hospital the first time.  My mom told me about his fear of dying and again, never gave it a second thought.  Just my dad being melodramatic (because he was alot! LOL).  But, I remember leaving them at Sinai hospital, him in a coma on Friday night.  My mom stayed with him and I told her I'd be back the next day.  In the meantime, I was making plans to go out with my best friend.  I was flying round the beltway to get home and get dressed when my mom called and told me to turn around and come back because "things had taken a turn for the worse".  I remember thinking "how can I be so selfish to be thinking about going out to some club when my dad is in the hospital?"  I flew back and when I was able to see him, because we weren't allowed to before, I was traumatized.  My dad's face looked like someone had blown it up to about twice its normal size.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing, but I just knew he would be okay.

In the middle of the night, he required a blood transfusion and his kidneys had failed completely.  He was then placed on life support.  When I saw him again, he was bleeding from his nose.  I spoke my last words to him because it was then I knew he was gone from us.  As I spoke, I saw blood-tinted tears run down my dad's cheek as I said goodbye.  At 10am, the doctors asked my mom if she wanted to keep him on life support and when she asked me, I could only break down in tears.  I was angry at her for asking me to if I wanted to decide whether or not to let him go.  I told her, "that is God's decision, not ours."  But, she decided enough was enough.  My father passed away in 35 minutes. 

I have lived with the hurt and guilt of not thinking my father's illness was real.  I just knew he'd always be around.  Alcoholism wasn't an "illness"...  Scleroderma was an "illness"!  I was too foolish to realize that slowly he was slipping way from me.  And before I could take off my dancing shoes, he was gone.  And I didn't even get a chance to say I'm sorry.

Gone Too Soon - My Mom's Battle With Scleroderma

When I created this blog, I knew at some point this day would come.  Retelling the story of my two heroes, the loves of my life... my mom and dad.  My mom, Sheila, was born April 24, 1958.  My dad was born January 10, 1953.  She and my dad were married in January 1977.  Along I came 2 years later.  My mother was extraordinary.  I live my life trying to fill her shoes in so many ways, hoping that someday she'll be able to tell me, "Well done".  This is the story of my mom.  My dad deserves his own entry, coming shortly. 

Sadly, the sorrow of someone's life is what becomes their story.  But, it was my mom's sorrow and her strenght through it all that made her story so exemplary.  Most of my younger years were spent on my mother's pant leg.  I was definitely her shadow.  She spent many of my childhood years as either a stay-at-home mom, or working part-time as a crossing guard.  If you knew my mother, you knew she was a strong-minded, yet very selfless woman.  She was a devoted Jehovah's Witness with exemplary and unmovable faith.  And she was a dedicated wife and mother.  She was my mom, friend, coach, confidant, motivator, tutor... everything.  We shared stories, jokes and tears.  I remember comforting my mom during sad times, days when sorrow kept her from being able to do anything besides... cry. 

Our relationship was wonderful for most of my younger life.  She taught me how to be a strong, self-sufficient - not independent - woman.  My mom cleaned houses during the hours she was not working and I accompanied her most of those days.  Learning that hard work is necessary.  Not only did my mom work hard, we played hard too.   Although my parents had very limited income, I remember taking some type of vacation every year.  Be it a trip to Kings Dominion for the weekend or an extended stay in whatever city our District Convention was held.  We did things that became tradition - during the autumn, taking walks to collect leaves to create a "Leaf Walk" collage.  Things that I try to continue with my own baby girl. 

After I was born, my parents were told they could not have anymore children.  Nine years later, my brother made his debut.  Between taking care of my new brother and I, now having to work outside of the home and supporting my father in his attempts to stop drinking, my relationship with my mom became strained.  Not to mention my experience as a teenager was one of the worse experiences of my life.  I wish I was mature enough to apologize to my parents for some of the things I'd put them through as a young person when I had the opportunity.  

After two years of medical testing and observation, in 1991, my mother was diagnosed with Scleroderma.  Her face and hands had begun to swell and tighten and she experienced limited mobility due to Degenerative Disease in her hips.  I had no idea what this all meant, nor what it would entail.  It didn't even seem real to me.  I'm not sure if it was selfishness, lack of interest or immaturity.  I'm hoping it was just a matter of being a child.  That day changed all of our lives in every way imaginable.  My mom was always at a doctor's office because this illness was so new and rare, her treatment was experimental.  Each week, her doctor would videolog her progress, good or bad.  Her medications were experimental as well.  Some days were normal and some days she'd not want to get out of bed.  But, for the most part, she did all she could to be the same old Sheila we all knew and loved. 

I remember the day she decided to tell the family of her illness.  It was a hurtful time for all that received that news.  The prognosis for her type of Scleroderma was a maximum of 10 years.  She, along with two of my other aunts, became the rock that held the family together, spending as much time as possible with one another. 

Her illness was unforgiving and very progressive.  Initially she could not walk for a long period time due to hip joint pain.  Then she began to suffer from intolerance of the cold weather.  She developed ulcers on her fingers that would erupt in the cold weather.  She'd spend nights sleeping upright due to acid reflux disease.  As her skin tightened, she lost pigmentation and the ability to bend her fingers.  Soon, she was not able to write.  This affected her financially and emotionally as well because her income was from being a crossing guard and delivering phone books.  Both of which required her to be active and outdoors. 

This disease began to take over internally.  She suffered from pulmonary hypertension, right-sided heart failure, incontinence and depression.  While struggling to stay alive, she never let it take over her spirit.  She knew there was no way to beat this disease, but she strived to take advantage of each day she was blessed to be alive.  Each time she hit an obstacle, she worked to overcome it or adapt.  By 1999, my mom was wheelchair-bound and on oxygen.  She was placed on the wait list for a new heart-lung.  Time was of the essence because her heart was failing.

On September 8, 2000, I received a call at my job after a doctor's appointment she'd gone to.  She told me that her doctor had advised her to "get her affairs in order" and that she could expect to live through the fall, and at the most to Christmas.  I panicked and fainted.  This is when this disease really became "real" to me.  In a real adult kind of way.  I had to do something.  My mother had been battling back in forth with the Department of Social Services, trying to obtain medical insurance to pay for some of the care and prescriptions she required.  Fortunately, she had an amazing team at Johns Hopkins that allowed her to continue care, paying what she could afford and providing medical samples in lieu of prescriptions.  However, with this new prognosis, something had to happen quickly.

Her doctor informed us that there was an experimental medicine available through intravenous pump that would travel directly into her lungs, easing some of the pressure on her pulmonary arteries and thus relieve her heart.  At $10,000/month, this medication, without medical insurance, was impossible to afford.  After battling social workers for 6 months, I decided to take our concerns to Elijah Cummings.  He was a godsend.  In one week, she was approved for Pharmacy Assistance.  He even followed up to be sure everything was progressing as it should.  With not a moment to waste, my mom was taken to University of Pennsylvania Medical Center to receive her treatment.  After 3 days of responding well, she was discharged. 

This medicine gave my mother her life back.  She was able to pack up her wheelchair and do some of the things she loved.  I cherised every single second of my life I was able to spend by her side.  My marriage began to suffer, but it didn't matter much to me.  Not only did my love for her grow, but so did my admiration for her.  She was so strong, during the good times and bad.  I discovered Loch Raven Reservoir.  Being from West Baltimore, I'd never seen anywhere as naturally beautiful as Loch Raven in Baltimore City.  I had to get my parents there.  One day after work, I picked them up and spent the afternoon with them by the water.  I remember my dad challenging me to a foot race and he still beat me.  We walked, talked and just enjoyed being together. 

My dad's battle with his illness was loss on December 15, 2001.  He had been in and out of the hospital for the prior year and a half battling the affects of his decision to no longer drink.  He was suffering from kidney failure and cirrhosis of the liver.  A week before he passed, my mom told him of a dream she'd had.  In the dream, my late grandmother reached and called out for my father, and my mother struggled and told her, "No, you can't have him!"  Upon hearing this, my father simply replied, "I know I'm next."  Within that week, my dad slipped into a coma and passed away from total kidney failure. 

After my dad passed, what I saw my mom go through, I wouldn't understand until my second marriage.  I couldn't help thinking about how tough thing were between my parents, so many hard times.  The arguing, fighting, stress.  But, none of that compared to the hurt and sadness I saw in my mom after my dad passed away.  I could tell a part of her passed as well.  You hear that all the time, but I could see it.  I kept her close.  I lived across town from her, so I kept her by my side as much as possible.  The last weekend she stayed with me, she made some Chinese food I'll never forget.  I also remember her not wanting to go back home.  I wish I had a plan in place to make her stay permanent. 

Most days, I'd get off from work and got to my moms.  One day, I left work for a lunch break because I felt like I needed to just be near her.  I laid next to her and remember stroking her hand until I fell asleep.  It was the best nap I'd had in a long time.  Later that day, my mom had a breathing attack that she could not overcome.  It wasn't until after her funeral, I noticed her pill container was in a disarray.  It was then she gave up the fight.  She fought long enough to witness that my brother and I would be okay without her. 

My mom survived 11 years with Scleroderma, beating the odds once given her.  I thank God for each day He allowed me to be in her presence and I try to emulate what she was to and for me for my own children.  I hope that I am able to be just as amazing as she was in all that I do and to all whose lives I touch.  Rest in peace Mommy.  I love you.

Yup... I'm a Colored Girl

This weekend was full of festivities for me, something that is becoming more and more uncommon - on purpose.  Saturday my high school took part in one of the country's biggest high school rivalry football games - the 122nd Annual Poly - City game.  With a score of 14-6 there was lots to celebrate.  It was great to see old and new faces, share our children together and just enjoy good times with good people. 



Me and good friend Jeremy spending time at the game

 Sunday was reserved for an outing with the Williams Family ladies to see Tyler Perry's new movie, For Colored Girls.  This movie, originally a stage play named, For Colored Girls Who Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Was Enuf, touched me on so many different levels.  Without giving away the movie for those who have yet to see it, I'll explain how it made me feel. 

The first thing I noticed about this movie was how truly poetic it was.  I have not read the play to compare, but the pieces written were so very colorful and rich.  The very first one felt like a song to the soul as a young girl recounted her first sexual experience.  It took me back to my first and, for a moment, I relived what it felt like to be a teenage girl, in what I thought was madly in love.  To have all of my "desires" fulfilled and anticipate that phone call hours later just to recount what was felt.  The flutters, butterflies, distant smiles and blank stares softened by a memory that still feels like movement.  I felt her love.

Thandie Newton's part was self-realization and uplifting, although her part was very demeaning and destructive.  I saw what my life once was in her.  The shell that we create around ourselves... living with the fear of having to actually undress and stand in front of the mirror and say, "this is me...  And it's ok."

My favorite character was Kimberly Elise.  She played a part that so many black women find themselves in and don't even realize it.  Playing the roll of Superwoman to our black men because we know they need a hero.  Most live their lives, playing a leading role in "The Black Man's Burden".  And like many other sisters, she took on an overwhelming sorrow of another human, which ended up becoming her own. 

My girl Janet did her thing yet again!!!  I am so proud that she has embrace yet another great talent of hers and using it to empower us.  All of her roles have been so meaningful and powerful and this one falls right into place.

Phylicia Rashaad was the anchor of it all.  She reminded me of my aunts.  The rock of any circle of black women.  She dropped so much knowledge and kept it real. 

It was great seeing the lives of women in general in so many colors.  Everyone's experience is different, but every walk of life is an "experience".   If this movie doesn't make you think, cry, wish, celebrate and exhale... you have yet to experience the life of a Colored Girl.

They Tried to Make Me Go To Rehab...

For the past year, I have prided myself on not depending on commercial drugs and harmful substances for health and healing.  However, August of this year, a bulging disc in my back and degenerative joint disease in my hips sent me to an Orthpaedic Specialist.  A visit I'd put off for over a year.  I found out about my issues from an MRI I'd had in 2008, which also showed a "fluid filled sac", which turned out to be my babycakes growing inside of me.  That meant my quest for relief would have to be put on hold. 

My visit to this specialist resulted in cortisone shots in my hips and a prescription for Tramadol (pain killer).  I hate traditional medicine, but I have yet to find a natural cure for a bone and joint issue.  So, I succumbed.   Tramadol worked like a charm.  I was able to shop, work out, and more importantly sleep at night next to my husband instead of the couch.  I was in heaven.

Tramadol works so well because of its ability to increase seratonin and its norepinephrine reuptake affect.  In layman terms, it makes you feel like you're on cloud 9.  Even if you find out your only dog died or you just got fired from your job.  Pure bliss.  Well, for me this was just a bonus effect.  I am currently treating myself  with 5-htp and Vitamin B Complex for Dysthymia, so every little bit helps.  It also increases libido, so my baby has enjoyed the effects as well.  I have been on easy street... until I googled it.  Why did I do that?

Tramadol has been compared to heroine.  And that scared the begeebees out of me.  So, I said "aw hell no!  I'll take something else instead" and I stopped.  And crashed.  Today is Day 2 of my No Tramadol resolution.  My last dose was Wednesday night, 50mg.  Thursday was a hard day for me.  Restless to say the least.  I paced at work.  Ate candy because my mouth had to be moving and felt like I was on speed.  Thursday night was hell.  I tossed all night and slept all day.  I was super congested and felt like the flu was a life threatening illness.  Unfortunately, I gave in tonight and had a dose of 100mg and decided I can't send myself and my family through what withdrawal takes a person through and will continue until I can formulate a withdrawal plan.  Thus far, I know I need an anti-anxiety medication for a calming effect.  I have that on hand.  I will also need cold meds that include Dextromethorphan to counteract the norepinephrine reutpake effect.  And Valerian Root for sleep. 

This has been an experience and a half.  I have just come to grips with the fact that I truly am addicted, or should I say psychologically and physically dependent on this drug.  And although I am not ready nor strong enough to quit cold turkey, I do know that when I emerge from this bondage, I will stick to my guns of natural medicine.  Doctors, FDA and drug companies are legal Kavorkians.  But, I'm not ready to pull the string. 

If you are ever prescribed Tramadol or Ultram (brand name), do yourself a favor and take a Tylenol instead.

My Brother's Keeper

I find myself thinking about my little brother, Norman, quite a lot lately.  Since we've moved to PA, I don't see him or my nephew very often anymore.  Part of me feels guilty for leaving him at a time when I know he needs me the most (early 20s - trying to find his way), but I have to remember that I have a family to raise as well.  On with the story of my brother...

My brother was born at a time of my life when I didn't know how to feel about having to share my attention and space at home.  So, I found myself creating a distant relationship between him and I from the start.  We are 9 years apart.  My mom had began working, albeit part time, but still she was not at home as much anymore.  My dad was doing his own thing, trying to handle no longer being able to work due to his accident.  So, at this time, our household was a little - not necessarily torn - but here and there. 

Soon after Norman was born, we moved into Maine Avenue.  I was 10 at the time and my parents were on the hunt for a house to buy.  So, our move was meant to be temporary.  My parents didn't have money for a mortgage, but they were expecting a settlement from my grandmother's medical malpractice suit.  So, a lot of their time was spent looking for houses.  In the meantime, my brother spent a lot of time with them or with my Aunt who lived upstairs.  She had a son a year younger than Norman and one a few years older.  That left me either home most days.  My cousins had moved into a big house not too far from us, but not real close either.  So, my time spent with them was more limited than I had been used to. 

At the age of 12, I'd learned what solitude felt like and got quite used to it.  My brother and I didn't "play" like normal siblings.  I'm still not sure if it was more the age difference or the resentment.  I just remember him getting me into trouble a lot.  He was bad!  He'd get on my nerves and, of course, I'd yell at him and get into trouble.  It wasn't until my mom caught him terrorizing me and hiding under the dining room table, waiting for my punishment, that she realized it wasn't me causing the ruckus between us.  He got his tail tore up!  Served him right!!

Things really took a nose dive for us 2nd quarter of 9th grade.  I'd brought home a horrible progress report and my mother was digging in me about it.  Well, I didn't like what she had to say.  She walked out of the room and I mumbled, "Bitch" under my breath.  Lord, why did I do that.  Little did I know, Norman was hiding under my bed and crept out of my room to snitch.  That was the longest night of my life.  Sheila told me to take what I had on my back and hit the streets.  She put me out.  Off I went.  Unfortunately, I had nowhere else to run but my best friend's house (I just happened to be dating her older brother - what is a girl to do?).  The next day, my mother met me at the school and we had to get it resolved, but needless to say, this was another scratch in me and my brother's already tattered relationship. 

Finally... I shake my head as I recount this memory.  I had "fallen in love" with Larry Alston.  A DJ I'd met at a graduation party for a family friend.  Larry was the love of my 15 year old life.  He and I secretly dated for about a year, before my parents became aware of it.  Well, things must have gotten way too serious for my parents, so she suggested that the families meet.  Here we go.  We met, was told to end it... end of story.  Heartbroken and feeling like someone gave me a winning lottery ticket and took it away before I could cash it, we agreed and walked outside.  He and I talked, cried, kissed and talked some more.  Later on that night, my mom confronted me about kissing him on the porch.  How in the world could she have known that, I have no idea.  Norman strikes again!! That boy was hiding in a tent that was erected on the porch for a camp-out he'd had the night before.  That was the last straw.

By that point, it was clear my brother and I was not going to get along and I accepted that fact.  We fought, verbally and physically, ALL of the time.  My parents always told us, "You better learn to get along, because soon all you'll have is each other."  That sounded like noise as a teenager.  But, today, it sounded like a prophecy. 

November 2010, Norman is my baby boy.  It took my parents untimely passing away and getting beyond our grief to finally realize that the love we have for one another is one of the only sure things we have in this world we live in.  I regret losing so much time with my brother and wish we grew up loving each other, but I doubt that I'd love him as much as I do now had we not seen the worse side of sibling relationships.  We have hurt each other a lot over the years, but at the age of 31 and 22, none of seems to matter.  I now have a beautiful nephew and although I don't get to see him as much as I would like, Facebook, smartphones and picture mail have been what keeps us side by side despite the 50 miles between us. 

Life teaches us lessons that we don't learn until we realize what hindsight really is.  And looking back, I have learned the importance of cherishing those that are beside you for whatever reason God has placed them there.  Who knew that the little brother that began as a thorn in my side would now be the big-little brother that would always be by my side.  "FOE" (Family Over Everything)

"Undercovers" Under the Covers

It has become a weekly thing for my husband, Dwimoh and I to curl up to watch Undercovers.  I was allured to this show by the magical smile of Boris Kudjoe and I am sure Dwimoh gets a cavity watching his on-screen wife, Gugu Mbathu-Raw.  Interesting name to say the least.  It inspired me to look her up.  She was born in Oxford, England.  Well... there isn't much to read about her.  So... anyway.  This show has left so much to be desired.  I'm thinking I'm gonna see some Mr. & Mrs. Smith action, with prime time TV censorship.  Ha!  This is more like Brown Sugar with a gun and some high-tech CIA gadgets.  The drama totally outweighs the action here.

And what is with the annoying as ever, nerdy sidekick that spends 25% of his on-screen shots brown-nosing on Boris?  This guy looks and acts like that Physics club geek, fresh out of high school, and just lost his virginity behind the curtain at a Star Trek convention.   And don't let me start on Leo...  the dude that obviously used to bang Samantha.  The first 3 episodes, I think I heard him say "I used to sex your wife" about 42 times. 

And a piece of advice to the producers... please either get on with telling fans what is the real reason for these two agents being brought back as agents or let it go.  Anyone watching even one episode knows that there are arterior motives behind their reincarnation.  We are patiently waiting.  :)

Now that I got that off of my chest, I must say it is nice to see a black couple on screen that actually gives a damn about each other and aren't entertaining us with buffoonery or disrespect.  The sincerity is somewhat believable and their willing to compromise is notable.  As much as I complain about the poor substance of this show, I have yet to delete the series from my DVR.  I have high hopes for my Boris, but I don't see me looking for him again next fall.

Growing as a Williams Child

Being born a Williams has always been a privilege for me.  My grandmother had 15 children.  Two of which passed away, one at birth and the other as a young man.  My family is full of strong women.  All of which are very different.  They could all be depended on for their own personal, unique qualities.  My childhood was one that I cherise trememdously.  I grew up amongst cousins that were close in age and others that were older and younger.  We were each other's best friends.  The anchor was always my Aunt Rachel and Maine Avenue.  Maine Avenue was the "Madea" house of our family.  It was the place family could come when they found themselves in a financial bind. Or to get away.  Or doubled as a family reunion location.  Sunday dinners were family reunions.  There were so many of us.  As a child, I tried to write down all those in our family and extended family and I think I quit at 200.  Lord, talk about following God's commission to be fruitful! 

I was surrounded by my 3 cousins... Dominique, Brenda (Bee Bee) and Tyanna.  We are close in age and spent most of our childhood together.  Tyanna was the spoiled one (she was an only child) that had all the toys.  Bee Bee was the baby.  Dominique was the tough one.  And passive all at the same time.  Still is... I don't understand it but it is what makes her so very special.  Dominique and Bee Bee's house was the place to be.  My Aunt Brenda and Uncle Tyrone had 5 kids, so there was always something fun going on there.  Friday was pizza night from Marco Polo's pizza shop up the street.  Dinner was always interesting.  We'd all be packed at the dinner table, some eating on the deep freezer.  Prayer was said with one eye open, because whoever was goofing off during prayer got a swift smack.  LOL!  My cousin Damion was usually the one getting tagged for acting up.

We all attended the same elementary school, Liberty Elementary.  Walking back and forth to school, we looked like a gang.  I will never forget getting bullied by this little punk kid, Derrick Moore in 2nd grade.  He and T'Shona Martin used to kick my butt.  Until one day, I finally got tired of it and told my cousin Damion.  He was in the 5th or 6th grade then.  Needless to say, that was the last day Derrick tried anything.  But, believe it or not, WE got in trouble for it. I was called to the library for a meeting with the principal and I remember her asking, "So, you get your family to fight your battles for you?"  At that young age, that even confused me... Yeah, it deserved a WTF????  I guess our presence was a little threatening.  Strength in numbers is such a true statement.

Every weekend, my family had what would come to be known as "record parties".  These were great!  The adults spent the evenings together singing along with the vinyl records and the kids played upstairs... toys everywhere.  Our queue to come downstairs was when we'd here "Reasons" by Earth, Wind and Fire being played.  This was one we all got in on.  They'd party into the wee hours of the night. 

Family for us was biological and extended.  Anyone who felt like family was considered family.  And still is.  Uncles and Aunts that were married to our family were revered and respected as if they were around since birth.  One of our favorites was Uncle Clois.  He was funny just like the rest of the men in our family.  As I type, I am realizing that the women were strong and serious and the men, all of them, were lighthearted and funny.  It made for great, lasting marriages.  There aren't many women in our family that are married, but at the same time, there aren't many divorces either.  Not that I have seen in my lifetime anyway.  Now that I think about it, I think my divorce may have been one of the first... Wow!  But, that's a whole 'nother blog. 

Fun for us was crabbing and fishing at Fort Smallwood pier.  I will never forget the one trip when I suddenly couldn't find my dad.  We all looked around for him, he was nowhere to be found.  Until finally we looked up and saw that he had swam a few hundred yards out to a tower erected in the water and had climbed up on it.  We spotted him because he was wearing neon colored psychedelic Speedos.  All we could do was laugh and shake our head.  That was Norman for you for sure!  That was a great day, but I remember the night ending so poorly.  I was riding in the car with my dad, Uncle Clois, and cousin Mike.  Of course, out fishing mean drinking beer as well.  Unfortunately, my dad was pulled over 5 blocks from home and was arrested for DUI.  Mike and I had to be driven home by the police.  That was the first time I'd seen with my own eyes the problems my dad was having with DUI.  I cried the whole ride. 

Another family tradition was Rock n Bowl nights.  One of the greatest nights of my childhood was one I spent with my dad.  The earlier part of the evening he took me to see Rick Flair and Lex Luger of the WWF wrestle in a cage match!  We had floor seats, but I was too short to see anything.  Even when he put me on his shoulders.  So, after the intermission, we found some level 100 seats and had a great time!  I'm sure he wished he'd saved his money on those seats.  But, as an adult, I appreciate even more what he did.  Afterwards, we met with family at Shake n Bake bowling alley for Rock n Bowl.  My family was on fire that night!  Shout outs to us by the DJ and everything.  My mom was home, almost ready to deliver my brother.  So, it was just him and I!  And I loved it. 

Just like any other family, we have our flaws, ups and downs.  But, what makes being a Williams a privilege is the unmatchable love and dedication we have always had for one another.  We have always been a strong family and are striving to keep those bonds with future generations.

Let's Catch Up... A Little Bit About Me (1979 - 1989)

Some may not find my life interesting at all... others may print this out and put it right next to their current Omar Tyree novel.  Whatever your position is, I'd love to hear your opinion on some of my journeys, random thoughts, trials, blessings and just plain comments.

First of all... I'm a 31 year old mother of three.  I live that classic, American life that we seem to hear about all the time now.  Married, struggling to make ends meet and waiting for my ship to come in.  Ha ha... well, I'm not looking for any ships, but trying to find my ocean liner right now.  I am on that quest to work for myself.  I have a great job with the government, but this place is a road trip away from home.  Home for me is 2 hours away.  And no, the pay sure isn't good enough to be packing sandwiches just to come to work.  But, it is what it is and it provides meals for the family.  My electrician husband is part of the "working today, laid off tomorrow" crew, so no big financial changes are in store for me just yet... But I'm ready!

I grew up in West Baltimore City with a mom, dad and 9 years later, a brother.  Life for me was up and down and bittersweet.  There were times that were quite happy and enjoyable, and others that made me feel like I was living in a Twilight Zone.  My dad was an alcoholic.  Nuff said... My mom was one of those tough mamas that you just didn't mess with.  No sir... not I.  Well, not until I became a teenager and I started smelling myself.  Ya'll know how that goes. 

I was born in March 1979 after two miscarriages.  I have always been excited to know I was "expected" and not "accepted".  I spent lots of time with my parents in their own special ways.  My mom was a seamstress and a stay-at-home mom.  So, the first few years of my life were spent in the kitchen beating on pots and pans, getting into stuff and begging her to take me outside to ride my bike in 30 degree weather.  My dad worked a lot.  He was in construction and built concrete foundations.  He was also an alcoholic, so time with him was pretty scarce.  Most times, he was not home, but when he was, he and my mom were upset with one another and I ended up being taken with her, wherever, to let off some steam.  But, though few and far between, my memories with my dad were very fond.  When my parents were getting along, they sang and danced, with me in the middle.  Or had family over to play Pinnochle until someone got too drunk and started arguing over a hand.  I loved my dad though.  I remember taking a bike ride with him around the corner to McDonald's one day.  And I was always subject to the "you know you were my firstborn" talks.  I received my last one of those the day he found out I was pregnant with my first son.  They were special, but they seemingly carried a lot of responsibility. 

At the age of 3, my mom became a Jehovah's Witness.  This meant no more Christmas and birthdays.  Not that I remember much of them anyway.  But, what I did remember was being able to go to my Grandma Lois' house to get "After Christmas" gifts... Yeah, I still don't understand that.  But, ok.  I was never close with my Grandma Lois because she was an alcoholic too.  One night we were returning from a "record party" at an aunt's house and I remember having to go pick her up from home because her drinking sent her into a violent fit.  That was my last memory of her, unfortunately.  But, it wouldn't be my last reminder.  My 6th birthday was something special.  My mom was at work and my dad sent me outside to play.  He finally called me in, to find a homemade vanilla cake with chocolate icing and those horrible pink candy letters with Happy Birthday spelled out.  He and our neighbor, Peanut sung Happy Birthday in the worse way.  LOL!  It was absolutely horrible, but I absolutely loved it!  I try to keep those type of small things in mind while I'm raising my own kids. 

I made a friend on my block right away.  My next door neighbor Michelle.  She was my homegirl.  We tried to do everything together.  Michelle lived in one of those homes where the kids raise each other.  Mom on drugs, dad running the streets.  So, she stayed with us as much as possible.  I remember her being sad a lot. She was the first kid I knew of getting beatings with extension cords and stuff.  So, there were plenty of sleepovers going on.  We had simple fun.  Dress up... cheers in the street... sitting on the bottom step giggling at the cute boys.  Michelle had a freedom I never had.  She could go OFF the block.  I wanted to know what that was like so bad.  But, I was never brave enough to try it.  At the age of 10, I moved away and didn't see Michelle again until I was 25.  I saw in church one day and haven't seen her since.  I did get in contact with her younger brother through Facebook, who gave me her number, but I haven't had to courage to call her yet.  Ask me why??  I have no idea. 

One summer day in 1987, my mom, one of my 13 aunts and I got on the subway to go downtown, to what I was told a job interview.  That was all I was told.  When we got inside, I'm seeing babies and pregnant mommies all over the walls and in the chairs everywhere... Job interview?  Yeah right.  Who she fooling?  Let's try this again.  "Mommy why are we here?"  Same answer.  At the point, I had an attitude because I knew I was being lied to.  Not a great feeling that day.  However, when we got home and she gave my dad and I the news of her being pregnant, I forgot all about being upset.  I was pretty excited, I think.  My only memory of my mom's pregnancy was her eating sausage that made her sick.  I just knew I'd never go through that myself - although here I stand, 3 children later!

my dad had a bad accident at work where he fell from a scapel and broke both arms and fractured his skull.  This changed all of our lives.I remember being sent to my aunt's house for a few weeks during the Christmas season that year.  My mom was 6 months pregnant and had been a stay-at-home mom for some time.  There were moments she'd do some temporary office work, but most times I remember her being home.  Until that winter.  My dad was no longer able to work due to injuries and a pending lawsuit.  So, she shipped me off and took to working long hours.  That time period was such a blur to me.  I only remember making a board game with my aunt for a school project.  Sad times seem to be very vivid or non-exisitent in my mind for some reason.

On the afternoon of April 13, 1998, my aunt came to pick me and my other cousins up from school early that day. I was told because my mom was having the baby.  Now that I think about it, I have no idea why that warrented an early dismissal, but hey... whatever.  I'll take it.  We went to see him in the hospital and I don't remember having any great feelings of revelation at all.  Norman was born and I had to spend more time away from home, because he contracted Measles.  When I was finally able to return, I became the big sister!  This meant babysitting.  At 9.  I remember a lot of weekend days having to sit on my mother's bed and watch TV with him while my parents left to do whatever they needed to do.  I still didn't know how to feel about this new person being around. 

One night I was sleeping in my parent's bed and I remember hearing them arguing in the bathroom.  After listening for a few minutes, I realized my father had been selling and using drugs.  So, with the new baby, new injury, new drug habit, old drinking habit and strain of it all... my mom packed us up, left my dad and moved out of our house.  We moved into an apartment in my Aunt's big family house to be known as Maine Avenue.  But, Norman ended up sleeping on our porch until my mother would take him back.  Crazy Daddy.