Copyright
Some names and identifying characteristics have been changed.
Copyright © 2018 by Joy Thomas Moore
Foreword copyright © 2018 by Wes Moore
Cover design by Lisa Forde. Cover image © blackred, Getty Images.
Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Moore, Joy Thomas, 1950- author.
Title: The power of presence : be a voice in your child’s ear even when you’re not with them / Joy Thomas Moore ; foreword by Wes Moore.
Description: First Edition. | New York : Grand Central Life & Style, [2018] | Includes bibliographical references.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018003719| ISBN 9781538743805 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781478921363 (audio download) | ISBN 9781538743812 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Parenting. | Self-presentation. | Influence (Psychology)
Classification: LCC HQ755.8 .M6336 2018 | DDC 649/.1—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018003719
ISBNs: 978-1-5387-4380-5 (hardcover), 978-1-5387-4381-2 (ebook)
E3-20180730-JV-NF
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Foreword by Wes Moore
Introduction
I. Presence of Mind
II. Presence of Heart
III. Presence of Faith
IV. Presence of Courage
V. Presence of Resources
VI. Presence of Connectedness
VII. Presence of Values
Conclusion
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Reading Group Guide
Bibliography
Newsletters
To Mom, my original lioness, who taught me the journey to true presence is achievable with or without a partner
To Michael, Holley, Noelle, Earl, Bryce, Alexander, Marcus, Tenai, and Elijah, whose bright futures are dazzling
And to Nikki, Shani, Jamaar, Wes, Dawn, Mia, and Jaime, who prove every day that the power of presence is its ability to ultimately provide a lifetime of joy
Foreword
“I really wish your mom would write a book.”
Ever since The Other Wes Moore was published in 2010, I have had the privilege to travel all over the country and the world, sharing the stories of these two boys, their journeys into manhood, and what I hoped the world would take away from my book. At many of the talks or gatherings I led, I would have question-and-answer sessions. At these sessions, questions about my mom were omnipresent: how she felt about her journey, what she learned, what advice she would give. Those questions were constants. And the truth is that when those questions came to me, unable to speak for her, I left the answers bare. It was not just that I didn’t feel comfortable answering for her. I didn’t know the answers.
The love I have for my mother cannot be explained simply by words, cannot be contained in a foreword. I believe my little sister said it best when she once said, “Our mother wore sweaters so we could wear coats.” This is a woman who sacrificed everything she had and everything she was for her kids because she knew she was all we had. She watched her soul mate die in front of her, and the thing that kept her together after that was her faith in God and her faith in her children. We, my sisters and I, are the direct products of her love, commitment, and undying faithfulness to God and to us.
I watched her struggle and sacrifice. I watched her need, but never want. I watched her strive for perfection—and even the times when she fell short, it was never from a lack of effort. I also watched her cringe as the conversation around single parents continued to evolve and devolve in this country.
So as my mom writes this book, my pride in who she is and what she stands for only grows. This book is not just a response to the questions I received from countless people about my mom. It’s a call to action about a larger dynamic in our society. The truth is, my mother is not alone: Half of all children are growing up in single-parent households. If you happen to be a child of color, the number is even higher. And we have noticed a correlation and a causal relationship between single parents—single moms and single dads—and poverty. The point of this book is not to question the stats, it’s to question the context and the takeaways from these dynamics.
The parents who for whatever reason are raising their children on their own have been demonized. They have been told their choices are the reasons for societal ills and manifestations of a lack of responsibility or concern. We have been taught to point fingers at them instead of lifting our hands to support them. We have been served the “welfare queen” line as a prevailing narrative, instead of calling that offering what is it, a hateful misrepresentation.
This book is a celebration of resilience, an homage to the fact that single mothers are not our nation’s burden, but our nation’s backbone. Instead of preaching to them, we need to be learning from them. And hearing their voices as our national consciousness, in many cases, lies in their words. And in their prayers for their children.
In Mom’s words, and in the lives she shares in this book, I see hope. I see unexpected victory. I see the best of us, dressed in struggle. Worn. Tired. Victorious.
The greatest human gift God gave me was one I did not earn, nor one I asked for. The greatest gift was that He asked Joy Thomas Moore to give birth to me. My uneven and complicated journey was steadied by those beautiful Jamaican hands and the woman who was willing to give it all for her children. That reality I will never forget nor understate. But I know she did not do it alone. She could not have. The people who surrounded her, and surrounded us, when we needed it most, helped us through. The goal of this book is to ensure that our story, which in essence is laced with luck, doesn’t have to feel exceptional. Nor should the celebration of this book’s author feel exclusionary; my hope is that it is trendsetting.
Maya Angelou once said, “To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power. Or the climbing, falling colors of a rainbow.” Our parents are our force field, and our external immune systems: the ones who keep outside forces and illnesses from permanently derailing us and keep small challenges from becoming ending ones. They are our lions and lionesses, the ones who tend to their pride diligently, with a sole focus on protection. They are our air traffic controllers, whose counsel gives us an ability to understand when potential complications are ahead and how to navigate through the turbulence. They are our daily
reminders of God’s love.
Thank you, Mom, for all you have given Nikki, Shani, and me. And thank you, through your example and through this book, for making me a better parent to your grandkids.
Wes Moore
February 2018
Introduction
Out of Sight, Ever Present
Draped with an old-fashioned checkered plastic tablecloth and mismatched plates and utensils, our kitchen table in the parsonage of my dad’s church in the South Bronx of New York City was family-central for my brother Ralph, who was ten years old, my little brother Howard, who was sitting in his high chair, my mom, my dad, and me. We joined hands. You could always tell when my dad was hungry by the length of the grace before eating. That night he was hungry. I was nine and full of new experiences and questions as a third grader. As we started to eat, I blurted out a question about a word I had seen written on the bathroom wall at school. In polite company, one might say “Sugar, Honey, Ice, Tea,” but—not being aware of what’s acceptable at the dinner table—I said the full unadulterated word in all its glory. Well, I still remember the look of shock on the faces of my mom and dad. Sensing I’d said something dreadfully wrong, I darted my eyes to Ralph, who looked amused that I might be heading for a spanking for saying such a forbidden word.
But instead of a spanking, and its painful aftermath, which would have come and gone, I received a lifelong lesson that I carry to this day. My parents looked at each other, and my mom very calmly said, “Have you ever heard your father or me say that word?” I confidently shook my head no. “Well,” she continued, “if you haven’t heard us say it, you shouldn’t, either.” Those words became the voice in my ear from that point on, because they provided me a guidepost to follow, even in my parents’ absence.
In many ways, that experience helped me formulate a very important piece of my own parenting puzzle. In the same way that I looked to my parents for indelible markers, even in their absence, I promised myself that I would provide the same kind of out-of-sight guidance to my own children. And any partner in my parenting journey would have to feel the same way. We would have to back each other up, as the glances between my parents did that night at dinner. They were a team, and I was determined that one day I would be equipped to provide that kind of united front for my own children.
My parenting journey, however, turned out to have a very different trajectory. Through choice and circumstance, I would eventually carry the title “single mother.”
The Pride and the Prejudice
I never imagined myself as a single mother. In addition to my parents, just about all my relatives and friends lived with both parents. So when I became a single mom, at first I thought I was heading into uncharted waters. But eventually I realized all the lessons my parents had passed on to me growing up had unknowingly helped prepare me for whatever my marital status would be. Their words of encouragement, their advice, and the survival skills they passed through my ears and into my heart proved to sustain me during my toughest challenges.
Probably first and foremost of their lessons on resiliency was not allowing society’s expectations—in this case, of single motherhood—to define me as a liability. I thought back to how my parents had helped build community and a sense of family for anyone who needed comfort or assistance. They provided a presence for people in need, throughout the community or within our extended family. When someone had my parents’ ear, they knew they also had their heart so they need never feel alone. In writing this book, I began embracing this presence of family and community taught to me by my parents and modeled in the animal world. I thought about how lionesses live in groups called prides—the only cats to do so—and how they help raise each other’s cubs, share their food, and provide protection when threatened by outside forces. I realized that like a lioness, I too relied on a pride. I became determined that our family would not only survive but also thrive because I would somehow re-create the kind of community I grew up in and become the ever-vigilant, ever-present voice in the ear for my own children.
The obvious challenge for me and other single mothers is that we don’t have a parenting partner with whom to share impressions or discuss options, never mind pick up the slack when children have conflicting schedules. We often have to work multiple jobs because we don’t have a fellow wage-earner in the home. I like to think that these adversities increase the need for us to be stronger, wiser, and more resilient.
But unfortunately, what with being head of household, financial gatekeeper, social activities director, moral compass, maid, nurse, therapist, schoolteacher, and philosopher, all while fighting misguided public policy and the feeling of being crushed beneath the weight of stress and anxiety, sometimes it can feel like we are the butt of a sick, cruel joke. More times than not, we may feel less capable, less competent, and less deserving than other women of reaping the rewards life has to offer. The concern that lives right beneath the surface and never ceases to buzz us with fear and overwhelm is, “Are the kids okay? Am I enough? Is there enough?”
I know because I’ve been there—and yes, there is enough, and I took advantage of any and all opportunities presented before our family to make sure I was enough. Throughout the years, I built on the lessons I had learned as a child to be as present a parent as possible. But whatever measure of success I achieved in my parenting, I also know there are many more examples of single-mother households that are rarely celebrated or consulted to give inspiration, parenting tips, or advice. There is a deep untapped well of knowledge in single-parent families that can benefit and inspire two-parent families, grandparents, mentors—all caregivers in the lives of children. I hope this realization begins with this book.
My Journey to the Present
I’ve been a single mom three times: twice by choice and once by tragedy. The first time, I left a deeply troubled, increasingly violent marriage, uprooted my two-year-old daughter, Nikki, and moved into a friend’s basement furnished with only a twin-size bed and a portable crib. It was two weeks before Christmas. I brought along a bag for me and one filled with diapers and a week’s worth of cold-weather clothes for Nikki.
The second time, single motherhood came in an instant. My second husband, William Westley Moore Jr., died suddenly after only five years of a blissful marriage, leaving me alone to raise Nikki; our three-and-a-half-year-old son, Wes; and our twenty-month-old daughter, Shani.
After the ER doctors admitted flatly, “There was nothing more we could do. He’s gone,” and sent me off with their condolences, I had yet again become a single mother.
My husband’s death shook me so deeply that I wondered how my family would survive. Day by day, the enormity of suddenly becoming a single mother of three rose up like a flood. I couldn’t even see straight, let alone remain steadfast in the present, as a lioness does, when I returned from the hospital a widow. Even in those moments when I was physically with my children, I couldn’t stop worrying about their future. All the details associated with a sudden death, plus the everyday responsibilities like paying bills and taking out the trash, were pulling me in every direction. I could only see the have-nots of our situation.
The third time I married when the kids were teenagers, and I wanted to model a traditional two-parent family for them. He was a good man, a family friend whom I thought a safe alternative to single motherhood. But I soon learned that marrying for the wrong reasons never goes well, and I ended a union that was loveless and frustrating and turning me into someone I didn’t want to be.
My children all had challenging moments, from academic problems to alcohol use to run-ins with the police. I faced the everyday, ordinary challenges so many single mothers face: from daycare issues to lack of male role models to, at times, extreme financial anxiety.
Despite all my mistakes and the obstacles placed in front of me, particularly as a black, single mother of three, my children’s lives were filled with many more opportunities than my frightened mind could have imagined. It took me a while to notic
e them, to press the pause button on all the noise in order to assess the world around me, but when I did, I took advantage of as many opportunities as I could. Thankfully, all three of my children emerged strong, successful, and, most important, good people. Nikki channeled her creativity and keen attention to detail into founding a thriving event-planning business; Wes is a Rhodes Scholar, White House Fellow, president and CEO of the Robin Hood Foundation, and author; Shani graduated from Princeton and UC Berkeley before earning her law degree at Stanford and becoming an independent television screenwriter and legal and business executive at NBCUniversal.
When my son was grown, he retold the story of his father’s death in his instant New York Times bestselling book The Other Wes Moore. He was critically acclaimed for his examination of, as he describes, “The story of two boys living in Baltimore with similar histories and an identical name: Wes Moore. One of us is free and has experienced things that he never even knew to dream about as a kid. The other will spend every day until his death behind bars for an armed robbery that left a police officer and father of five dead. The chilling truth is that his story could have been mine. The tragedy is my life could have been his.”
As Wes traveled around the country raising awareness through his juxtaposition of his fate and the fate of the other Wes Moore, he encountered one recurring question that seemed to burn in the minds of the parents in the crowds:
“What did your mother do right?”
Soon the answer to that question, “What did your mother do,” became like a Holy Grail mothers in the audience went in search of—the elixir for creating successful children, as if there is such a thing. And this question resounded despite my son’s efforts to underscore the extreme social injustices that exist in our country that keep segments of the population trapped in a whirlpool of poverty. These mothers were desperate for just one thing—to get it “right.”
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