Beautiful Otherness

by Shirley Simmons

  I recall an incident several years ago at a Walmart. A child was having a tantrum in the store with his mother. He was out of control. After several unsuccessful attempts to gain control of the child, the mother spanked him in the store. Once the spanking ended, the child’s tantrum stopped, and they finished their shopping. But not before she gave him that other prominent often heard warning, “Wait ‘til I tell your dad,” which usually meant bigger problems for you. The child’s father spanked him again at the car. The entire incident had been witnessed by several people, but one person filmed it and called the cops.

  The local news got the story along with the video footage and it became a major story. White people lost their minds; it was insane. The parents were arrested, and I am sure the Department of Children and Families got involved.

  Most black people were confused. They did not see any problem with the public discipline. To them, it was like that parent was saying, “I’m going to get your butt in this here Walmart parking lot while you’re a child so that you’re not on a dash cam video later getting beat by the police.”

  So, go get me a switch….

  ____

  Thinking back on my life and losing my Papa at such an early age made me think about what I missed by not having a father around to help raise me, teach me how to be treated as a woman, and discipline me so that I didn’t go astray in life. Would my life be any different had Papa Earl still been around for the later parts of my life? I guess I’ll never know. But it does make me think about how I was raised versus what I see in today’s society.

  After my father died, it took a while before my mom and I adjusted to not having him with us. But slowly we began to build the life that we wanted. I know raising me on her own was not easy, but she never complained. She simply found a solution for whatever we faced. Surprisingly, never once did she say she was a single parent; she always included my father as if he was still there parenting even after his passing.

  Most of the other kids were being told, “Wait ‘til your dad gets home,” or some other threat about their dad. I, on the other hand, constantly heard, “What would your father think, Kennedy? Would your father approve, Kennedy?” Her courage was incredible.

  My mom had a home built for us on the other side of town. I often wondered if my father’s death in the other house was something she was trying to escape, as though it was a continuous reminder of his heart attack. I would sometimes see her hiding her tears when we lived there. It seemed everything reminded her of him.

  Once we moved, things began to improve; we had a new home and began a new life. Not only did our lives improve emotionally but financially as well. My mother developed an entrepreneurial spirit, probably out of a lack of something else to do, like taking care of her husband. I’m sure she only did it to keep herself active and occupied so that she wouldn’t focus on Papa’s death. She opened a home health care services agency. It was an opportunity that arose when some of her elderly friends who were blind began to need help with their daily living. It was not long before she had a staff, and I could see that light of joy returning to my mother.

  Shortly after the success of her health care agency, she opened a cleaning service for private families. Thinking about it, all my mother’s business ventures were things she was already doing. One day she simply got smart and turned her passion into licensed businesses.

  My mother was a fifth-grade dropout from a small town in Louisiana, but what she lacked in formal education she made up for in the study of faith, human behavior and life. She managed those businesses with the rule of integrity; she concentrated on treating people with respect. With the success of the business, the rental of our first home and my father’s retirement pension, money was never an issue for us.

  I loved my new home and new neighborhood. It was like moving to a new city. Our new neighbors were a large family. I loved spending time with them even though the parents were big on discipline. There was a vast difference between their parenting style and my mom’s. I got away with everything (within reason), but if the neighbor’s kids did anything wrong, they were met with the belt. Bad grades - go get the belt! Come in the house and not speak - go get the belt! I was shocked at the number of rules they had to obey and the discipline that followed if they stepped out of line.

  “Don’t make me get that ass,” their father would always say. I was terrified of him; yet for some odd reason I loved being at their home regardless of how terrifying I found their father. Their mother, on the other hand, was a very sweet lady. She was the kind of lady who would hold you and console you when you fell off your bike and scraped your knee. If the other kids made fun of you or were too harsh to you, she would come up with something to make you feel better, like a home-baked cookie or a piece of licorice. When all else failed, she would present a cup of hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows and whipped cream. (I confess I sometimes shed crocodile tears a little longer hoping to get that antidote, and I suspect she knew my ploy all along.) And she was the best cook in town. That alone was enough to make you keep showing up.

  In my younger years, we would stay out all day playing. We would smell like outside or be covered in dirt, yet she would always make us stop and take a break for lunch or dinner. Sometimes it would be both. And it would not be a sandwich or something simple; it would be fried chicken, pork chops, rice, and gravy.

  In middle school we would go to the football or basketball games every Friday, or we would go to other community events like the annual fair at the church. On Sundays, we went to church without fail. Their church was a much larger church than my mother’s sanctified church. There were lots of kids my age there and the church had fun activities for the kids. The church would take us skating in the big city, to water parks and the beach. We had so much fun. It was nothing like sitting on the back row shaking a tambourine at my mom’s church.

  During middle school, I quickly learned that I was the only one in my group participating in activities. I had begun to travel all over the county participating in parades and performing in local shows. After finding something that I genuinely enjoyed, I began to shed some of my mischievous behaviors.

  This was a blessing to my mother because throughout elementary school I had behavioral issues. Not the kind that required medication or the need to be placed in a special class. I just did not like following rules, or I just did things to get a reaction, like standing at my desk instead of sitting in it to do my work. I would stand there the whole day. Who knew that I was simply ahead of my time since that’s a thing now—ergonomic workstations--people working at their desk while standing?

  Much of it stemmed from losing Papa, but I did wonder if it was in my DNA. I was assigned a behavior coach to help teach me problem solving the correct way. We met after school for an hour twice a week. She gave my mom assignments that were designed to help me stay focused, but after a while she told my mom that she needed to punish me. She didn’t say how, but she said I should be made to accept the consequences of my actions, that my mom needed to set clear boundaries with penalties for breaking them.

  However, my mom was extremely optimistic when it came to me. Through it all, she never gave up on me, she was very patient. She had made a promise to my biological mother, Kim, and she was determined to keep it. She had also vowed to make sure I knew Kim’s children from her husband, Edward. My mother had kept in touch with Edward after Kim’s funeral. She would check on him from time to time.

  After Kim passed, Edward had raised my siblings with the help of one of their aunts, but he never fully recovered from Kim’s death; a part of him died with her. Edward nearly lost everything after her passing, including his children. The house which they now lived in was a loving home, but they did not have much money. Seven people lived in a small three-bedroom house, and both Edward and their aunt worked all the time to support those kids. They did their best with limited resources and skills. Mary sent Edward money from time to time to help, and my sister and brothers never complained
about their circumstances. Having each other was more than enough.

  Every other year, my mother would arrange for them to spend the summer with us. I loved it when they came to visit. We used to have this huge canopy oak tree in our front yard. It was the spot where all the kids from the neighborhood came to hang out. Maybe it was because of the swing that hung from one of the branches, but it was the spot to be. My sister and brothers loved that swing; we would spend the whole day laughing and playing under it, taking turns swinging and pushing. We would see who could go the highest, then we would launch ourselves from it to see how far we could fly. It was like our very own summer camp.

  Mom would make lunch for every kid playing under that tree - sandwiches and chips - but our favorites were the ice cream and the watermelon. And we could always count on my brother, Jonny, to have watermelon juice all over his face and a shirt that was soaking wet when he finished. The days that we did not have ice cream or watermelon, we would hope and pray that the ice cream man would come by. The days that he did not come, we would walk to the store and buy candy. I remember walking to that store two or three times a day.

  By the time we reached middle school age, all the girls had a crush on Eric, my older brother. Eric could really dance, and the other girls ate it up. He would dance and skate with them at the skating rink then he would be off to battle someone in a dance contest. At one point, people from all the surrounding cities would come to battle him.

  I cherished the summers they came because I was the only kid from the neighborhood who was an only child, everyone else had a brother or sister, and it was my turn to finally say “my brother” or “my sister.”

  When they visited, I was always on my best behavior. I did not want them to see me as a bad kid, a spoiled child who had more things than they did. I was kind and considerate to them because my mother made sure I understood how differently they were growing up than I was.

  Mary was a woman of strong faith who believed deeply in God. She prayed for me while I was in my mother’s womb and I believe that God covered me in the blood of Jesus, and a covenant of an anointing was placed on my life. She shared with me one of the prayers she prayed while I was in Kim’s womb.

  “Dear God, I thank you for this beautiful child. May she grow up covered by your hedge of protection. Keep her from harm’s way and grant her peace all the days of her life.”

  She prayed for me before she officially became my mom and throughout her entire life.

  My mom had some prominent friends, and she would always get advice from them and try creative ways for me to become successful at controlling my behavior. I was placed in almost every activity or sport there was. There were swimming lessons, soccer, basketball, dance, baton twirling, and piano lessons. I was active in anything that she believed would help me curtail my sometimes erratic and irresponsible behavior. All her hard work and efforts were starting to pay off as witnessed by my better behavior and my interest in safe healthy activities.

  I rarely told her anymore about the comments that continued to occasionally come my way. “Your father is a murderer.” For me, participating in these activities helped curtail my need to lash out and redirected any thoughts of Phillip away from me.

  It was not until Mary found dance and baton twirling that things really began to change dramatically for me. I must admit, I was pretty good at both. I could sense the movement of the baton as I heaved it into the air and envision where I wanted it to go, the exact impact it would make when it hit my hand coming down; I could somehow exaggerate every dance move, sometimes feeling like a bird in flight, just like the birds I used to watch out my window when I was a child. I remember thinking back then that if I could only decipher their song, I, too, would be able to fly. It was a very fanciful and naïve thought, but here I was, sailing across the dancefloor, coming up with my own routines, and feeling stronger and more confident than I ever had before. I was so good that I knew I wanted to be in the marching band when I got to high school. My goal was to become a majorette.

  HAPPY BY DEFAULT

  Band had made a difference in my behavior. I began to care more about my academics and the way I treated people, probably because I was treated better because of my position in the band. Or at least that’s how I felt. I guess you can say I was finally starting to grow up, but I still had moments of acting like a spoiled brat.

  Halfway through middle school I noticed that some of my friends were getting boyfriends or they were starting to take interest in boys. But I noticed none of the boys liked me nor did I like any of them. I think I was too skinny and much smaller than all my friends.

  All the girls were developing faster than I was, but at the time I was simply happy with wearing the best clothing and having much more than everyone else. I was on an ego trip for sure, but it really didn’t matter that some boy did not like me because I had dance recitals and baton competitions that took a lot of my time.

  At the time, I did not mind being the only girl without a boyfriend. But what I did mind was what my friends were saying. They would say the girls with the biggest breasts would get the most guys. There I was, a skinny kid with no breasts, and self-conscious about my body. Little did I realize at the time that all that dancing would develop me into a very attractive lady.

  Something I did notice was that the boys talking to my friends were not in middle school; they were in high school. This did not make sense to me, neither did I understand how they kept contact with these older guys because they did not go to school with us nor did they ride the bus with us.

  Other than my neighbors, most of my middle school friends lived in an apartment complex, so they had the opportunity to see and meet all types of people. One day, my neighbor explained how it all worked. The guys would have a conversation with them and tell them how pretty they were, then they would begin to write letters to one another, and it wouldn’t be long before the girl became crazy about the boy, mistaking lust for love on his part.

  One time, my friend was talking about what a great kisser a particular guy was. I did not want to believe that she was sneaking away kissing an older guy. A few weeks later, she announced that she was not a virgin anymore. Shortly after, I noticed that she no longer liked that guy but had a new boyfriend.

  I also had another friend who lived in the same apartment complex. The same guy that had sex with my first friend also liked this other friend. Months later, the same guy pulled the same trick on another one of our friends. She wanted to have sex with him for the first time, too. Well, this same guy had sex with four of my friends within the space of six months.

  The crazy part was they all would talk about it like it was nothing. I thought that was the stupidest thing ever and questioned how these girls could be so dumb. I already knew that I would not fall victim to a guy like that, the way my friends had.

  One day I went to visit them in the apartment complex And there he was--the guy who took the virginity of my four friends. As I was walking on the sidewalk in his direction, he smiled as I approached. I was already known as a brat, and there was the “her daddy is a killer” reputation I had in the neighborhood. So, I knew he was simply out to prove a point or make a name for himself at my expense.

  As I walked by him, I rolled my eyes and put my nose in the air. I whispered, “Jerk!” under my breath just loud enough for him to hear it, hoping to make him feel ashamed of what he had done.

  As I got closer, he said, “Kennedy, you think you’re all that. You are no different than these other lil hoes around here.”

  He tried to get up in my face and I sidestepped him. Without hesitation I grabbed a rock from the ground and threw it, striking him in the center of his forehead. I ran away fast, and I turned to see him stumbling around and cursing. But I did not care, nor did I care what anyone else had to say about it either. I just continued walking to my friends’ apartments with a smirk of satisfaction on my face.

  “I am all that and more,” I said to myself, smiling.


  After that day, I realized that it was better for me to spend more time with my neighbors and stay clear of the apartments. The neighbors’ conversations revolved around more diverse topics than just sex and guys. They were in high school and I was younger, but they still took me under their wings. They taught me how the neighborhood worked, who to avoid, and to never take crap from anyone. Even when their parents divorced and they moved to another house six blocks away, I would go to their house almost every day. I was like family to them at that point and they to me.

  Their new house was in a larger subdivision and when I went over to visit them, it did not take long before I was introduced to more people from their new neighborhood. Everybody knew each other, and we would walk everywhere together. More people were added into our circle and that is when I met Rodney.

  Rodney was comical--a nice guy who was also known for telling great stories that kept us laughing. He would keep us amused for hours with his stories. We knew most of them were highly embellished tales, maybe even outright lies, but they were entertaining, nonetheless. Over the summer break, Rodney and I built a friendship that, over time, developed into having stronger, more romantic feelings for each.

  We would spend time together all day long, laughing and talking with each other during the summer months. He would offer to buy candy and snacks during the day. However, money did not mean much to me. I always had everything, so I looked at it as a kind and gentlemanly gesture. We would catch the bus to the big city to do our school shopping. I did not want my mom taking us and neither one of us was old enough to drive. Not everyone had the opportunity to shop in the big city for school clothes. However, every year my mother and I traveled to Orlando to shop. And I would not have it any other way.