Country Born, City Raised

Transistioning

Our house sat on the corner of one of the busiest streets in the city. Everything happened on that corner. Our first week there we saw two chics fighting in the middle of traffic. Cars were honking while these two girls fight til their clothes were all over the street. Crackheads would fight in front of the house. Mainly because the guy wanted to smoke all the rock and the crackhead girlfriend is the one who made the money sucking off some desperate guy in the alley or wherever. She runs the money to her boyfriend and he buys the rock and then tries to smoke it all. Soon as the girl starts to bitch about not getting a hit, she gets a slap in the mouth and probably closed fists. Now she sits quiet no high and no teeth. There was always a car accident on our corner. I even saw one accident where the car flipped an the little girl was thrown from the windows of the mini van. Luckily, she survived. We didn't know anyone in the neighborhood and since we were older now and Tip was filling out past her age, she made us play in the backyard. Now here we are 13 and 15 years old and couldn't play with any of the kids in the block because most of them were boys. Tip and I were both tomboys. Moreso me than her. I love basketball. Football was ok but I wasn't into it that much. We would walk to the end of the fenced in yard and watch the other kids play tag. Sometimes they would come and talk to us but not much. I mean, who could blame them. I wouldnt spend my time outside talking and not having fun. Even though we did t want to see them go, we understood. Every now and again Mama would let is play outside to play with the neighborhood kids. It was the best feeling ever to not be locked in that gate but of course there were restrictions:

1. No further than halfway down the block
2. Can't go on anybody's porch
3. Dont ask to go anywhere.

Those things weren't to hard until everyone gathers on someone porch and we are down on the sidewalk looking crazy. Our friends would laugh at us but they just didn't understand how good they had it. The last thing I wanna see is a six foot woman standing over my less than 100 pound body beating the life outta me. One thing about Mama regardless of whatever she did, she kept a religious faith. We had been to many churches around the city just visiting and enjoying the teachings of God. Sometimes we got out early but most times the sermon would last 2 hours. I dont think anyone wants to feel Mama pinch your arm for going to sleep in Church. She would grab your skin between her two fingers then twist the skin. It always left a bruise and she would dare you to cry. If she even saw a tear roll down your face, she threatened to take you to the restroom and pull your dress up and tear your ass up. I never got to the bathroom stage but I've had many bruises on my arms and legs from the super pinch. Since we were in a new neighborhood, Mama decided we would try the church up the block. It was a little store front church about 2 blocks away. As we walked in, Tip and I both got the whiff of old people and lysol. As we opened the doors to the worship area, all 12 people turned around to see who we were. Everyone was all smiles with the exception of a few people. One of the girls was the girl who got beat up in the street when we first moved in the neighborhood. Mama being so tall and model type didnt go over so well with the older folk, especially the women. The men seemed to welcome Mama with open arms. The Reverend was really nice. Even though he couldn't hear that well, he was very aware of everything that went on. As the Reverend dismissed church, he approached Mama and extended his open arms to her. He told Mama that if she needed anything, to just let him know. Mama explained that she didnt have a job or a car, so even after joining the church she would miss a lot of days during the winter because of transportation. The next Sunday we came to church, the Reverend had bought a 15 passenger van for the church and asked Mama to be the driver. Plus she would be able to keep the van during the week for transportation if needed. If she needed gas money, the Reverend said to just call him. He also gave her the job of cleaning the church each week with pay. That meant wiping down pews but there were none, vacuuming, and cleaning the communion cups and service. The pay wasn't much but it definitely made a difference. The first lady did everything in her power to get the Reverend to change his mind but he was determined to help Mama. We would be everywhere in the van. Mama even got so brave as to pick up people from the bus stop and give them a ride for their bus fair. Mostly senior citizens and kids. She even used to pick up her friends and they would ride around the city. She would always pick her friend John. She met him when we first moved to the city. He lived in our apartment building. John was an old man but very nice. His hair was combed up into a style that was similar to cat ears. I dont know why but that's how he wore it. His wardrobe was stuck in the seventies. He wore leather coats with butterfly collars, his shirt was buttoned up just far enough to expose his chest hair and gold chain, polyester bell bottoms and dress shoes with a switch that will make the most feminine of women mad as hell. He was openly gay and didn't care who knew it. Mama would pick him and couple of other friends up and head to the park. After they finished drinking smoking and shooting the breeze, everyone would pile back in the van and Mama would drop them off. She even let me get my first taste of driving in the van. I floored it, not stopping for anything. Needless to say, I never got to drive again. She would park the van in the backyard until it was time for another adventure or church; which ever came first. On Sundays, we only had a few members to pick up on Sunday. Most of the members were related to the first lady and Pastor they were already biased against letting Mama be the van driver. We were very active members in the church even though there were ok only about 12 members. We even participated in the Christmas nativity program in which Mama was singing so loud that she mistakenly sung the wrong words. Even though everyone heard her, the show went on. Mama was very deeply religious. My grandma was a preacher so the bible was a book that was inbeaded in her mind. It was this point the pastor decided that Mama should go to classes and become a lay reader or lay preacher. All I could do was pray for us all. She attended her classes regularly and the Reverend made sure she had all the books and supplies she needed. After 8 weeks of school it was time for Mama to deliver her first sermon to church. She invited her friend Mary to hear her. Mary was 'Uncle Sherman's' baby mama. He wasn't our real uncle, just a good friend of Mamas that we had known for quite sometime. She and Mama became really close. She supported Mama with whatever it was and if she felt like what was going on was wrong, she spoke up. Other than that she was very quiet, laid back, and cool. She sat Deon on her lap while Mama took the podium. Deon began to go through Mamas purse which was seated next to Mary. A few minutes later, you saw Mary bending down to pick up Mamas weed that Deon had threw on the floor out of her purse. Luckily no one else saw it, but me and Tip of course. We laughed so hard. As Mama cut her eyes over to check on Deon and she saw Mary picking the weed up off the floor. She kept speaking but her eyes got real big. Before she knew it, she had done let a cuss word come out in her sermon. Everyone's eyes got big and some even put their hands over their mouths. Mama just kept on going as if she hadn't said anything. At the end of her sermon, the congregation stood up and applauded really loudly. Mama was in tears. After church, the Reverend handed Mama an envelope and patted her on the back for a job well done. When we got home and she opened the envelope, there was 75 dollars in it. That was the offering that was taken up in her honor. She was able to speak a couple more times before the first lady started to complain.