Mother

We love to read about other people if the story is compelling and interesting. I am a husband, father, and writer. I am also a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My faith is the cornerstone of my identity as a human and the subject of what makes me... well, me. I wrote a book about. What I did not want to put in that book I will write about from time-to-time on this blog.

Like Nephi from the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, I

think no record is complete without a history of my parents. Since my mother is the parent with whom I grew to maturity, I have the most to say about her. Mom's life is incredible! As the one-time self-professed black sheep of the family, she often recounted how unhappy her childhood seemed. Grandma, Lilly Bell, had to work, so Mother’s relatives cared for her.

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Mother hardly knew her maternal side of the family in comparison to how she knew the paternal, Bazin, side. Mother’s paternal grandparents helped raised her while Grandma went off to work--her paternal grandmother Mary Liza Bazin taking the lead according to Mother in doing the raising. Mom never indicated that her grandpa, J. L. Bazin Senior, as an influence in her life.

All of Grandpa J.L. siblings seem to have a hand in Mother’s life at some point
and in some manner. Aside from Mary Liza, Aunt Pearline Bazin, who was a divorcee and whose only child she ever had died in infancy exerted parental influence. Mom told stories of how Aunt Pearl would speak horribly to her and mistreated her as a youth. She claimed not to hold a grudge against her because she knew that was the culture back then and the old folk knew no better. 

Lilly Bell Phillips Bazin

Mom told the truth because of my experiences with Aunt Pearl. She was like that to everybody! She lived to a ripe old age “cussin’” and a “fussin’” the entire time anyone was around to hear. I used to hate going over to her house, but when Grandma, Lilly Bell, was alive, she would take us over to Aunt Pearl’s home to visit. I hated it.

All of us kids, all the cousins hated it because Aunt Pearl would hog the TV and tell us kids what to do the entire time. She was not mean per se, but her personality was very abrasive. She was my Granma’s sister-in-law and apparent friend because we went to see her often. I did not know that Aunt Pearl was suffering from an illness and could not do for herself the way she could earlier in life due to disability. I do not think I would have cared as a kid had I known, though.

Getting back to Mother, she made sure that Aunt Pearl’s culture did not make it into my life from her, for which I am grateful. She could not stop it though since Aunt Pearl lived long enough to influence her great-nieces and nephews.

Mother claimed to be the blackest thing in the family referring to her skin complexion. She recalls most of her family members to have less melanin than did she. She said her maternal grandmother, Minnie Phillips, called her “Lil’ black thang.”

When Minnie became ill and could no longer rise from her sick bed, my mother told me that she exacted her revenge against the old lady. She said, “I would pat my butt and lick my tongue out at her!”

As a kid, Mom felt vindicated after her granny called her “Lil’ black thang” which teased her so. At least, Mother thought she teased her. Minnie was just as dark as Mother. Mom claims that Minnie despised her color and despised her also for being the only other dark complexioned person in the house. I impressed upon her to think back, view the situation with her adult eyes, and see if she felt the same sentiments. She reasoned that her grandmother was not being mean, but her words were still hurtful because people teased Mother about the color of her skin and her body size often.

“I woke up fightin’ and I went to school fightin’! I used to have the boys hollerin’ because they would pick fights with me and I whupped every one of they tails,” she said reminiscing.

My mother never complained that Grandma had to work away from her so much, but she did dredge up abusive stories about her paternal aunts who tormented her. She, however, viewed everything through the lenses of a fatherless child in a society that treated such people with some disdain. Because she had to depend on others for her rearing than Grandma, she did not always get all the information she needed to cope socially.

Mother, Catherine Oliver

Once, such a social encounter transpired at school. Mom related to us her introduction to womanhood.

“I started crying and cuttin’ the fool all the way home! I was so upset!

“I just knew my life was over. You see, I ain’t know that much about nothin’ during that time. And you know, they ain’t teach us about nothin'. The old folks did not talk about, you know, sex back then the way thangs is now, which is why I made sure y’all knew everything!

“Well, I walked in the house hollerin’ and carryin’ on like that. Aunt Pearl came in there and said, ‘Girl, what’s wrong with you?'"

“I told her that I was pregnant.”

“She say, ‘who the daddy and how it happen?’”

“I told her Ronnie Russel and said, “He looked up under my dress.”

“Aunt Pearl said, ‘Fool, you ain’t pregnant! You cain’t get pregnant from nobody lookin’ up no dress. Girl! Hush all that fuss! You fine.’”

Mom was able to laugh about it, but the experience was real and traumatic for her. It made her feel alone and mistreated at the time. She said that as a younger child she would hide under the house and wait for her mother to return home. The home in which she lived sat atop large brick blocks. She would hide from her relatives under the house for hours in tears “waitin’ for them yellow legs to walk by” so that she could crawl out from under the house and be with her mom.

If it did not happen, the way that Mother related it, she felt used, abused, and hurt until she ran away to New York where she met a man named George Oliver. They married and had a daughter named Diane, my oldest sister. Mom said that Uncle George, which is what I called him, beat her as if she were one of his children. She loved him though. She loved him and had another child with him, Johnny Lee Oliver who died at seven weeks old. After that traumatic ordeal, she drifted away from Uncle George and Diane.

Speaking with her about it, Mom said, “When I lost that one, I went insane. I thought I would never come back from that. I was no good to nobody for some years.”

The agony of having held her son and watched him for weeks only to see his limp body in the crib crumbled her only grasp of joy since the birth of her daughter and devastated her for years thereafter. She thought herself cursed and could never have another child again. She left George.

Uncle George wanted her to be a wife and a mother and she could or would not do it at that time. She told me that she refused to take Diane away from George and subject her to other men. I thought that was a strange statement until she explained some of the terrible things that occurred to her and her sisters at the hands of misogynistic predators. She left Uncle George and my sister and went out into the city to find herself where she eventually met my father.

Mother’s life was a whirlwind of success and failure. It was difficult for her in so many ways because of her past, but she did not ever think of giving up. I learned many lessons from my mother. She was instrumental in my desire to remain attached to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I am a mamma’s boy of sorts. I cannot claim to be a fully-fledged mamma’s boy because of how Mother raised me after she became the principle adult in my life. Throughout my youth, before the age of nine, she was a mystery to me. I recall telling stories to her, and she would add, “I was there.”

I did not recall her being a highly active parent in my life in those years because of her vices. What I remember about my mother in those early years are the struggles she had that kept her away from Reggie and me. Those same struggles left us vulnerable to the world at large, the ugly parts of the world—the parts that I like to forget and pretend never happened.

Constantly I remind my wife that she must take care of how she speaks to our children because we never know what parts they keep within them. When my grandmother Lilly Bell was alive, my mother was not my mother. She was a woman that was the daughter of the woman I esteemed as my mother. Grandma was my mother for all meanings of the word save birthing. Grandma prepared me for bed each night with a bath and pajamas. Grandma hugged me when I feared something. Grandma protected me as best she could from the rude and cruel remarks of well-meaning adults. Grandma introduced me to the strange skinny lady called Catherine after she had been away for years in rehabilitation centers for her injuries from work to her back and other issues. When grandma introduced her to me as the eight-year-old Rodric, I saw a skinny sickly woman who had the same voice I remembered but looked alien to me.

One time, we visited with Aunt Patricia and watched a family video that she had. I remember my mother becoming indignant at the video we watched.

She said, “Who is that ugly black thang there,” referring to a very dark woman in the video. She frowned her face and laughed while insulting that woman. When the woman spoke, it floored her.

Auntie said, “Q-pie (short for cutie pie) that’s you.” We all had a good laugh that day. Mom spoke so horribly about this woman’s looks, and it turned out to be her!

In analysis, Mom used the same words that hurt her as a youth to describe someone else, who turned out to be her! Grandma Minnie called her lil’ black thang. It hurt Mom. It never left her because of the impression that it left on her. Mom used it in her own conversation about others replacing the word lil’ with ugly. I would surmise that was not the first time she did so.

Mother once and only once said a few choice words to me that I have never forgotten. Those words stung me then, and I think of how hurt I felt years later. I found myself using those same words when speaking to one of my children. A mother’s words are powerful. I hope that my words did not scar my kid, but I know if my wife were to say the same thing, the impact might be more damaging to that same kid. 

When I told my mother after years of hurt what she had said, she apologized. She never knew that I held onto her words, isolated as they indeed were, in such a manner of hurt. Though she has apologized, the damage, however, remained, and the words occasionally play in my head. It hurt so much then because I knew she spoke the truth. I learned from Mom to praise your kids often. I am so glad she did, or I might have had other hurtful phrases to remember. Yes, I purposely avoid repeating it here because it is the impact of the phrase that I want to convey and not the actual phrase. Such words if told me now, would roll off me as Scotch Gard-ed clothing and seem silly to the reader.

My mother’s voice did many things to people. It was the source of much entertainment and soulful healing. Mom was a great singer and did shows while I was a young kid. I recall her going to clubs to perform when we lived in Miami. She met her second husband in that manner, but that is a story hopefully she can relay in her own memoir. Following the end of her second marriage, she eventually gave up her aspiration to travel and sing so that she could look after Reggie and me, but that did not stop her from singing in church. If she could not put on a show for money and the world, she would put on one for the church and the Lord. She took all of the blues from her life and sang them in the gospel songs. One of my favorite songs for her to sing was Oh the Blood of Jesus. 

I love each time Mother would sing it because she came alive. In fact, she came alive every time she sang gospel music! It was her release.

As my greatest cheerleader, Mother told me my entire life that I was special and lifted me up. I owe to her my confidence. I did not know that I could not actually do all things until I grew up and had kids of my own. I thought all things were possible because Mother would not allow me to feel any other way.

After our move to Nashville, GA, from Miami she would encourage me to do well in my schooling. She told me I was smart and intelligent. She filled my head with so much conviction that I marveled when I failed a test and thought I had embarrassed her. She always lifted me up to a fault! I had a long journey down from the mountain of arrogance I built upon her encouragement. She gave it freely and often. I am so glad that she did. Growing up without a father of my own to depend on made her belief in my ability all the more important!

I cannot tell Mom’s life without infringing upon the privacy of many other family members, so I only give the highlights. Mother was a good mother, though I did not see it until I had my own kids. I appreciate all that she sacrificed for me to have the little joy in my childhood that I had. I appreciate her eternally for allowing me to follow my heart into the faith of my choosing. It is through this belief fostered by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that my life changed in a way that would never have happened otherwise. Rest in Heaven, Mother.

They had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them. Alma 56:47