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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
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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.
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.
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| 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.
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.
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| 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
