how to grow up Black in this White man’s society.
Mae Thelma stood five feet eight inches tall, with hair that tumbled to her petite waistline. Beautiful black wavy hair that she always wore in a french braid coiled atop her head like a halo when she was in church, which was five out of seven days a week. Her skin tone was the color of a ripe Georgia peach, as smooth as the finest leather, and thick black eyelashes bordered her slanting, exotic eyes.
She moved quickly toward Jackson, smiling provocatively. The heavenly essence of honeysuckle floated around her. “We’ve been looking for you,” said Jackson, hugging Mae Thelma and patting her boys casually atop their heads.
They were always happy to see their Uncle Jackson, as they called him, even though their father and he were only first cousins. He drove a motorcycle. How could anybody who drove a motorcycle as fast as he did be anything but cool?
Jackson looked immaculate in his charcoal gray double-breasted pinstriped suit. His eager smile as he admired his cousin’s saintly wife looked somewhat devilish, like that of a young man with silent temptations. “Ginger and I would like to invite you and the boys over for dinner next Sunday after church,” he offered. The shouts of glee from her boys elicited a smile from Jackson. But the children beside Ginger stiffened and whispered among themselves.
Ginger prodded Jackson to answer her questioning eyes as to when all this inviting had been decided. Besides, she’d already made other plans.
“Sweetheart,” said Ginger, getting in the car and buckling her seat belt, “I already invited Kim, Bill, Aunt Jewel, and Mama over for dinner next Sunday. You could’ve asked me first before you extended invitations. After all, we both know who is going to be doing the cooking, and it certainly ain’t you.”
Jackson wove the Bronco through the maze of cars lined up behind the church. He stopped at the light and turned toward Ginger. “You could’ve also mentioned to me that you’d invited your cousin and her fiancé over. Katherine, Kim, and her mother I can deal with, but Bill — You know perfectly well I can’t put up with Bill and his militant speeches for more than ten minutes.”
“Well, bucko, an afternoon with the sanctimonious Mae Thelma talking about God every two minutes is a little more than I can tolerate myself. And those bad-ass little heathens she’s got. She needs to stop spending so much time praising the Lord and whip their little asses. I swear I’m gonna slap that little David Earl one of these days.”
She paused for a moment. “Have you forgotten the last time they were over he knocked that ivy hanging plant on my white carpet?” The sound of leather crunching as Jackson shifted uncomfortably sliced the mounting tension in the air. He loved his precious plants; if anything got his attention, that would. “And you know I’ve tried everything, and that stain still won’t come up.”
“Baby, the boy’s only three years old. Give him a break, will you? I’ve heard this story every time I’ve mentioned Mae Thelma’s name. How many times are you going to repeat it? I get the point, okay?”
“I’m only telling you because they’re eating dinner with the kids downstairs. After dinner they can play in the basement, not in the kids’ bedrooms, and when they finally come up for air, it’ll be to go home sweet home.”
Christian spoke up to complain that Robert Earl had gone in his room and taken some of his experiments out of his chemistry set. “If he goes in my room again, I’ll kick his butt,” Christian added. Jason joined in, saying one of them stole one of his tapes. Sierra and Robert Earl, who were the same age, were secretly in love with each other and always got along well. So she said nothing.
“And David Earl stole the batteries out of Suzy Scribbles,” Autumn chimed in. Everyone turned to look at her, knowing she was fibbing, except Jackson, whose eyes were
Mae Thelma stood five feet eight inches tall, with hair that tumbled to her petite waistline. Beautiful black wavy hair that she always wore in a french braid coiled atop her head like a halo when she was in church, which was five out of seven days a week. Her skin tone was the color of a ripe Georgia peach, as smooth as the finest leather, and thick black eyelashes bordered her slanting, exotic eyes.
She moved quickly toward Jackson, smiling provocatively. The heavenly essence of honeysuckle floated around her. “We’ve been looking for you,” said Jackson, hugging Mae Thelma and patting her boys casually atop their heads.
They were always happy to see their Uncle Jackson, as they called him, even though their father and he were only first cousins. He drove a motorcycle. How could anybody who drove a motorcycle as fast as he did be anything but cool?
Jackson looked immaculate in his charcoal gray double-breasted pinstriped suit. His eager smile as he admired his cousin’s saintly wife looked somewhat devilish, like that of a young man with silent temptations. “Ginger and I would like to invite you and the boys over for dinner next Sunday after church,” he offered. The shouts of glee from her boys elicited a smile from Jackson. But the children beside Ginger stiffened and whispered among themselves.
Ginger prodded Jackson to answer her questioning eyes as to when all this inviting had been decided. Besides, she’d already made other plans.
“Sweetheart,” said Ginger, getting in the car and buckling her seat belt, “I already invited Kim, Bill, Aunt Jewel, and Mama over for dinner next Sunday. You could’ve asked me first before you extended invitations. After all, we both know who is going to be doing the cooking, and it certainly ain’t you.”
Jackson wove the Bronco through the maze of cars lined up behind the church. He stopped at the light and turned toward Ginger. “You could’ve also mentioned to me that you’d invited your cousin and her fiancé over. Katherine, Kim, and her mother I can deal with, but Bill — You know perfectly well I can’t put up with Bill and his militant speeches for more than ten minutes.”
“Well, bucko, an afternoon with the sanctimonious Mae Thelma talking about God every two minutes is a little more than I can tolerate myself. And those bad-ass little heathens she’s got. She needs to stop spending so much time praising the Lord and whip their little asses. I swear I’m gonna slap that little David Earl one of these days.”
She paused for a moment. “Have you forgotten the last time they were over he knocked that ivy hanging plant on my white carpet?” The sound of leather crunching as Jackson shifted uncomfortably sliced the mounting tension in the air. He loved his precious plants; if anything got his attention, that would. “And you know I’ve tried everything, and that stain still won’t come up.”
“Baby, the boy’s only three years old. Give him a break, will you? I’ve heard this story every time I’ve mentioned Mae Thelma’s name. How many times are you going to repeat it? I get the point, okay?”
“I’m only telling you because they’re eating dinner with the kids downstairs. After dinner they can play in the basement, not in the kids’ bedrooms, and when they finally come up for air, it’ll be to go home sweet home.”
Christian spoke up to complain that Robert Earl had gone in his room and taken some of his experiments out of his chemistry set. “If he goes in my room again, I’ll kick his butt,” Christian added. Jason joined in, saying one of them stole one of his tapes. Sierra and Robert Earl, who were the same age, were secretly in love with each other and always got along well. So she said nothing.
“And David Earl stole the batteries out of Suzy Scribbles,” Autumn chimed in. Everyone turned to look at her, knowing she was fibbing, except Jackson, whose eyes were
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