If my grandma was in this truck, hearing me sell her out like this, she would have went in, defending her chapter, and telling me to stop talking shit about her.
“You two are close, I’m assuming. I can tell by the way you interacted on the phone with her that you all share a close bond,” she picked up on. Hearing her say that, caused me to smile. Ismiled because of the bond that I had with my grandmother, along with the memories that we shared.
“Yeah, that’s my girl. Our bond goes back from the moment that I was born. You know she raised me for the first four years of my life,” I stated, and when I said that, Amina let out a gasp as if this was new news to her.
I figured she knew this, especially since my sister couldn’t hold water. I just assumed that Gianna would have told her every detail about my life.
“What? No. I didn’t know that,” she stated.
“Yeah. My mom got pregnant with me during the summer when she was in high school. She had me during her senior year though. When it was time for her to start putting in her applications for college, my grandma made her apply to all the schools that she wanted to attend, even if they were outside of Miami. My mom’s dream school was FAMU. She loved everything about the culture over there. She applied, got accepted on a full ride too. From her grades, high test scores, and the scholarships that she applied for, my grandma didn’t have to come out of pocket for anything for my mom. They made an agreement. My grandma told my mom that she would raise me while she went on to Tallahassee for school. All my grandma asked was for my mom to get her degree. She did that, came back home for me, raised me, and went on to get more degrees,” I shared with Amina.
That’s how you knew that shit was getting deep with us because I didn’t go around telling people that there was a point when my grandma was raising me.
“Wow. I never knew that. That’s so inspiring to hear though. A teenaged pregnancy didn’t stop anything for her. She still went on to college, graduated, and she’s doing so well,” Amina stated. I nodded at that, knowing that the things she was saying were true.
My mom got her bachelor’s in education. Once she graduated, and came back to Miami, where she raised me, she quickly began working as an elementary school teacher. It’s more to the story because she came back from college with Gianna’s dad, but I’ll talk about that another time.
She went on to get her master’s in educational leadership. After Gianna was born, that’s when she went back for a specialist degree in school administration & supervision. Took shit even further and went for her Doctorate in educational leadership. My mama was one of the smartest women that I knew. She was one of the reasons why my love was so strong for black women. Her smartness, the way she could articulate herself, and the way she knew how to adjust to any room that she walked in, were all things that were admirable to me. Also, like Amina pointed out, I liked the fact that she didn’t have a baby in high school and let that stop her from handling her business in life.
“So, when your grandma raised you while your mom was away in college, was it just you two? Did you have your granddad too?” she wanted to know.
“Only for the first three years. He died when I was three years old. I don’t remember the years that I had with him. I was too young. My grandma has hella pictures though, and a bunch of stories, so even though I can’t personally recall the memories that I have with him, when I hear it from her, it feels like I can. My mom had a special bond with her dad. Kind of like the bond that my sister has with her father, so when he passed while she was away in college, my mom tried to move back home. My grandma wasn’t having that though. She made her lift her chin up, and handle her business out there in school,” I shared, repeating things to her that were told to me over the years.
“And your dad? You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to. I know that he’s incarcerated, but you don’t have to digdeep into it if you don’t want,” Amina said, and I laughed while shaking my head.
“In all honesty, fuck that nigga. I don’t mind talking about him with you though. Sharing stories about that goofy ass nigga doesn’t make me emotional,” I went on to tell her.
She kept quiet after I said that. Probably just waiting for me to move forward in the story and let her know what the deal was with my father.
“Him and my mom were a thing back when she was in high school. He was older than her though. Like two years older. She met him during the summer of her junior year. Went to some kind of kickback party. He was a street dude. Selling drugs, killing people, the whole nine. The kind of man that she knew she couldn’t bring home to meet her parents. You know teenagers going to have a mind of their own, and do what they want to do, so that’s exactly what she did,” I started.
The way I was telling the story, you would really think that I was there to live in those moments too. That wasn’t the case, but I’ve heard it plenty of times over the years from my mom, and my grandma.
“She started messing with him. Shit moved fast between them. She told me that she gave her virginity to him because she loved him and thought that they would be together. She got pregnant, and the nigga switched up on her. All that shit that he promised her about a future together, and getting married had gone out the window, once she told him that she was pregnant. He pretty much left her on her own. See, the kind of grandma that I have, when you do your dirt, she make you lay in that shit, and face it head on. She could have very well made my mama get an abortion, but she didn’t. She made her see that pregnancy through,” I went on.
“Damn. So, like did he ever come around? Did you ever meet him?” she wanted to know.
“Two is the magic number. I say that because according to my grandma, and my mama, he only came to my grandma’s house to see me twice. The first time was when I was brought home from the hospital, and the second time was my 4thbirthday. Not long after my 4thbirthday, all that drug dealing, and killing that he was out here doing caught up with him. He’s in prison, serving multiple life sentences. That nigga never getting out,” I let her know.
“Wow. So, like did he ever try to reach out from prison? Send letters? Anything?” she asked.
“Nah. That nigga never reached out from prison. I don’t know him. I know he’s still alive though. Occasionally, I’ll go online and look him up,” I shared.
“What’s his name?” she wanted to know.
“Rome Black. I don’t know why my mama did that goofy ass shit, and gave me that nigga’s last name,” I said it in a joking way, but I was dead serious.
The only reason why I never tripped too hard over it is because I fucked with the last name Black. It was fitting. The way I loved everything that came with being black, it made sense that that would have been my last name.
“The last name Black is so fitting for you though, but I understand what you mean. So, your step- dad was the father figure in your life, right?” Amina asked, changing the subject.
“Hell yeah. Without a doubt. The role that he played in my life is the sole reason why I never cared about my dad’s absence. He never treated me differently. Anything that he did for Gianna, he did it for me in return. He was so locked in with me that it never really felt like we weren’t blood. He taught me so many things. I learned how to tie a tie from him, how to look a man in his eyes and firmly shake his hand. All the manly shit I know like grilling, changing a tire, shit even balancing a fuckincheckbook, he taught me that,” I shared with her, and as I was sharing it, you could see the smile on her face.
“He had the weird conversations with me about sex. Getting in my ear at an early age, telling me that he would put his foot in my ass if I made him, and my mama a grandparent too early. I personally feel like half the shit he did for me, he didn’t have to do it. He could have saw that my mama came to the table with a son and let that be the reason why he ran off. He didn’t. He stayed and he did what my bitch ass daddy never had the balls to do. For that, I got nothing but love, and respect for him. That’s my guy right there,” I went on to share with her.
We talked about it for a little while longer and then we were finally pulling up into the community in which my grandmother stayed. Pulling into this community, it’s almost like you could smell the money that the residents had. Amina knew it too, which is why she was turned in her seat, looking out of the window, taking in the views.
No matter how many times I’ve been in this neighborhood, even I get that feeling where I have to drive slow, taking in all the beautiful houses. The homes were huge, and it was so much space that separated the houses, having it where you weren’t close on your neighbors at all. Each house had long driveways, and everybody’s grass was perfect. Pulling up to my grandmother’s house, you could see the perfect oak trees that she had out front.
