My family hails from Mount Vernon, Georgia. A very small, very rural town in the south central part of the state. For as long as I can remember, vacations were always spent there as it gave my grandparents an opportunity to check on their parents and catch up with the folks who didn't have the good sense to leave the south when the gettin' was good or perhaps had sense enough not to leave. It's all a matter of perception.Our trips to Georgia were always by car... usually cramped, as children did not count toward the six passengers a car was supposed to accommodate. The high point in those early years was the collection of colorful signs that signaled the 75 mile countdown to South of the Border, a threadbare theme park on Interstate 95. I call it Redneck Disney. It was always a treat to stop there, even in later years because it signaled that we only had about six more weeks to ride.
Aunt Letha got a new Oldsmobile every four years and would always be ready to put her ride on the road, but passengers had to ride by her rules, which ranged from the simple...
"Don't get no chicken grease on my seats!"
to the more complex...
"Linda, put this on and be quiet."
Let me explain.
In the early 1970's my cousin, Emmett, married Linda, a white woman. He decided to bring her along on one of the family road trips into the land of Dixie. At that time, a union between a very obviously Black man and a white woman could cause a degree of discomfort and perhaps bring harm to the couple and those traveling with them.
Aunt Letha was unsuccessful in persuading Emmett to leave Linda in New Jersey, but was determined to take the necessary precautions to keep the family safe. When it was time to stop for gas, Aunt Letha reached into her bag and pulled out an afro wig. The rest is family history.
I visited Aunt Letha in the nursing home last week. It broke my heart to have to introduce myself to her, but I was prepared that she might not know me. I told her that I'd heard what a remarkable woman she was and wanted to meet her.
She wasn't in the mood to talk so I sat quietly and held her hand while she dozed. Wiping away my tears, I recalled events that are now lost to her. For so many years she was the glue that held our family together. She loved and looked out for every one of us.
When it was time for me to go, I very gently placed her hand in her lap. She opened her eyes and looked into mine.
"You leaving now?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am. I have to go," I said.
"Be good, and take care of yourself. I love you," she said and closed her eyes.
"I love you too," I said.
In the hallway, I leaned against the wall and cried. I want my aunt back, but I realize she is at peace and very patiently waiting. So am I.
She has fought a good fight, she has finished her course, she has kept the faith.
4 comments:
aunt letha sounds no-nonsense. i love black women for that, especially southern black women. "linda, put this on and be quiet." i know that's right. it's a shame time has made her a different person.
my own mother told me how in the 60s, the police in jackson, mississippi stopped her and her first husband one night asking him why he was driving around with a white woman in the car. ms. pearl ain't hardly white...she lite tho.
btw, that's my hometown underneath mt. vernon on your map. but i think you already know that.
ok, enough rambling.
You know that was so sad and such a ray have happiness in your blog entry. It brought back memories of when I visited my Great-Grandmother who dies two years ago. Died one day before here 107th birthday.
I would go visit her and although she could not move or speak, she would open her eyes and look at me and try to smile. She couldn't but that was OK, I know what she meant. When she moved on, I was relieved and sad. I didn't want her to suffer anymore and yet, when I look at the century of time she's been on the planet, I wonder if she suffered more alive then just before her passing?
I love when you talk about your family...even when it's beautifully sad.
Aunt Letha is a helluva woman...I'm glad you made the trip.
Please continue to write these loving stories about your family. The spit-fire in my family was Momma Sallie - my great-grand mother. I smile when I think of her and your Aunt Letha - They are probably up in Heaven settin everybody straight.
Malika
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