We are led to believe that in order to teach, one must hold a degree, which is a great falsehood. I have studied under some of the world’s most celebrated scholars at some of the finest institutions in the country, yet the greatest, most practical lessons came to me just beyond my back door.
I remember when my Aunt Sarah was planning her move to the garage apartment behind our house. I was there when she walked through with, Mr. Morgan, her contractor. I couldn’t have been more than three years old, but I clearly recall how, with authority, she led him to each room, specifying her wishes and at the end, reached into an envelope and gave him the cash to get started. He wrote a receipt, which she placed in the envelope from which she pulled the cash. That was probably my first, though not last lesson in Accounting.
Aunt Sarah was extremely meticulous with her finances and could account for each dollar. With formal education, she might have been one of the great financial minds of her time. She possessed an entrepreneurial spirit and an innate ability to make money grow. In addition to four passbooks (that I knew of) she kept three lines of cash: two from employment earnings and one from investments. Each quarter she would send me to her banks to find out the accrued interest on her accounts, by which I learned percentages. In addition, I would make deposits. She would call me over having already counted an amount and completed a deposit slip. I would count the money again in front of her. Sometimes it would be over or under, which at the time, I attributed to mistakes in calculation. I soon came to see those “mistakes” for the tests she intended them to be.
Indirectly, these bank runs reiterated the concept of emergency management. One day she counted out $1,500 in a neat stack and placed the deposit slip on top, but there remained three other stacks of crisp bills that amounted to $8,500. I asked about depositing the larger sum to which she replied, “I need to keep something in the house.” I understood and appreciated her need to be prepared for anything, especially after having been a passenger on the road trip where our three-car caravan was detained for speeding. It was Aunt Sarah, who was able to reach into her purse and pay the fine, allowing our trip to continue.
She also made an infinite number of successful investments through her broker, the New Jersey Sports and Exposition Authority. She loved the ponies and never lost a dime at the track. Contrary to what the pious and judgmental believe, Aunt Sarah did not gamble. Gambling has a specific economic definition, referring to wagering money or something of material value on an event of uncertain outcome and she didn’t deal in uncertainties, especially where money was concerned.
For several years, she worked for and traveled with Harry M. Stevens, who operated concessions at racetracks along the east coast. During that time, through observation, she mastered the practice of handicapping, a method by which spectators, through the collection and analysis of data can predict and quantify the results of a race, thereby removing the uncertainty. Sarah didn’t bet on horses. She crunched numbers and values to determine an outcome. She even calculated what she would earn, based on her determination She explained it to me when I was about twelve years old and that alone helped me pass Graduate Statistics two decades later.
Even before that, I learned fractions through the simple process of greasing her scalp. She taught me to work in sections, dividing the head first into quarters, subsequently dividing each quarter to result in the equal application of Ultra Sheen to the whole scalp.
In addition to the Applied Sciences, she also offered Social Sciences and Humanities. History lessons began with the period immediately prior to the United States joining World War II. Through engaging lectures she painted a vivid picture of the depression-era south. With even greater clarity, she recounted the story of her migration north by way of Pittsburgh and then New York, describing the conditions by which colored people were forced to live.
Music Appreciation was extremely lively as she danced the rumba to the sounds of Xavier Kugat. She introduced me to the vocal styling of Nat King Cole, Sam Cooke, Dinah Washington, Clarence Carter and the Isleys. Some Saturday nights, we would spin records late into the evening as she cultivated my sweet tooth with vanilla ice cream cones and slices of pound cake by Sara Lee, a company I believed she owned until I was old enough to know better.
I also learned Linguistics, particularly the concept of code switching, which refers to using more than one language or variety in conversation. By noting the difference in the way she spoke to her employers, and us I learned professional speech. I wasn’t able to put a name to it until I took advanced classes in Speech Communication. Colloquially we refer to it as “slipping into Becky.”
She also ran a writing lab where I practiced penmanship and grammar by composing and addressing holiday greetings. She took great pride in the praise of her employers for my penmanship. Eventually she allowed others to address her holiday cards, except those for the Sague Family. Without any prompting, I sent those greetings every year without fail. I will continue the practice until I can no longer hold a pen.
Perhaps the greatest lessons learned were through examples of faith, benevolence, trust and unconditional love, which she practiced with everyone dear to her. To me she gave an extra measure. She thought I could do no wrong, even when I messed up. She believed there was absolutely nothing I couldn’t do. The feeling was entirely mutual.
Unbeknownst to her, she taught college level classes to everyone with whom she made contact, without advanced degrees or certificates. She watched, learned and shared. I’m so grateful.
On Monday, October 13, 2008 Aunt Sarah closed her eyes and drifted into eternal sleep to join her husband, Cecil M. Bell; her daughter, Cecilia Ann Robinson; her parents, Frank and Rachel Sanford Robinson; her siblings, Sanford Robinson, Celia Robinson, Zora Mae Austin, Lester Robinson, Joseph Robinson and Frankie Mae Warren.
I remember when my Aunt Sarah was planning her move to the garage apartment behind our house. I was there when she walked through with, Mr. Morgan, her contractor. I couldn’t have been more than three years old, but I clearly recall how, with authority, she led him to each room, specifying her wishes and at the end, reached into an envelope and gave him the cash to get started. He wrote a receipt, which she placed in the envelope from which she pulled the cash. That was probably my first, though not last lesson in Accounting.
Aunt Sarah was extremely meticulous with her finances and could account for each dollar. With formal education, she might have been one of the great financial minds of her time. She possessed an entrepreneurial spirit and an innate ability to make money grow. In addition to four passbooks (that I knew of) she kept three lines of cash: two from employment earnings and one from investments. Each quarter she would send me to her banks to find out the accrued interest on her accounts, by which I learned percentages. In addition, I would make deposits. She would call me over having already counted an amount and completed a deposit slip. I would count the money again in front of her. Sometimes it would be over or under, which at the time, I attributed to mistakes in calculation. I soon came to see those “mistakes” for the tests she intended them to be.
Indirectly, these bank runs reiterated the concept of emergency management. One day she counted out $1,500 in a neat stack and placed the deposit slip on top, but there remained three other stacks of crisp bills that amounted to $8,500. I asked about depositing the larger sum to which she replied, “I need to keep something in the house.” I understood and appreciated her need to be prepared for anything, especially after having been a passenger on the road trip where our three-car caravan was detained for speeding. It was Aunt Sarah, who was able to reach into her purse and pay the fine, allowing our trip to continue.
She also made an infinite number of successful investments through her broker, the New Jersey Sports and Exposition Authority. She loved the ponies and never lost a dime at the track. Contrary to what the pious and judgmental believe, Aunt Sarah did not gamble. Gambling has a specific economic definition, referring to wagering money or something of material value on an event of uncertain outcome and she didn’t deal in uncertainties, especially where money was concerned.
For several years, she worked for and traveled with Harry M. Stevens, who operated concessions at racetracks along the east coast. During that time, through observation, she mastered the practice of handicapping, a method by which spectators, through the collection and analysis of data can predict and quantify the results of a race, thereby removing the uncertainty. Sarah didn’t bet on horses. She crunched numbers and values to determine an outcome. She even calculated what she would earn, based on her determination She explained it to me when I was about twelve years old and that alone helped me pass Graduate Statistics two decades later.
Even before that, I learned fractions through the simple process of greasing her scalp. She taught me to work in sections, dividing the head first into quarters, subsequently dividing each quarter to result in the equal application of Ultra Sheen to the whole scalp.
In addition to the Applied Sciences, she also offered Social Sciences and Humanities. History lessons began with the period immediately prior to the United States joining World War II. Through engaging lectures she painted a vivid picture of the depression-era south. With even greater clarity, she recounted the story of her migration north by way of Pittsburgh and then New York, describing the conditions by which colored people were forced to live.
Music Appreciation was extremely lively as she danced the rumba to the sounds of Xavier Kugat. She introduced me to the vocal styling of Nat King Cole, Sam Cooke, Dinah Washington, Clarence Carter and the Isleys. Some Saturday nights, we would spin records late into the evening as she cultivated my sweet tooth with vanilla ice cream cones and slices of pound cake by Sara Lee, a company I believed she owned until I was old enough to know better.
I also learned Linguistics, particularly the concept of code switching, which refers to using more than one language or variety in conversation. By noting the difference in the way she spoke to her employers, and us I learned professional speech. I wasn’t able to put a name to it until I took advanced classes in Speech Communication. Colloquially we refer to it as “slipping into Becky.”
She also ran a writing lab where I practiced penmanship and grammar by composing and addressing holiday greetings. She took great pride in the praise of her employers for my penmanship. Eventually she allowed others to address her holiday cards, except those for the Sague Family. Without any prompting, I sent those greetings every year without fail. I will continue the practice until I can no longer hold a pen.
Perhaps the greatest lessons learned were through examples of faith, benevolence, trust and unconditional love, which she practiced with everyone dear to her. To me she gave an extra measure. She thought I could do no wrong, even when I messed up. She believed there was absolutely nothing I couldn’t do. The feeling was entirely mutual.
Unbeknownst to her, she taught college level classes to everyone with whom she made contact, without advanced degrees or certificates. She watched, learned and shared. I’m so grateful.
On Monday, October 13, 2008 Aunt Sarah closed her eyes and drifted into eternal sleep to join her husband, Cecil M. Bell; her daughter, Cecilia Ann Robinson; her parents, Frank and Rachel Sanford Robinson; her siblings, Sanford Robinson, Celia Robinson, Zora Mae Austin, Lester Robinson, Joseph Robinson and Frankie Mae Warren.
She leaves a legacy of love to her son, Emmett Marty Robinson; her sisters, Letha, Viola, Iola, and Beulah Robinson and Essie Snell; her grandchildren, Kim Ford, Shanay Walker, and Marcus Robinson; her great-grandchildren, Jeremiah Thompson and Soleil Walker; her great great granddaughter, Anastasia Thompson; and a host of nieces, nephews, cousins and friends.
Her physical presence may be gone from us, but her spirit, wisdom and love she shared will remain with us always.
Her physical presence may be gone from us, but her spirit, wisdom and love she shared will remain with us always.
1 comment:
I just wanna come to your family reunions. I love your family...I really do.
I'm glad you came back to blogging too. I was thinking about you the other day and those famous turkey wings you said you make. I'm hosting soul food sunday at my house next weekend and I'll be cooking like nobody's business. Um, welcome back. Listen - wanna start posting more than once every two months? I mean, really, we'd appreciate it! LOL - mkay?
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