Wisdom Seeds Page 4

  Before I could respond, Andrea was standing between us.

  “Girl, I’ve been looking for you. I want you to meet someone.” She led me by the arm away from Gregory. “Baby Cuz, you’re looking a little goo-goo eyed.”

  “I am not!” I pulled away from her, mindfully trying not to show the attitude I felt coming on.

  We stopped outside the double doors in the hallway.

  “You are so,” she stated with her teeth clenched tightly. “And we told you don’t come in here looking for a husband. This is just social.”

  “I’m trying to be social,” I replied being conscious of my voice level. “I just met the brother, his name is Gregory.”

  “Dani,” Andrea turned to face me, “you’re from a small town where everybody knows everybody.”

  “Andrea, I’m not fourteen-years old,” I snapped.

  “I know.” Her tone softened as she put her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t know this Gregory – he’s new here too. Be careful.”

  One of the women I had just met opened the door and called her. Andrea stopped at the door and turned to look at me. “Please be careful Cuz.”

  “Careful,” I said out loud to myself. “I’m not trying to marry the man.”

  The rest of the evening was spent sipping cranberry juice, smiling and holding superficial conversations with people whose names I couldn’t remember. The lights were dim and there were too many people to look for Gregory.

  On the way home Andrea talked about PUMP being a meat market. My stomach tightened because her comments were directed at me. This was not starting out good and I sincerely wanted to have a memorable time with my cousins over the summer.

  The alarm clock rang and I thought I was dreaming.

  “It’s eight o’clock Dani. Do you want to eat before we leave for Sunday School?” Andrea’s voice was bubbly.

  “Sunday School?” I mumbled.

  “Yes you PK! Do you think you’re the only one who knows about Sunday School?”

  “I haven’t been to Sunday School since the twelfth grade,” I confessed. “When did you start going to Sunday School?”

  She turned up the tape player. “When I got saved last year.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear, I haven’t unpacked yet.” I tried not to sound like I was whining.

  Alicia came out of the bathroom and stood in the doorway. “That’s okay, the Lord says come as you are and so did the Pastor.” They laughed and I thought about my dad. He demanded everyone be meticulously dressed for church on Sunday.

  “You can wear something of mine,” Alicia added before I could come up with another excuse to stay in bed.

  “You’ll enjoy the service,’ Andrea told me as I headed for the shower. “Our church is a home for everyone who is sick of the foolishness of man interfering with the sacred things of God.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant and didn’t feel like asking her to explain.

  Alicia and Andrea had the cutest bathroom. Hanging over the towel rack was a picture of their mother with her sorority sisters. Each one was wrapped in a pink bathrobe with an ivy leaf embroidered on the lapel. Aunt Sharon had been an AKA, too. She died nine months after being diagnosed with breast cancer.

  “Hey, save some water,” Andrea knocked on the door. I tried to hurry, not wanting us to be late on account of me. When I got out of the shower I could hear my cousins talking in Andrea’s room. Hard as I was trying to eavesdrop, I couldn’t make out what they were saying over the music. Wrapped in a towel, I detoured to the kitchen for a glass of orange juice before heading back to my room. The brown pants suit was waiting for me.

  Andrea drove a green Chevette and, of course, there was plenty of AKA paraphernalia and a pink rabbit on the back seat. I sat behind Alicia and tried to hide my disappointment about the pants suit. The pants were tight and the jacket was fitted. It felt too small.

  “What about you?” Alicia asked. “Where do you stand with Christ? Are you saved?”

  “My dad reminds me, every chance he gets, that I need to be more serious about Jesus. I’m not even sure I know what being Saved means,” I confessed trying not to sound cynical.

  “Stop playing girl!” Alicia turned in her seat to look back at me.

  “I’m not playing. I really don’t know.”

  “What?” Alicia responded in disbelief. “Miss Gotta Go To Church at least four days a week, sing in the choir, usher, and to everything else cause I’m the Preacher’s Kid.”

  “Alicia!” Andrea cut her off. “It’s okay Dani. A lot of people don’t really know what salvation means. And some might never know because people assume they already know and don’t tell them.” Andrea glanced at Alicia several times, seemingly to give some message that Alicia didn’t get or was choosing to ignore. Then she continued, looking at me in the rear view mirror as she drove. “Being saved means accepting Jesus as your Lord and Savior. Admitting you are a sinner and you’re sorry for those sins. It’s believing that Jesus was born of a virgin, died on the cross for your sins and rose after three days. It’s believing that God forgives you and has washed you clean with the shedding of Jesus’ blood at Calvary.” Andrea spoke with sincerity. “If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, thou shall be saved. Romans 10:9.” She added smiling.

  “For God so loved,” Alicia began and I finished with her, “the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. John 3:16.”

  “Nana taught me that when I was a little girl.” I smiled thinking of her and the memory of learning that scripture.

  “It’s in there,” Andrea smiled. “Stop fighting it.”

  “Girl, being saved is knowing you don’t have to do this life thing by yourself.” Alicia’s tone softened. “It’s knowing Jesus is always with you.”

  We arrived at The Sanctuary and it was huge compared to St. Luke’s. I noticed some of the people from the PUMP meeting in the parking lot and scanned the crowd for Gregory. He wasn’t there. That was okay, I had on Alicia’s pants suit and it wasn’t something I would have bought, but it matched my shoes.

  As the service began I thought about St. Luke’s. Mom would be sitting in the second row, aisle seat, left of the pulpit. She would be humming Blessed Assurance with her eyes closed. I thought about Nana and closed my eyes to thank her for teaching me scriptures so I didn’t feel like a complete dunce. I thought about the previous night and wondered if I would see Gregory again.

  The preacher talked about the Lord being our keeper. He read from Psalms 121:5 – 8:

  The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade at your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve you from all evil; He shall preserve your soul. The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in from this time forth and even forevermore.

  Jesus as a keeper. Nana had also talked about Jesus being the perfect keeper. I wanted to be kept by Him and decided to take going to church more seriously.

  My cousins and I spent the evening trying to get caught up. Alicia was a high school math teacher. She had contemplated going back to get her doctorate before realizing she really enjoyed teaching and her master’s degree would suffice. Her boyfriend, Dennis, had accepted a job in New York in April and she was unsure of where the relationship was going. She admitted she loved him.

  Andrea was a high school guidance counselor and was pursing her doctoral degree in Educational Administration. She was on a personal five year plan to become a school superintendent. Andrea contacted me during my senior year when she attended a conference at Penn State. The three hours we spent on the phone trying to catch up seemed to pass like minutes and we promised each other we would re-connect.

  My coming to Pittsburgh gave us the opportunity to get to know each other again. I hadn’t seen or talked to my cousins since my Aunt Sharon’s funeral. My dad r
arely mentioned his brother, Paul, and the last I remembered they were living near the base in Quantico, Virginia.

  “It was hard growing up without my mother,” Alicia said opening a bottle of nail polish. “I used to dream she was still alive.”

  “It’s like a part of you is missing and no matter what you do you can’t get it back.” Andrea stopped doing crunches and faced me. “You’re so blessed to have your mother.”

  “You know, like when you went to the prom, the first time your heart was broken,” Alicia began.

  “And little things like when your bras are too small, when you wanted to use tampons instead of pads, and when you have cramps. My dad didn’t understand,” Andrea added.

  “My mom isn’t easy to talk to,” I stated flatly.

  “Alicia seemed puzzled. “What do you mean? From what I remember, your mom is very nice.”

  “She is very nice and I do love her.” I was searching for the right words. “We’re just not close. We never really talked about stuff.”

  “Why not?” Andrea wanted to know.

  “I don’t know. We just never did.” I could feel tears swelling in my eyes. “I was really close to my grandmother – Ida, my mother’s mother.”

  “There’s nothing like a mother.” Alicia was fighting back her own tears. “I really miss mine.”

  “My parents met at a party at Dartmouth.” Andrea intentionally shifted the conversation.

  “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

  “She should have been a doctor,” Alicia added.

  “What happened?”

  “Love,” Andrea smirked. “She married my dad and left Radcliffe to go with him to Japan.”

  “What did her parents say?”

  “Her parents were killed in a car accident when she was a teenager. She lived with her aunt who was not happy and to this day doesn’t like my dad.”

  Andrea and Alicia spent their summers in Cambridge, Massachusetts with their great aunt, Virginia Baltimore. They had many good memories of their time with her even though she never liked their dad. It was just like Nana and me; Nana didn’t particularly care for my dad either.

  I shared with them the seeds of wisdom Nana taught me. They shared with me about dream stealers. Type I always doubts you and says your dreams are too big. Type II embraces your dreams as possible only if they become the designated partner. Type III pretends to be interested in your dreams but wants you to rely on them to make a call or provide some connection so you will always be indebted to them. Type IV is envious of your ambition and pretends to be interested in your dreams. Once you begin to have success they try to take credit for your accomplishments.

  The evening was good, but it was also like a spear. I resolved to do better at connecting with my mother. I envisioned that one day she and I would sit and talk and get to know each other, really know each other. I would be able to tell her about my fears and pains and I would ask about hers. One day, I hoped, we would share ourselves with each other.

  My first day at work was exciting and intimidating. Equipped with my Bachelor of Science degree in Psychology, I thought I was ready to take on the world. My first week was a reality check that there were many things I needed to learn. The stories some of the women told were incredible. Years of abuse and neglect, poor choices, drug dealing boyfriends, herpes, venereal diseases, broken noses and ribs – and I thought I had it bad growing up with my dad. By the end of my first week nothing shocked me. Not even the multiple partnerships in which some of the women delighted in knowing their children would be siblings.

  For eight weeks I was a Research Associate in the Department of Epidemiology. Our team assessed pregnancy outcomes and infant bonding with substance abusing women. The number of women who were eligible for our program was overwhelming. My job was to interview the women in the obstetrical clinic during their first trimester and offer incentives to participate in our program. A major incentive was weekly urine screens and a positive recommendation to Child Welfare for all women who abstained from using drugs during their pregnancy. We also paid five dollars for completing each questionnaire and those who completed four questionnaires were given a fifty-dollar certificate to The Kid Store and a basket filled with layette items.

  My workday was exhausting and I was glad Andrea was taking classes at the University of Pittsburgh over the summer. The obstetrical clinic was on the far side of campus and each evening Andrea and I met in front of the campus library to ride home together.

  Alicia usually had dinner waiting and hurried us as we came in the door. We held hands to bless our food and discussed the Daily Devotional. Andrea said it was good to discuss positive things over dinner because complaining about the day only gave you indigestion. Spending time with my cousins made me wish I had sisters. I had never thought about that before and, in fact, had often wished I were an only child.

  “How’s your dad?” I asked one day after dinner.

  “He says he loves France. It’s where he and my mother planned to live after he retired.” Alicia shrugged. “He calls for birthdays and Christmas. We haven’t seen him since we graduated from Hampton.”

  “I keep praying for him,” Andrea said. “He’s very misguided about who Jesus is. My dad thinks everyone is like Grandpa Tim.”

  “I thought my dad was the only one who didn’t get along with Grandpa Tim.”

  “Girl, let me tell you,” Alicia piped in with excitement. “It’s a wild story, like a scene from a soap opera.”

  “What?” She had my full attention.

  “Well, let me start from the beginning.” Alicia sat up in her chair. Andrea sighed and began clearing the dinner dishes.

  “Now this is the story my dad tells.” She rested her elbows on the table. “Your dad was the favorite grandchild and always wanted to be a preacher like our great-grandfather, William Allen. When your dad was about eight he asked to go live with our great-grandparents and Grandpa Tim had a fit. After that, Grandpa Tim wouldn’t let Grandma Rita take our dads and Uncle Matt to visit them anymore. Our great-grandfather died a year later of a massive heart attack and your dad blamed Grandpa Tim. Your dad grew up believing that our great-grandfather died of a broken heart because his only child, Grandpa Tim, was the prodigal son who had no interest in finding his way home.” Alicia sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. “Girl, ain’t that a mess?”

  “Yeah,” I shook my head. “I had no idea.”

  “Girl, there’s more.” She smiled like she was about to tell a secret and yelled into the kitchen. “Hey Annie, would you make some iced tea?” Alicia scooted her chair back a little. “Grandpa Tim hadn’t spoken to his parents during the last ten years of his father’s life. He never went home after he graduated from college and the next time he saw our great-grandmother was the day of great-granddad’s funeral. Our great-grandmother, Louise Allen, never acknowledged Grandpa Tim except to deny his request to speak at his father’s funeral. Grandpa Tim was infuriated and refused to stay for the family dinner. Great-grandmother’s final words to her son were, ‘Let the children stay. They’re here to mourn their loving grandfather – a good man.’ Grandpa Tim turned to walk away and everyone followed except your dad. He never looked up at them, but held tightly to his grandmother’s hand as he watched their feet walk away. Grandpa Tim left Emmanuel Baptist Church and returned to the Bronx fifteen years later to bury his mother.”

  “Oh Alicia!” Andrea rolled her eyes before putting the glasses of iced tea on the table. “It’s just family gossip.” She stood behind Alicia with her hand on her hip.

  “It’s not family gossip, it’s the truth.” Alicia responded, looking over her shoulder at Andrea and then turning back to face me.

  “Does your dad get along with Grandpa Tim?” Since Alicia was discussing family business, I needed to know.

  “I wouldn’t say my dad doesn’t get along with him, I would say he didn’t agree with what went on.”

  “It was wrong and he went along with it,” Andrea added
sitting down next to me.

  I was on the edge of my seat. “What happened?”

  Alicia crossed her legs, letting her right foot swing. “My dad liked getting attention from the girls in the congregation and he went out with just about all of them.”

  “Until this girl he really liked turned up pregnant and said my dad was the father,” Andrea finished sarcastically. “Grandpa Tim wanted my dad to marry her, but he knew the baby wasn’t his. She was the one girl he didn’t have sex with.”

  “What? Get outta here!” My mind was working hard to process this family history.

  “It was a life lesson for my dad. It wasn’t the attention of all the girls he really wanted. The sad part is, it took my dad years to admit he really wanted his mother’s attention. Grandma Rita was too busy being the first lady and trying to keep Grandpa Tim.” Andrea seemed sympathetic.

  I sat there enthralled. This was better than a soap opera.

  Alicia sipped her tea. “Girl, remember Uncle Matt?”

  “Alicia!” Andrea’s tone was chastising.

  “This is family talk, she needs to know.” Alicia was flippant with Andrea.

  “My dad says he prefers to be called Matty. He never speaks of him unless he’s talking about damnation,” I stated finally having information to add.

  “Girl you know he started spending his summers touring the country when he was sixteen. My dad said the following summer he stopped talking to girls and a year later he developed a lisp.” Alicia laughed and it took me a few minutes to understand the implication.

  “Actually,” Andrea added, “I agree with my dad. Uncle Matt always had a lot of unresolved issues.”

  “I haven’t seen him since I was about seven,” I added still feeling the need to share some family history. “He came to visit us and my dad wouldn’t let him play the piano in church. He never came back. I don’t even see Grandpa Tim and Grandma Rita that often even though they live in New York.”

  Alicia continued her saga defining our grandmother, Mrs. Rita Allen, as the best-dressed woman in the church. Grandma Rita strategically removed herself from the gossip about her husband by creating a fashion world of her own and becoming a socialite who supported every well-known community cause. Alicia said that our grandmother defined pretentious and, in her quest for fashion fame, she emotionally neglected her children.