My Mom Was a #BossMom Before The Word

My mother and father wanted nine boys so they could have their own baseball team. When my brother Lemont arrived, they were very encouraged. When my sister Tresa arrived, they were just a little disappointed. When they tried again, I was the second daughter -- Things were not looking so good for the baseball team. They analyzed the situation and realized that even if every subsequent baby was a boy, they would have to produce. feed and care for eleven children. That was more than they had bargained for. So, they changed their goal to raise each of the three children they had been blessed with to reach their maximum potential--to be a star in their own right!

My mother could have used any of a thousand excuses to give up on her job of raising her brood, but she never did. She was born to a poor black mother and a father who deserted them before her first birthday. Grandma Ollie had to work to feed her baby girl, Tressie, so she placed her tiny enfant in the care of my great-grandmother. As a black girl, she attended and graduated from Decatur High School in central Illinois, with scholarships to college in basketball and baseball. During that time, it was rare that a black girl went as far as secondary school.

Mother wore trousers and went to a factory job thirty years before the Women's Liberation Movement of the 1970's. She was ferociously independent and believed in making her own money--paying her own way! She bought what she wanted. Realizing that she was extremely blessed, she was altruistic and generous. To this day, friends and family remind me of her huge, joyous, spirit and her broad smile that would brighten up a room when she stepped in.

During World War II, she worked in an ammunition factory. She was a chocolate version of the beloved classic "Rosie the Riveter" who appeared on Uncle Sam posters.

Mindset is everything. Unlike the other children on our black corner on the Southside of town of Decatur, Illinois, she insisted that Lemont, Tresa and I (Debby) call her "Mother". That was an upgrade from "Mama", "Mom", "Cassie" (first name), or "Old Lady" that was allowed by the parents of our friends.

We were poor, but we never realized that we were poor until we became adults. Mother always said, "Don't let money stop you from doing anything you want to do!" We created art, played musical instruments, costumes, sewed our own fashions, went fishing and camping, learned to swim, participated in beauty pageants and talent shows. Daddy even built a house on the vacant lot next to our tiny little cottage home. Money never seemed to be that important as long as she was there to love and encourage us.

Mother read a bedtime story every night. She read nursery rhymes and fairy tales, helped us master arithmetic facts, and memorize Bible verses. She joined in our hand-clapping and double-Dutch games. She sat on the blanket, watched movies in the park, and caught fire-flys with us.

When we were naughty, the rolling of her bucked eyes struck fear into our souls and the only correction needed. And, when things seemed to get a little stressful due to friends, neighbors or family failing to keep their end of a bargain, Mother would announce, "One monkey don't stop no show!" Then, onward we would march toward whatever the goal happened to be.

When my tender adolescent heart was breaking because the boy I adored stood me up for the junior prom, Mother just hugged me and consoled me. " This, too, shall pass." she assured me that the pain would go away-- and I would be able to breathe again. I found myself repeating her words of wisdom whenever I found myself in what seemed to be impossible situations, or when I felt I was suffering a horrific injustice-- or at the death of a friend.

Mother was a natural leader. When she saw the kids in our neighborhood getting into trouble she started having talent shows in our back yard. Singing, dancing, comedy, imitations, sound effects -- all were fair game in our backyard talent shows. When no black children had successful auditions for our school's Fall Festival, Mother volunteered to have the neighborhood children practice until they could perform with excellence. And, when she noticed that many of the Black veterans were drinking themselves into oblivion, she rounded them up, got them sober, and made them Drill Masters of "drill teams" of black youth who thrived on the discipline and male influence.

When she sang old Negro spirituals, heaven and earth leaned over to listen to her mellow, melodious, bluezy tone. In the Wednesday night prayer service, church sistas would be slain by the spirit or be enlivened by Mother's voice and piano riffs, to dance a holy jig.

Divorce is a dark cloud over my memories. Daddy was the love of Mother's life. She never remarried and lived the remainder of her years alone. She encouraged us to stay and live with our father because he was prospering and could afford to send us to college. She couldn't. I think this broke her heart a second time.

Arthritis and other health issues slowed Mother down just a bit. But, she never lost her joyous spirit or her wonderful smile. She never complained. She cherished the fact, and considered it her superpower, to be able to lift anyone's spirit who was discouraged or having a down day. Her faith grew stronger. She would tell me, "I don't want to be a burden on anyone--I want the best for my children. I want you to be happy. I want to pay my own way."

Mother's indomitable spirit impacted the lives of many. Of all of her characteristics (besides her smile and gorgeous teeth) I think this is the characteristic that I am most proud to have inherited. When Mother passed away in 1986, we took her home to Decatur, Illinois to be buried near her mother and grandmother, just as she wanted. The motorcade behind her funeral hurst trailed at least two miles--as far as the eye could see. All of the children --now adults--who had been in the talent shows, marched in the drill teams, danced, sang, eaten in our home -- all came to pay their final respect to the woman who had made such a positive difference in their lives.

Mother always wanted to pay her own way. She did not have any life insurance. But, when the last bill was settled, thirty-seven cents ($.37) remained -- She paid her own way to the very last.

A tale told to honor my beloved Mother, Tressie Gaston Livingston