Me with me part 9 1-23-12

Me- Good morning

J- To you too. Although it’s 1:04. But it’s morning somewhere right.

Me- What’s up today?

J- At work right now. It’s peaceful today as usual. Work is pleasurable. It’s raining today. The kinda rain I like.

Me- So again, what’s up today?

J- Um, I have a deadline to submit an article for an online magazine.

Me- Article about what?

J- How I became a poet.

Me- Did you choose the topic?

J- Nope. But it’s cool. An exercise for me to put on paper the question folks have asked me for years.

Me- So how did you become a poet?

J- Um…

Me- And stop saying “um.”

J- Well, I guess answering why is probably easier than how.

Me- Ok, so why?

J- Pushy pushy. But anyway, poetry was and has been for a very long time the most powerful way for me to use my voice. I have used poetry to love and get it out and protect and defend. Used poetry to remember and remind, to build and tear down bridges.

Me- Give me some examples.

J- Of what?

Me- Of say bridges you’ve torn down and built. What did you need to remember? How did you use poetry to love and what were you holding inside that you got out through poetry? You know, be specific. Isn’t that what you’re always saying in workshops?

J- Good one. Let’s see if I can answer all of the questions.

Me- Well you brought it up, not me.

J- Ok then, one by one. How have I used poetry to love? I gathered up my passion and put it in a ball and took it apart and used words to put it back together. Used words like thread to weave meaning into what I’m saying when I say “I love you.” Used words and poetry to describe the feeling of falling out of hope with folks I have loved.

Me- Ok, and you said you used poetry to “get it out”?

J- Get out the noise in my head. Sometimes I do exercises called freewriting where I jot down the feelings I have inside without trying to make too much sense of them. I write and write and write and think later. Then I go back and look and see that the feelings and thoughts weren’t so jumbled after all. That they just needed to be outside of me so I could see them clearly. Sort of like when you go try on an outfit in the dressing room and you can’t get a good sense of how you look just looking down at yourself and so you step outside and check yourself out in the mirrors.

(We giggle.)

Me- And then you judge yourself for having too much here and not enough there.

J- Exactly.

Me- What have you used poetry to remember?

J- Well the remembering comes out in the freewriting. When I let myself flow things come up I didn’t know were there. Or at least didn’t want to acknowledge where there.

Me- Like what?

J- Stuff. For now just accept that. Gotta go for now. More later ok?

Me- K.

Me with Lynette 8-23-11

So how do I introduce Lynette to you? I guess this isn’t really an introduction because I mentioned her several times on this blog. We have known each other for about fifteen years. We met when I had a recording session with her producer boyfriend (now ex beau). After the session she cooked for the crew and she and I laughed and have been encouraging each other and making each other laugh since then. Our boys are also about the same age. Actually her twins would have been born the same month had they not come a month early.

Right now I am with Clara. For more information on Clara, read previous blog entries. Right now Clara is occupied putting her makeup on and things are pretty quiet around here so I thought I’d get as much of this interview (conversation) done as possible. I called Lynette about five minutes ago but she was busy with lunch and we agreed that her turkey burger need not be included in this session so let’s see if / when she calls back.

5:30p

L: (By text) Is this a good time?

J: (By text) I’m sleepy now.

Me with Val part 2 8-10-11

V: I've been reading your blog.

J: Yeah?

V: Sure.

J: Well, you know, in case they wanna tell my story at least they can get it right.

V: Pst. Please...they ain gon git it right anyway. The most you can hope for is that they tell it well.

We laugh.

Me with me part 8 4-14-11

* Another Wednesday.

J* Yep.

* You ok?

J* Yeah, I love Wednesdays.

* Because...

J* Still seeing the therapist on Wednesdays. Sorting out stuff. Looking at my patterns. Laughing at myself. After that I go to the Stage for poetry. I'm open on Wednesdays.

* Open?

J* Feeling everything. One minute I'm laughing the very next I'm crying.

* Crying about what?

J* Pshssshh, who knows? Tonight Michael was reading a poem about the Palestinians and I wanted to just cry and not stop. I didn't, but inside, I did.

* Why? I mean I know things are bad over there but what exactly triggered the (inside) crying?

J* Ummm, I was feeling a little upset because I was supposed to be picking up a check tonight that I found out wasn't ready and I had to wait and when he was reading his piece I thought about how silly I was being. Well, maybe not silly because I do want my money, but I thought about how...light my having to wait another day for a check was compared to being afraid for your life every minute.

* Make sense but you can't compare everything to that because somebody somewhere is afraid for their life and whatever issue you have is still an important issue. You know? Just because it doesn't weigh much to life and death...You understand what I'm trying to say?

J* I do. Just, in the moment I took myself out of myself and got into someone else's world.

* Got it. So, what new opened up in therapy?

J* A breakthrough today.

* Really?

J* Yeah, I won't share everything on this page but I traced back to when I became such a caregiver. You know, everybody's feelings over mine. Me being a sucker for everybody's tears. Everybody's wounds. And not taking care of myself. Not taking care of myself to the point of feeling guilty the few moments I did take care of myself. I'm seeing myself transitioning though. Loving me more. It's one thing to say you love yourself and it's something else to act like it. I can tell I'm loving me now.

* How?

J* Valuing my space. Acknowledging the energy I can and cannot hold. I was always so afraid of being the bad guy. I was a good girl growing up. But I was only good because I was afraid of taking risks and expressing myself. Good girls did what they were told. And so I did. And that cost me.

*Cost what?

J* Cost me my self expression. Cost me my voice. Cost me intimacy in some cases.

* Say more about that. The intimacy.

J* I am such a creative spirit and always have been. I see things differently from a lot of folks. I know that. When I was with people I didn't feel comfortable expressing myself with I pulled back. Silently, but surely. I would listen and smile and be good girl, but I knew that there was only so much I was going to give.

* And now?

J* Still now in some ways. I'm much more vocal now and can express myself much better and am a little less concerned about being the bad guy as much as I'm concerned about happiness, safety, love, peace.

* You feel at peace?

J* For the most part. I get anxious about things I can't control but I keep reminding myself that God sees, knows and can handle everything.

* Does that help? Knowing that?

J* Ummm, it does. Staying connected to Source takes focus. Constant focus. Sometimes I lose it.

* And then?

J* And then I have to remember to remember.

* Get some rest.

J* Love you.

* Big hugs.

Me with me part 7 3-10-11

J. So what's up? Where are you? (As if I don't know)

Me. "What's up?" is a loaded question, and a boring one too so I'll answer the second. I am on the Greyhound going to Philly.

J. For what?

Me. Poetry. The gig came at the perfect time too because I was in Atlanta doing a couple of shows out there and handling some personal business also. I was gonna catch the bus back to Los Angeles but they called and asked if I was available for this show and I was. My only thing about doing this show in Philly on Friday is that I have to be in Cali Saturday morning so they are flying me out after the show Friday night. Cool.

J. How is the bus ride? What is it, eleven hours on the road to Philly?

Me. About that. But the bus is gon have a way of stretching that out to twenty. I don't mind the ride though. I suggested it. I've taken many long rides but not usually this way, and it saved them some money. Besides, and I don't know why, but I sleep well and come up with some real good stories on long bus rides.

J. But what about your back and legs.

Me. Yeah. I'm sore sometimes but I go to the spa and sit in the hot tubs and saunas then stretch real good and I'm straight. Haa get it? I stretch and then I'm straight??

J. Yeah I got it but it wasn't funny.

Me. Yeah well.

J. What time is it anyway?

Me. 1:26 am

J. You ain't tired?

Me. A little. But I like this time on the bus when everybody is sleep. I let myself feel the pattern of bumps in the road, look out at the dark trees, make up stories, pray. Stuff like that.

J. And tonight you're talking to yourself and writing it down.

Me. You always point that out. So what?

J. Yeah. You are sleepy.

Me with Aquiah 3-8-11

Aquiah and I have been friends for over ten years now. Rodzilla asked me recently how many people really know me. I told him four but I know in my heart that I answered too quickly and that number is way too high. Even when I spend time thinking about it, I don't know what the actual number is but Aquiah is definitely high on that list. Currently, we are driving from a weekend in North Carolina back to Atlanta. I'm going to take advantage of this time to capture a quick conversation for the blog.

J. Ok so we have to start with Sweet Daddy.

A. The Sweet Daddy story?

J. Yeah, I had never experienced that before. I ain't never even heard of The United House of Prayer for all People.

(We pull off the freeway into a gas station. When we returned to the car we were on a new topic.)

A. I want my father to read my book.

J. Why?

A. Because I want him to be able to see himself as himself and not as a character he created.

J. Say more.

A. He ran around his whole life and pretended he was a Puerto Rican and how that gave his children an identity crises. I mean even me being in the strip club telling people I was from Brazil. I mean? I want him to see how while he was lying to everybody, everybody was lying to him by not telling him the truth about him. I'm guilty of it too because I've cushioned him.

I think that I might be the only one who could get him to see. I love him but I'm willing to risk him not speaking to me. If the curse started with him, then it has to end with him.

J. Then where did the curse come from? Because he didn't just wake up one day like BAAM!

A. Well, my mother told me that my grandfather was a habitual liar. I don't know about the sex shit.

My mother told me that my grandmother, my father's mother, use to cry to my mother about my father being ashamed of her. Not of her, but of her being a black woman. 'Cause if he was a Puerto Rican then his mother couldn't be black.

I don't know where all the sex shit came from. I don't know if he molested the boys but he could have done it by his over exposure of him being how he is in front of them.

D (brother) has apologized for his behavior. Not that that meant anything 'cause he still fucked his niece. C (brother) didn't even see it (the rampant sexual abuse in the family). He didn't see it till that shit went down at my father's birthday party. Did I ever tell you that?

J. No.

A. My sister P had on a little black skirt with no panties. She took C's son's hand and put it between her legs and came on to him. C finally saw the curse of our family and now he was the victim having experienced it through his son. He was the victim and not the perpetrator this time.

J. So C's son told?

A. She did it in the car while other people were right there.

J. What?

A. Yeah, but this was on the heels of us being at my dad's birthday party and my dad rubbing all over ass!

J. Rubbing on her ass?

A. Yes, he was rubbing on her ass like "Girl, look at all that ass." And she was just like, "Daaaaaady." (Said sweetly)

(Pause)

A. Girl, one time C's wife came to me and asked me if I fucked her husband!

J. Your brother?

A. I let her have it!

J. How old were you?

A. 'Bout fourteen, fifteen.

J. What did you say?

A. I told her "No, I didn't fuck yo husband, but when I was little yo husband taught me how to kiss. No, I didn't fuck him but when I was younger and found out that C was using drugs, I would use sexual energy to get him to stop."

J. How did you use sexual energy to get him to stop?

A. Like we might be having a conversation and I would be like (saying very sweetly) "You know C, I just don't want you out there doin' drugs" and shit like that and I would kiss his face or somethin'.

J. Which one is the brother that died?

A. R. The only brother I ever had that I didn't feel squeamish when he hugged me. The only brother that never made a muthafuckin' sexual advance. Well, G, 'cause G never did that shit either. I wonder how he escaped that shit.

J. Do you talk to your nieces about him?

A. No, it's a lot of them that don't know. Like my bother C's daughter, she don't know nothin' about him.

J. Her grandfather?

A. Well, that's his step granddaughter 'cause that's C's wife's daughter, but he been with her so long that...

J. What would your dad say if he read your book?

A. I don't know what he would say, but I'll tell you what he did say. One time years and years ago when I took Ch to meet him he was so inappropriate. He told her about when he had my mom doing a threesome he said that one pussy is good but two pussies is better.

I went home and wrote him like a five page letter and told him that my first memories of him were of him molesting me and beating my mother. He called me and told me to meet him at a club where he was playing. He said he couldn't believe I would say that. He didn't apologize or anything, he just put it on me. He tried to guilt me.

J. Damn.

A. Yeah, I don't know how red handed he would have to be caught to come out and tell the truth.

J. How old is he now?

A. 'Bout to be eighty-two.

J. Wow.

A. It's funny how my dad will tell me how he saw me strapped to my mother while she was on her motorcycle.

J. Strapped to her?

A. Yeah, she would strap me to her and we would be gone on her bike 'cause she was gon be out when the fuck she had to be out. But he won't talk about how he made my mother have ten abortions before she had me.

I can only imagine how many ass whoppin's my mother took for me. 'Cause she wouldn't let him hit me. The one time he hit me was because I had this Strawberry Shortcake sweater on that I LOVED, and my cousins had moved in and put my shirt on and I was like "Take my muthafuckin' shirt off now!" Then my father came in and slapped me so hard I flew across the room. I think that's when my mother left. You could whip her ass but she didn't let him hit me.

J. Then how did your mother react when you told her that he touched you or whatever?

A. She was mad but I didn't say it like "Mom, this is what happened..." I just kinda said it like she already knew. Like I do with you. I have a hard time believing she didn't she didn't know. But, I mean, what grown ass man takes a bath with his daughter with the door closed?

But you know, my father usta walk around butt ass naked like a nudist?

J. Did your mother ever say anything?

A. 'Bout what?

J. 'Bout him walking around like that.

A. My father was tolerated. I mean, if he wasn't he was gon beat you. So even if she felt a way about it, she could'na done nothin'. She was like, that's just how he do. He walk around with his dick out.

Me with me part 6 10-29-10

* Morning again.

J* Yeah, early morning.

* What are you doing?

J* I put a dvd in my computer and I'm working on my show for Saturday.

* No you're not you're typing this blog.

(We laugh.)

J* True. But before that I was working on the show.

* What's there to add?

J* Not really add, just kinda put together. The show is still a puzzle and each piece works but I keep changing where I want what where. A part of me feels like this will go on until I'm actually on stage.

* Do you usually go through all this before a show?

J* Umm, I have my process but no, it doesn't look like this always.

* So why the change for this show?

J* I think because it's going to be a more personal show. A lot of me. Me. I tell a lot of stories about other folks and...

* Really, other folks?

J* Well, ok, sometimes I just say they are about other folks but really they are me. But this time there is a lot of me. Admittedly me.

* That's not that new though. You've done that before.

J* Yeah.

* So what else is new?

J* There will be a lot of people who have never seen me perform before. Either have never seen me or haven't seen me in a long time. I'm a little nervous about that. I don't know why. But I am a bit.

* You know how I feel about the phrase I don't know.

J* I do hide behind "I don't know" a lot. You're right. It's my way of being lazy. "I don't know" is a good way for me to not do the work in my head and work through whatever I'm saying I don't know about.

* So do the work.

J* I'm nervous because the show comes at a time when I'm doing a lot of work on myself. No matter how much I try to hide behind a character, the really sore spots of me will show through.

* They always do.

J* Yeah, but this time on purpose. Artists are weird.

* I was going to say that.

J* We put ourselves in positions to show our weaknesses.

* Why?

J* To get stronger. To help other people get stronger. One time I asked V. Kali why artists go through so much...stuff. She said to me "because you'll tell it."

* You tell that story a lot.

J* When I need to hear it.

(Pause.)

* You there.

J* I'm here.

* What are you doin' now?

J* I think I'm gonna check my facebook again and go to sleep.

* Already?

J* Yeah, I'm getting a headache and I have to get up early.

* Why?

J* The headache or get up early?

* Both.

J* The headache probably because I had such a cold the last couple of days and I drank some whisky to dry out the mucus. It worked and I had a good nap but...

And I'm getting up early because I need to catch the train to Long Beach to meet my mother in the morning and then I have a lot to do at the theatre.

* Get some rest. Love you.

J* Love you too.

Me with me part 5 2-9-10

* Morning.

J* It's a beautiful gray day. Hot chocolate day.

* What's up today?

J* I have an assignment in Douglasville, go walking, work on a story that's been forming in my head.

* About what?

---We talk offline.

J* I'm journaling again.

* Again?

J* Kinda, I took a break and was focusing more on poetry and stories.

* What brought you back?

J* I have some stuff inside I don't want to publish but I still need to get the stories out. Truthfully, without changing the names to protect anybody. Plus, it relaxes me.

* Is it working?

J* Yeah. I'm sitting outside the house in Douglasville. Be back tonight. Love you.

* You too.

Me with me part 4

* The Saints won!

J* Mkay. I mean, yay for New Orleans. I'm excited for them. New Orleans deserves a party.

* What's wrong?

J* Nothing's wrong? Not wrong, just...stuff in the background. Not for the blog.

* So let it go. Let it go.

J* Thank you. Woosaaa.

* Where do you go to relax?

J* I take a bath. That's what I did tonight. I took a bath. Hot hot. I read a book while in the tub.

* What are you reading?

J* THE BONESETTERS DAUGHTER by Amy Tan.

* What else do you do to relax?

J* Sometimes I take a nap. When I can I swim. Which isn't often. When I can I get a massage. Which is even less often. I find a nice little restaurant and have a glass of merlot. I listen to music. I clean my home. I watch police shows like Criminal Minds, that's my favorite. I clean closets. I love that. I don't know why. I feel like I'm organizing my mind.

* You're ok, Jaha.

J* I know.

* You just write out conversations with yourself and post them online that's all.

---We laugh.

J* Yeah.

Me with Journey Johnson 2-8-10

This conversation is a bit different from others here on this blog. The difference is that I have never met Journey, face to face anyway. In fact, the first time I heard Journey's rhythmic voice was when we spoke for this blog. So why Journey Johnson?

We met on Facebook. I was very connected to her poetry and her daily posts were much of how I was feeling on the same days. I knew that we would have an interesting conversation so I sent her a message asking her if she would do it. Well, with little, very little, back and forth, she agreed.

We started the conversation talking about the show Hoarders. I had just watched the Hoarders marathon and we talked about the psychology of a hoarder. Poet psychology.

JJ* You know how you go in most people's homes and the livingrooms are clean, but then the closets are messy. Like that's reflecting the mind. What must be going on in the mind of a hoarder?

---I wanted to ask what her closets looked like. I didn't because although the vibe was cool and talking to her felt like I was talking to someone I had known for many years, the fact was, this was still our first conversation. I didn't want her to think I was too weird. As if she couldn't tell that from my own Facebook posts. But oddly, I'm interested in what people's clostes look like.

J* Where are you from?

JJ* Hawaii.

---I wasn't expecting her to say Hawaii because she has such a beautiful texture and pattern to her voice. Like Carribean and something else, I couldn't figure it out.

J* Really? OK. I guess that explains the boogie boarding.

---In one of our back and forths about setting time and date for the conversation, she mentioned that she would be available on a certain day because the only thing she had scheduled was to go boogie boarding with her son.

J* I thought that was so cool that you were boogie boarding with your son.

JJ* (She laughed) Don't give me too much credit. I didn't go that far out.

---Still, that's way cool. We then talked about our children and the shared stories we have of her daughter, my son sitting in green rooms and in audiences of poetry shows.

JJ* My daughter, on the front row, clapping too early.

---Laughter.

J* I like that profile picture of you on Facebook. I love the story it tells. The story I think it tells. Freedom. But freedom by choice. Not because everything is all good but because you just decided "hey, I'm gonna have a good day." Love the story of your feet up, the wine bottle, all of it.

JJ* Yeah, that's the story. I used to smoke. I tried to quit for a long time and I came across a woman who said that if I wanted to quit smoking then I had to quit drinking too.

J* Whoa!!!

JJ* Yep.

J* Did you?

JJ* Yeah. Begrudgingly. And I loved my wine. She saw that picture and edited it and took out the cigeratte and the wine. But I left it in there. I've been many a fucked up person and I've loved every fucked up person I've been. We shouldn't distance ourselves from who we are.

J* Or who we've been.

What do you do now?

JJ* There is a quote from Walter Reedy that says, "I found out the dirt wasn't dirty. Just brown." I was in Texas, outside to see the sun. 'Cause I don't miss the sunset. Anyway, I saw this tree on a flatbed. It was a very big tree. While I was looking at it, I felt like I was looking at a corpse.

Now, I'm planting. I'm giving back to the earth.

---I took a very short break from writing and recording our conversation to be with and be in the conversation deeper. This happended a few times while we talked. I do hope that Journey will consider talking and sharing with me again and letting me post the conversation. Reader, please forgive the breaks. Flow with us please. Flow with us.

JJ* People were giving me credit for things I had done but was no longer doing.

J* Like what?

JJ* I was in Texas and a young man came up to me and said, "You're Journey, right?" I said, "Yes." He told me about a poem I had written and that it changed his life and his writing and how he looked at writing.

For many people, that would make them feel good but for me...it didn't.
I didn't want to live in the past. Many people do that though.

When I was in college I said I was going to be an artist full time for rich or for poor. And I was ready for poor.

I started a paper for artists called, The Village Pulpit. There was no art around.

J* Where was that?

JJ* Texas. There was no art and I wanted to see art. I wanted to read. The paper was a selfish thing. I wanted to read and see art.

Remember that movie, Slam?

J* Yeah.

JJ* After that movie came out, we were sitting around watching it. Spoken word was new to me. Spoken word to me was something done privately and alone. Like prayer.

J* Haaaa! I love it. Like prayer.

JJ* I started doing spoken word to promote the paper. I got a group together called "The hungry poets." We were going to be called "The starving artists," but none of us could paint.

---Another break here to allow for some off the record conversation.

---We got on the subject of perfoming in prisons.

J* I always tripped at how attentive the audiences were there.

JJ* Yeah. I remember once, (she laughs lightly) I was setting up chairs. I'm short. 5'2" and I just put the half in there. Anyway we were there to perform in the prison and I was setting up the chairs when this big girl came up to me. She said, "What do you do? Do you sing?" I said, "No." "Rap?" "No." "Well, what?" "Poetry. I'm a poet." She said, "Aw, shit!"

But I performed this piece. (The theme, as I remember was abuse, and heavy. Note to self here to ask Journey if she still as the poem and if she would send it so that I can post it. Please.)

The people we were performing for appreciated us being there. Later, they put on a show for us. The big girl. The one who didn't even want to hear poetry at first, well, she was inspired by the piece that I wrote and wrote one herself. Telling her story of abuse.

---There was a pause here. For me, the pause was for the young girl's story. Abuse. Sex too soon. Strangers. Hard paths. Tired of hearing this story. So tired of it being our story.

J* I read the poem you posted on Facebook, Siren's cry. Where did that come from?

JJ* All the tears I cry. It comes from a lot of places. Conversations. Being fucked up. I was having a conversation three days prior to writing it about rape. Molestation. The violence of it all.

J* (Shaking my head) I don't know a woman who this hasn't happened to. Damn.

JJ* Yeah. And the men, they go on with their lives.

J* They go on with their lives. (I repeated her statement resisting being triggerd by it. But I am. Kinda. Still there is a part of me that wants to believe that they are affected by it. They have to be if we are. Right?)

JJ* The men go on with their lives. (She repeated the statement and I wondered what she was thinking. I didn't ask though.) Why is that though? Why do they go on with their lives? Why is it that when women are raped the men don't speak up? And the women who speak up are really speaking up for when we didn't speak up for ourselves. Why don't the men speak up? What is this bitch move?

I asked that on Facebook. I sent it to men and I wanted answers. Some people said that they liked the question. Liked the question? It wasn't fucking rhetorical. I did want answers. I got some too. Some interesting ones. I understood from some of them that it wasn't that easy. You know? Some women acusing and false accusing and being on the other end of that and...just not that easy. But...(and I understand the other end of the but. It's never that easy. Nothing worth it ever is.)

And when I look for where this started I go back to back in the day when we first let "bitches" and "hos" and "sluts" on the radio and at first we were like, "it's just entertainment." But no.

J* But no.

---We took a break from bitches and hos and sluts and rape. Just a short one. And went back to art. Sort of.

JJ* Remember the rap songs back in the day that were so materialistic? (She laughed) If you have the fuckin' shoes, wear 'em. Don't stand around talking about your fucking laces. (Funny!)

J* Money don't wear money.

JJ* I read an interview with Sonya Sanchez and she was talkin' about people being in such a rush to put out a book. She was saying to wait and read and develop. Once you put a book out, it's out there. Forever.

I was thinking about this time once, when I was getting dressed to go to this poetry slam on the volcano and... (ok, here, my ears had to play catch up because she just said poetry slam on the volcano like anything happening on a volcano was usual.)

J* Wait, a volcano?

JJ* Yeah.

J* OK.

JJ* I had been away from slam for a long time. I walked in this place and there were all these people. Older people, mostly white. I was a stranger in my own place. I listened to this poem. There were mellow poems, shopping lists, (we cracked up here because we are both familiar with the shopping list poems, not that there's anything wrong with that. Still laughing.) Anyway, I was waiting for the Slam to begin. During the half time or, break, the mc told people to share, talk to people, mingle. I was like, "mingle?" I don't wanna talk! I don't wanna mingle! I got out of there and into my truck so fast. (We laughed again. There was a lot of laughing.)

I'm just tired of poets sounding like every other poet. You know that sound? That...sound?

J* Yeah, I know it!

---I did my rendition of Every Other Poet
(Whisperyelling) Reaching under yellow blue moons and pink purple
skies I see rooooooose petaaaaaaalllls...
Well, I don't know how that translates in print, but...that's the vibe.

JJ* Why would a poet try to sound like anybody else? I mean, your poems are your tears, your sweat, your DNA. When you write the poem, it's yours. So why the fuck does it sound like everybody? Don't be so fuckin' lazy, man! you disrespect your soul.

When I hear that sound I get this internal ucky! (Yes, she said internal ucky and yes, I laughed my ass off.)

J* I know what you mean. I think about how I have evolved as a poet and what I've evolved into. I am just no longer the poet who needs to stand on stage and set herself on fire. These days I'm just much much more into the word. I need a music stand for my words and a place to put my reading glasses when they start making my ears hurt.

JJ* Haaaa haaa. (I didn't know if she was laughing at me or with me. And it didn't matter.) The sugar is the fire (delivery), and the substance is the word. When I was living in New York I lived in Park Slope and I used to go to hear poetry at Ozzy's Cafe. At the time, I was a child used to sugar and they just stood there and read poetry. But then I started to really appreciate it.

Your art is not for the art community. You have to take the time to see the world outside of you. (I love that.)

---Here I stopped taking notes and we talked. More and more. Just what I needed. My dog, Brandy, started barking and we got on the subject of animals and how I don't like cats. Really, I'm just afraid of them.

JJ* Why?

J* Because I'm afraid that they will be casually walking by and then suddenly jump up and scratch me in the face.

JJ* Weeeeell, I can't say that they won't. But I love cats. They're real.

---So I'm a Virgo and I overanalze everything.

J* I think I don't like cats because that's who I am. I'm a cat.

JJ* In what way?

J* I will walk casually by and then suddenly jump up and scratch.

JJ* I don't see that, but when someone tells you who they are...believe them.

---I thought about why I said that about myself and sat with it for a minute. I thought about dreams I've been having lately. Dreams about stress building. Dreams about letting go. Letting it all out. Somehow. Perhaps the statement and the dreams are a warning to me that being casual aint always so cool.

Maybe this isn't the blog for this but when the revelations pop up they pop up. I thought about how I walk around keeping a lid on it, knowing it's there.

I grew up a nice girl. I had to be nice. Sweet. I'm still like that in a lot of ways. Too many ways. I criticize myself for letting it out in slow hisses. Fuck Fuck Fuck. Listening to Journey reminded me too much of myself. Fucking this, fucking that. Fuck is my slow hiss. My reminder to let it, all of the its, out more and more. Somehow, in our conversation, I became less and less afraid of cats. Less and less afraid of myself.

Thank you Journey. For the journey. For your words, wisdom, laughter, poetry, path. Thank you. Until later.

Me with me part 3 2-6-10

I usually like to introduce these conversations with how I know the person I'm speaking with and how long I've known him/her. I guess since I am forty years old, the easiest thing would be to say that I've known me for forty years. I don't know how true that is though. Because every year I know me new. Or is it newly?

* You know the drill, no, the routine. What memory comes up first?

J* Me as a little girl. The neighbor's tent next door. Next door on Cameron Street where I grew up. I don't wanna go into the story but that's the memory that comes up first. Maybe because it was that incident that had so much to do with how I guard myself so much. Maybe.

* Say more about you guarding yourself.

J* Ummm, mostly in relationships I guess. It's very natural for me to take on the role of cheerleader, encourager, lifter of spirits, wind beneath his wing...

* How does that describe how you guard yourself?

J* Well, I generally go above and beyond the call of girlfriend duty for men I know in three lifetimes wouldn't do the same for me. It's a perfect set up. I give and expect at least the same level of respect and am disappointed when I don't get it in return. Disappointed, but really there's no other way for it to turn out. The relationship ends and each failed relationship is validation that it's crazy to give so much. And then the next guy shows up and there is something about his potential I start rooting for. And the cycle continues. And each time I wrap myself in a new hard layer of I told you so don't do this again. But to my...credit I keep bouncing back.

* You make it sound like giving and rooting are bad things.

J* They are not bad things. In romantic relationships I just seem to give them to people who don't cherish them. Didn't really ask for them in the first place.

* Awww, poor you.

---We laugh.

* Well, if I can talk straight, it doesn't seem like it's them. I think it's you.

J* Yeah?

* You said yourself that the cycle continues. You must know the end before it begins. Right?

J* I do. Yet I'm somehow surprised each time.

---We laugh again. But we know it's not funny.

* So what, if anything, are you doing to break the cycle?

J* I shut down sometimes and wonder why I haven't gotten a grip on this whole love thing by now.

* As if any of us have.

J* Well, in my mind, by forty, it should be handled.

* As if life has ever followed any shoulds. But answer the question. What, if anything, are you doing to change this cycle?

J* Reconnecting myself to Myself.

* That's a great title for a book, but what does it mean?

J* I'm listening. I'm trusting. Everytime I have ever done anything there has always been a small voice that said yes or no. I know the voice. It's never lead me wrong. Too many times I didn't listen though.

* But it sounds like you've had this tragic life of horrible relationships and you haven't.

J* No. I haven't. I just learned too many lessons the hard way. And I didn't have to. But again, no. They haven't been horrible relationships and I've learned and taught lessons in each one. I spent too much time fixing and helping.

* What's wrong with that?

J* Nothing was broken. I didn't love and honor myself enough to know that I had more to offer than my help, than my fixing. My image of myself was that that's why someone would like me. I know I sound like a little girl, but we're talking about love here. Here, where we're all fifth grade boys and girls.

* And now?

J* Now I know better.

Me with Scott "Bugs" Allen 2-5-10

Bugs is one of coolest, kindest, peaceful and talented guys I know. The more I have these conversations the more I am thankful for the wonderful and talented folks in my life.

Bugs is also an awesome father and husband and was on his way to pick up his daughter from school and take her to her game during this conversation. Miss Sidney is now nine and a cheerleader.

As usual I asked my favorite question first.

J* When you're chillin' what pops into mind first?

B* My mom. I remember my mom at the piano doing what she did. That was my foundation. Those were my fondest memories. Her playing the piano and singing. Sometimes at church and sometimes at home. Those times were a large part of why I do what I do.

J* When did she pass?

B* 2003.

J* Was that her profession? Playing the piano.

B* Partly. She was an accomplished soprano and played the piano. She also held other jobs, but yeah, she played the piano. Her mother also played piano.

J* Did she sing too?

B* Oh yeah. My grandmother came up with Sarah Vaughn. They hung. She was part of the original chittlin' circuit ang sang in a lot of the black clubs like Apollo.

Back in those days when Ella Fitzgerald and Joe Williams were performing, she travelled with them in that circle. You know who Melba Moore is right?

J* Yeah.

B* Well her parents and my grandparents toured together. In fact, sometimes when they had gigs they would leave the kids at my grandmother's home. Melba and my mom were there together.

J* You're from Baltimore?

B* Yeeeep.

In the 60's Melba and my mother were both cast in the musical Hair, but my mom chose to raise a family.

J* That's such incredible history.

B* Yeah. I have pictures of how dignified they were back then. The way they were dressed and all, even though they couldn't stay in the hotels they were performing in. A lot of them, when they were in town, they would stay at my grandparents house. When they made it big and were still performing and were finally allowed to stay in the hotels, they would still come by and bring gifts thanking my grandmother for letting them stay back then.

I didn't realize the significance of those people. I'd come downstairs and Sarah Vaughn would be singing and my mom playing piano.

J* Did your dad sing too?

B* He did. Not professionally, but he had a great voice. He was a little melanin challenged like myself (we laughed). He sounded like Frank Senatra and they called him Old Brown Eyes (we laughed again). He just passed two years ago.

J* Do you sing?

B* Yeah.

J* I thought so. Why don't you sing much?

B* In Third Senario, Earl is such a great lead and it's not that easy to play bass and sing, so I pretty much do background behind him.

J* How long has Third Senario been together now?

B* Twelve years.

J* Really?

B* Yep. That's longer than some relationships. It's essentially Earl and myself and we hire someone that we like to play with us.

J* Where are yall playing now?

B* Nowhere regular. Wherever we get booked. I miss those Sunday nights when we had a regular night.

J* I miss those Sunday nights too. I loved that place.

B* People still tell me about how much they loved those nights. That place on Pico.

J* The Nile.

B* Yep. The Nile River Cafe. Nobody was makin' money but it was so much fun. Being around all those talented people. Like yourself.

J* Thank you.

B* I catch Deana sometimes on Facebook and we chat it up about how great those times were.

J* Miss you, Bugs.

B* You too.

Me with D Black part 2 2-5-10

D called me this morning about 9:45, so 6:45 his time. There was no build up of excuse mes, or were you sleepings or anything like that. Just D on the other end with something to say. Softly. Kindly. Thoughtfully.

D* You asked me the other day what comes to mind when I let my mind go blank. You asked me what comes up first and I did that this morning and I know what comes up first for me.

J* What's that? And can I take notes on this and include it in the blog?

D* Sure.

J* Ok. What's up?

D* You know I was born in '59. So I'm right at the beginning of the '60s. That's what comes up. The '60s in L.A.

I remember my brother and I used to eat the free breakfast at The Black Panther Center. We met the Black Panthers. Stokley Charmichael rubbed my head once. As I grew up I grew to understand my connection to him as a writer.

I remember that the whole neighborhood smelled like a bakery. I was born and raised on 48th and Grammercy. If you go down Normandie and go down Slauson, a lot of those buildings were bread places.

---My mind went back to when I lived in the Artist District downtown L.A. We lived in a loft that had been converted from a bakery.

D* I remember my dad had a tab with the Helms place. A lot of people did. Folks got paid on Fridays and paid it up then. But we always had bread.

I remember the red car.

J* My mom used to talk about the red car. You remember that?

D* Yeah. One of the stations was right on 48th.

I remember my uncles were bookies and they would give me toilet paper with numbers on them. They used to put money in the juke boxes and I would dance and they would give me money.

But bread. Mostly I remember the smell of bread. Now L.A. stinks. There are no more bread places. But back then everybodys grandmother was at home and they was up cookin' breakfast. Not no more. L.A. stink now. It smells like murder.

We went on to talk about old times, poets, L.A. We took time, on this rainy morning, to remember friendship.

Me with D Black part 1 2-3-10

Dwight Johnson or D Black if ya nasty, is a poet I met in Leimert Park maybe fifteen years ago. Wow. He is one of the smoothest poets I know. I used to listen to him at The World Stage and his voice always sounded like it was the soundtrack to some Foxy Brown flic. Since the conversations on this blog are with folks I love and folks who have shaped me into being poet, woman, friend, being, then D had to be a part of it.

J* When your mind is somewhat blank and you're just chillin', what comes up first?

D* I think about when I was living on Vernon and Denker in L.A. where my mom passed away. That house.

J* She passed away at the house?

D* No. See Mom was a barber and after work her and her friends would come to my house and they raised money for the rent gambling. My dad wasn't into that. He would break the party up. He told everybody to leave.

I remember we were in the closet looking for her red shoes. Her and my dad were arguing and she said she would be back. Me and my brother were holding on to her 'cause we didn't want her to leave. We told her not to go. She said she would be back.

She went to the club and had drinks. She had an aneurysm at the club. They rushed her to a hospital but they wouldn't take her because she was black. By the time she got to the second hospital, she was dead.

My mom looked like Lena Horne. With her hair and her skin.

My father drove up as we were waiting for Granny to take us to church. He told us that she was dead. I was five.

J* How did that shape your life with women?

D* Well, we went to stay with Granny and we had aunts there so we were around a lot of women. But still there were some trust issues I had. I still thought my mom was gonna come back. At the funeral home I saw her and I just thought she was too pretty to be dead. I touched her face and it was cold but on her temples it was still warm. I was young and I would sit on the couch looking for her.

A part of me felt like she abandoned us because we asked her not to go. Yeah, I had some trust issues.

I never liked clubs for one. I was in clubs 'cause that's where I hustled but I never did like 'em. To this day I don't. I much rather a coffeehouse or a bookstore or something like that. I remember if I was with a woman and she was up in the clubs then that was a real problem. It took me a while to see it but really I felt like if they were in the clubs then they were gonna die.

J* Is that what got you taking care of children?

D* I always loved children. I'm a lot like my dad. I fought not to be but I am. My dad is such a mentor and hero in my life. He took care of the whole neighborhood. He cooked and everyone was at our house.

I went to Normandie Elementary and my tightest friend was named Steven and he was in a foster home. I really didn't grasp that. But one time I went to his house and there was an oriental kid and a Mexican kid and I was like, "who is that?" and he said those were his brothers. His foster brothers. Then he explained that he was living in a foster home.

I found out later that a lot of my friends were orphans and foster children. Growing up I always got close to kids who didn't have parents. There was a kid next door to me whose mom had passed when he was only five too. I didn't even know it till later but I found out and we got really close. I remember saying, "My mom is dead and his is too."

---D Black is the owner and founder of a company called Pops On Point, a company assisting parents and children with custody issues. He is the proud father of two beautiful and intelligent children, Koran and Bubba also a foster father who now has twin six years old boys who, during our conversation were enjoying playing a videogame. D yelled into the other room, "Where are we getting ready to go?" And the boys responded cheerfully, "The World Stage!!"

J* What did you get your degree in?

D* I got my AA in general education and childcare development.

J* So you never stopped.

D* Nope.

J* When and why poetry?

D* Even when I was nickel slick and had a perm and had my slick friends, I still had my nerdy friends. I used to go to the library and hide out. I had a lot of nerd friends that I protected. I'm always protecting somebody. It was my nerd friend Andre who showed me poetry and I would read poetry books.

I never thoguht I would start writing poetry. When I got married and my wife and I would get into it, I would write about her. I wrote a lot of pimp stuff like Donald Goings and Iceburg Slim. (He recited The Fall by Iceburg Slim.)I also used to do plays at Trade Tech. as Iceburg Slim.

I started reading at The World Stage. Before that I was reading at 5th Street Dicks and AK was at the door and we would talk. He used to tell me to come over to The Stage. One day I met Jenoyne at a bookstore and she told me that she and her husband were running a poetry spot at The Stage and that I should come by. Then I started coming. AK slipped my name in the hat without me even knowing and I got on stage and read. I got a damn that night.

---A "damn" at The World Stage is when a poet reads a poem and the audience is so moved that collectively they say "one, two, three, DAMN!"

J* You got a damn your first night?

D* Yep.

J* Damn.

D* Life is a big damn.

---We laughed.

D* I'm opening The Stage tonight so I gotta get goin'. Love you.

J* Love you too.

Me with Sandra Loraine Coleman 2-3-10

I've known Sandra Loraine Coleman for, I don't know, at least twelve years I guess. She is a poet, rather, she is poetry. Tall, big red hair, bright face, freckles, always wearing the earrings you wish you bought first. And yes, you have to say all three names, or you're just not doing it right.

I chose to interview her because she has always inspired me. Every time I see her I see this woman...in motion. Holding her head up through all of it. Through all of the its.

The following are pieces of my conversation with the awesome woman, poet, being, who is Sandra Loraine Coleman.

J* What do you remember first?

SLC* The birth of my daughter. I had two miscarriages before her. I didn't realize what I would have to give up when I had her. You think you're ready, but nothing can prepare you. The moment she came into my arms, that was the happiest day of my life.

When stuff happens, I think, "What would my mama do?" I've seen her not eat so we could eat. I've seen her and my dad work it out so that we could always have at least one of them home with us.

When my dad died, my mom went in her room and cried and beat the bed, hit the wall, and I let her do that. It lasted for about ten minutes. Then she was back to taking care of us.

I've worked really hard on myself since I've become a true woman, a real woman.

---As I listend to Sandra speak, I kept having those moments when I said to myself "get out of my head, getoutofmyhead!"

SLC* I'm a Pices and I'm highly sensitive. I mean, it's like I feel everything.

---Me too, me too me too. I thought. Except I'm a Virgo.

SLC* I spend so much time taking care of others. My daughter (Kameron), my daughter's grandmother, I have a man, I gotta work... Sometimes I feel like I'm "right there at the wall." That's what Alice and I say to each other sometimes. I will call her and tell her, "Pray for me 'cause I'm right there at the wall."

I've been tellin' people, "Leave me alone. I'm tellin' you, leave me alone."

J* I've been saying same thing. People don't believe me though. But ok...

SLC* I've been telling Kami that too. You know how they will try you. I know how it is, I was her age once. She is sixteen and I got to be all up on her. I'm tellin' you girl, keeping tabs.

---Oh my goodness, Kameron is sixteen? I had to pause and remember Kameron when she was a very little girl all up under her mom at all the poetry spots. Sixteen? Where does the time keep going?

SLC* I keep telling her "Your mom is crazy and you need to know it."

J* I say that all the time.

SLC* When she was younger I used to take her to restaurants all the time. I taught her how to hold her fork, use her napkin, order food, all that. One day, she thought she was gon throw a tantrum right there in the restaurant. Girl, I took her to the bathroom and I whooped her ass right there. She never did it again. In fact, if she would even start up again after that I would say, "Do you need to go to the bathroom and talk?" She would say "No, Mommy."

---Sandra and I have had many conversations about abuse she has gone through and I have always respected how she would tell the stories like they were lessons for her. She would say, I take responsibility for this or for that. She never seemed to be a victim of anything. For her they were lessons she had to learn. Hard lessons. But lessons.

SLC* Kameron's dad was abusive. He was tall. Like seven feet and a big man. I couldn't fight him. But, I was there. Even after I left I always thought that I would have a black man on this earth to be angry at. And now I don't.

He died. And it's like God is saying "Ok, now what are you so angry at?"

I can't blame him for everything. Some things are partially my fault and I take responsibility for those things.

I remember the first time it happened, of course I was crying and he was crying. And...and...well you wanna believe it aint gonna happen again but...

But then when you have a baby... Well I just had to see the world through her eyes and I knew I couldn't stay. I thank God so much for sisters who speak out right away. I read that story you wrote about Bridget and I was so proud of her for speaking up right away. I didn't do that. I will say this, if you don't get out, he will do it again. Some women never get out.

But you still gotta take responsibility for stuff you did too. That's what I didn't like about Rhianna's story and Whitney's story.

J* What was that?

SLC* Well, they didn't say nothin' about what they were responsible for. Don't get me wrong. Yes, it was wrong for them to be abused but you can't just say what he did.

I remember the day I left. It was early in the morning and I was sleep and he slapped me. I was like, "Wow, did you slap me?" Then he did it again. I got outa there. He wouldn't give me the car and I walked out that door and I never went back.

I walked Kami to school and I would get tired but we kept walking. I picked her up and carried her in my arms, on my neck, on my back, then I had to put her back down and she had to walk some more. She was tired and I was too. There was a cross on a church by her school and I remember saying, if I could just get to that cross I will be ok."

I walked her to school. Then I walked back to Mailboxes Etc. and I called my mom and I just cried and cried. She aint a fast driver but she got to me like...that! She took me to her house and I didn't go back to him. Well, I went back with the police to get my stuff. But, I found another place.

J* Where do you get the strength from to keep getting up?

SLC* One day I walked by the mirror and I didn't recognize the person in the mirror. I cried for like an hour.

J* What do you mean you didn't recognize her?

SLC* I just didn't look like me. I wasn't lively. I looked depressed. I knew what I used to look like. You can't go through life not knowing who you are.

But like I said, I take responsibility for mine. I know part of my butt whoopings was because I wouldn't shut up. I'm not saying I deserved to get beat or that it was my fault, I'm saying that I should have shut up. But no, me, back then I just had to say what I had to say right then and right there. We need to understand when he is at his limit and back off and not push those buttons, 'cause we know how to push them.

Now, I'm not talking about those relationships where he is so crazy and he's just gonna go off no matter what you do, whether you shut up or not. No, I'm talking about him being at his limit and you already know he's at his limit and you just push anyway. See, our ancestors were more intuitive than we are but we got caught up in all that bra burnin' shit.

But we gotta keep movin' and we gotta stay strong. For our family and for our race. A race is only as strong as its woman. We will always get it done. Hell, there are still women who will lay on their backs to feed their families.

That's what I'm doin'. I'm gon keep movin'. Goin' to work everyday. Goin' to basketball games, hosting shows, poetry... Black woman are the masters at creating illusions. But when the lights go out, the pillows are drenched. That's why we keep movin' during the day, 'cause when we stop... But we can't let it take us down.

I think about something that Steve Harvey said. He said, "You never know when your blessings are gonna come. The blessing might be right around the corner and what if you stop just before the corner. Keep on pushing!"

J* I love you Sandra.

SLC* Love you too, sis.

Me with Val 9-14-09

J* I don’t have a place to begin.

V* As it turns out, I don’t have a place to begin either.

J* Good.

V* I don’t think I would have been willing to have the conversation if I hadn’t spent the time I spent with Janice this summer.

J* What happened?

V* Don and I had been divorced for a year. I didn’t know how to continue those relationships (with family). I didn’t know whether to do that. People have said different things. People have said, “You just don’t know how to move on.” I’ve been a part of a family for twenty-nine years. So how do you step out of that? And I am mother to Darius and Deon, who are probably just as disconnected to the Davis family as I am. And they are dna Davises. I have some vested interest in them being connected to their family.

So back to why. Let me back up. John had been trying to get me to go to the family reunion in Chicago. I didn’t know how people would receive me. Janice and I had some really good conversations and I read her the poem that I had written to you. And she said that I should send it to you. I wouldn’t have, but then your fortieth birthday came up .

(Val’s poem to me)

How do you explain
to your niece(?)
that you have admired her
since she was a girl
wide-eyed, knowing, questioning

how do you claim
any space in a life
of the little-girl-cum-woman
when you never bought her ice cream
from the "mulberry bush" playing truck
never played hide-and-seek
never bought a book you knew she would like

how do you explain
that you have prayed for her often
and loved her in algebraic distance
longed to be an x factor
in one of her poems

that her bold bravery
has always made you smile
that you love the richness
of her voice/of her poverty
knowing she would rather scavenge
for change in the sofa
than settle for 9-to-5
mind-numbing mundanity
that yardwork feels your soul, too
that the next show she does
just might be the one
that lands her hunting
for dollars,
find the dreams she dreams
just around the corner
(c) Valerie Bridgeman 7-11-09/rvd 9-3-09

I love you.

V* Do you know who Sharon Bridgforth is?

J* No.

V* She’s a play writer. I got to perform with her in Austin. After the show we went to lunch at Mother’s, which is one of my favorite vegetarian restaurants in Austin. We were sitting there and eating and talking about art. My art, her art. She told me that the only thing holding me back from being great is my lack of commitment to the art.

I admire your commitment to the art. I use it as a place of deep thinking, meditation to the art or fear of the art. I have pieces that are in print, none of which I have submitted unless someone asks me to submit. If I don’t get asked to perform, I don’t perform. But this year has made me think a lot about not just what I do, but who I am. So I have been writing again. Then John sent me your blog. John has been the only person in the Davis family who has been trying to stay connected.

J* What are you writing now?

V* A lot of different pieces. Some memoir pieces. I’m trying to figure out how to do my art. Trying to figure out how to do my one woman show. Working on getting a space and a time.

My postponement of the art has been around the expectations (others). Being in the academic community… This year I decided I would do what’s life giving for me. I will get the academic writing done. But my soul’s work is the art.

(I stopped typing and taking notes here to really be in the conversation with Val. This is a conversation I wish I would have recorded. This conversation with Val for me was a lot like my conversation with Bettye. Here is another aunt I’ve known almost all of my life yet I felt like it was my first time talking with her. Her. As human being. My first time recognizing her as friend, artist, mother, aunt.)

J* It’s great that I’m talking to you for this blog because, I don’t know if you’ve read this in other of my entries but one of the reasons I started this blog was for my younger cousins and family members that I may not meet, or get to know well anyway. Specifically Deon’s daughter. I keep forgetting her name. I keep calling her “Deon’s daughter.”

V* Imani.

J* Imani.

(And how could I forget a name like Imani? It’s one of my favorite girl names.)

J* I imagine that she and I could be so much alike and that she could discover some kind of connection with me, even if it’s just through reading things about me here. I used to make up things about Mary. Mary was my grandmother’s first child who lived only three days.

V* Yeah.

J* I used to imagine what she would have been like. I made up stories that she was this artist who was a lot like me. I imagined having conversations with her and a relationship with her. I have a bunch of poems and stories about her now.

V* Did you make up stories about who we were? We, who were right there?

J* I did. But the stories I made up about you all were made up out of my insecurities. Not from really imagining or the truth. Just… my insecurities. Like I had made up that Bettye didn’t like me because I didn’t finish college and you didn’t like me because I wasn’t religious enough. Or something like that.

V* I remember when I first met you. You must have been around ten. I remember that you were always quiet around me. I said even back then that you were this deep child.

(Pause from typing and note taking here. Just listening. To my aunt.)

A part of my deep regret is that my children didn’t grow up around cousins. That had an impact on us. An impact on me knowing you.

J* You know, I believe that whenever you have your mind made up that something is true then evidence for that belief shows up all around you. Since I believed I wasn’t religious enough or something enough for you something was bound to happen as proof of my belief.

One day, a long time ago, I was on Roshann’s computer and you instant messaged her while I was on it. I think you said something like, “Hello my wonderful niece.” I responded saying that it was me and not her. Then you didn’t respond. For me that was my “proof” that said seeeeeeeeeee, it’s true. If I was Roshann she would have kept talking to me.

Looking back, I know that it’s possible that something could have happened or that I’m not even remembering the event accurately. But in my remembering, that’s what happened. I guess that was as much my proof as was when Mo didn’t know that we were related was proof for you. Of something. Of our disconnection at least.

(Val shared an incident with me when a group of poets we know were in her home and she had cooked for them and they were sharing together. In their conversation my name came up and the group was surprised not just that we were related but that we even knew each other.)

V* I’m sorry that whatever happened that day (when I was at Roshann’s computer) built further separation between us.

J* Like I said, something was bound to happen, because I believed something was true. Proof was going to show up.

V* There are things I could have and maybe ought to have done as an aunt. And I don’t think there are too many ought tos in the earth. I think elders have responsibilities in the community. If you’re not practicing with your own kin then how are you going to be an elder? When my dad died and my mom died I became the matriarch in the family. I was so not ready to be a matriarch. I was not ready to be hearing from my nieces and nephews. I didn’t have practice in being present to the people that need me. I say that to say that I would imagine that you and the other nieces and nephews on the Davis side, Bridgeman side, need elders. The people who need elders shouldn’t always have to go looking for them. They should be ready to be that. I hope that makes sense.

J* We do what we know how to do. And that’s it.

V* Yeah, I don’t feel guilty about it. I feel sad about it. It goes back to what Sharon was saying about my commitment to the art. Not buying into the lie that it’s too late. It’s never too late to be who you’re supposed to be.

J* What do you wanna do, with your show, with you art?

V* Right now I wanna reconnect to it. (She laughs. But I can tell it’s not a joke. I know that laughter. I know that need to reconnect to… art.) I’ve been living in the fear around it. Like maybe I’m not as good as my friends think I am. Now I’m at a spot in my life where I have to. Even if it’s not beautiful to anybody but me. And it doesn’t even have to be beautiful to me. Just done. Both doing the poetry and some stage stuff.

I’m learning to swim. I was going over it in my head. “In my fiftieth year, do I learn to swim or pick the clarinet back up?” It took me half the year to decide that swimming would get me further down the road with my art.

J* I’m glad you chose swimming. I don’t have a relationship with the clarinet, but I know water. Swimming is very healing for me.

V* Don used to say to me, “Other people bring home stray puppies, you bring home stray people.” But I, in the midst of everything that has happened in the last couple of years, find myself getting small and I don’t like that. I don’t want to be a small person. I used to trust first. And just trust people. Really trust them. Then I got to the place where I didn’t. And I don’t like that.

My life started unraveling. I felt myself getting smaller and smaller and trusting fewer and fewer. And so this year for me has really been about shifting that to the open space. People hurt you. You hurt people. It’s called being human. That’s what forgiveness is for. But rather than work through the pain I started battening down the hatches. Started pulling my heart back in from the world.

When I moved to Memphis, Jonathan moved upstairs. When he talked to my kids on the phone he would say, “I can’t say enough about your mom. Opening her heart and her doors to me.” My son would say, my mom is a mama. I think about Alice Walker saying in IN SEARCH OF OUR MOTHERS’ GARDENS, “She stays in community. She doesn’t withdraw except for reasons of heath.”

As I started to withdraw I thought it would just be too easy to not get naked on the stage again. In any way. This year I went on a cruise. Even with my friends there with me I found myself being guarded. I found myself saying, “You gotta get over this. You gotta risk being hurt again.” As a part of being human.

I remember one day my mom was in the kitchen and my dad was yelling about her not being enough of something and he quoted from 1 Peter “Even as Sarah obeyed Abraham, whose daughters you are, calling Abraham lord”. I can see it like it was yesterday. She stopped and she said, “Well, you’re not Abraham and I’m not Sarah and these are not Abrahams times.” It was that moment that she told us without telling us that you don’t have to take that. And don’t let anyone use the Bible to make you feel small.

J* What is the tribe?

V* A group of young adults gathered around me. I started saying in Memphis, I can’t find my tribe. Then I heard Spirit saying, “It’s time to call them together.” I called four people and said, “Hey, I’m having a gathering at my house. Will you come? We did poetry and sang and I don’t remember if we painted. But we shared art. That began a season of people saying, “Hey, I have somebody they I think you need to meet.” They would bring people to the house. I never knew who would be there. I wasn’t producing as much, but I felt like we were holding each other accountable.

J* Are they still with you?

V* Yeah. The tribe exists no matter where we are. We did a major performance together in Austin. Then my life started falling apart and I don’t think they could reach me. emotionally. But then we slowly started coming back around. Yeah. There is still work to do around that.

I sat there and listened to her. To Val. Aunt Val. Though I don’t really call any of my aunts or uncles aunt or uncle. I listened to her stories. The texture of her wonderful voice. The passion she has for her art. Her path to reconnection to it. As she read her poetry to me I was inspired. In awe. In love.

When I am Asked

For my sons

When I am asked, “what did you do for the revolution?”
I will answer that I was suckling the seeds
Of the next rebellion at my breast,
Raising black men whose first response
To every request will be “why?”

I will answer that I was instructing the saplings
Of the next revolution in the school of my experiences,
Raising black men whose first response
To every adversity will be a straight back
And a stiffened will.

I will say that I used my time wisely,
Making forays into enemy territory
To reclaim the stolen esteem
And broken spirit of my offspring,
That I rocked them back to health
Time and again in the lap of my resolve.

When I am asked, “what did you do for the revolution?”
I will introduce to the world
My sons.



It will happen

You consciously pour your words like a libation
Onto the world, and worry that your content
Is not deep.

But what do you know, yet, of the political lives we lead?

Your life is connected mainly at your loins,
And the main goal you hold is not to be alone.
But it will happen, brother, that one day, dead babies
In the Sudan, Nicaragua, Bosnia, and Afghanistan
Will direct your passion from the bedroom to the streets.

You will wonder at April days that steal black leaders
For death; you will miss Barbara Jordan’s deep voice,
And Carl Stokes’ laughter and cigarettes

You will know the revolutionaries Angela Davis,
Eldridge Cleave, Martin King, Malcolm X, and Sonya Sanchez
You will know the exiles and pray for them

It will happen
That you will see the color-coded world around you
You will honor your skin by acknowledging it
You will not romanticize or demonize it
You will know it and name it rightly,
Giving it the amount of attention it deserves

And you will write love songs, erotic poems
That capture every sensation and take our breath with yours,
Making us pause and gasp in unison.

You will begin to hear voices, louder, more insistent,
Demanding you to write these words, here.
You will wander into forgotten neighborhoods,
Look into forgotten faces, tell forgotten stories
So we will never forget.

Me with Bobby part 2 9-1-09

(Bobby and I had this conversation at the Davis Family Reunion in July at Gen and Steve’s place in Chicago.)

J* Wherever you wanna start.

B* I guess I’ll start with being so happy to meet the other side of Ronnie’s family. Meeting his uncle Elmost Woods and his wife Rhonda. And hoping it will be a start of a new relationship with Ronnie, ‘cause I want so much for Tyler and Kennedy to know the other side of the family.

Not to invalidate our family, but I think they might need the other side too.

J* I understand that. I needed the other side.

B* Yeah, they are just younger and may not have anyone to really relate to. Although Roshann kept them once when they were out of town and they had fun with Reuben.

I hope they find a relationship with family, ‘cause right now they have Ronnie and Jacquie and her mother?

Last night the siblings had great discussions with each other. Most of us got a lot of stuff out that we didn’t think others knew about. It was a great blessing to me. I learned a lot. I got to find Don and stop putting him down so much and try to give more understanding and not just say that everything is a lie. Patsy said that he’s really telling the truth and nobody is believing him. He depends a lot on John and we should relieve some of that.

I was so glad to meet Robin. Robin Davis. Bubba’s Robin. I was able to be around her and get to know her. She talked to me. I’m very grateful to Gen and Steve for putting this on. Hopefully all of us would be able to save the money and get together next year and the year after. There are going to be a lot of events. Jackie and Jimmy’s anniversary and then going to Ghana. Shedrick has made it so interesting. I’m extremely glad to meet him. He is in Herman’s story. And in meeting him, he’s just like I imagine him.

I think Peace Corps would be good for Janice too ‘cause it’s traveling and it’s a lifetime job. If I was her I‘d do it, and she really don’t have to be waiting around for nothing.

J* When did Ronnie’s dad die?

B* Elmost wrote and told me so it’s been a couple of years. Its hasn’t been that long.

J* Ronnie never met him to know him but he met him as a baby. He talked to him once when he was in college. I was under the impression that he had other children. But according to Elmost, he never had any more children. Elmost went on the internet and found Ronnie. He wanted him to know that Woods had died and wanted to fill Ronnie’s family in their family tree.

J* How did he die?
B* He died of alcoholism. According to Elmost he was a closet alcohic. He was in and out of the VA hospitals. I knew that from when we would argue with each other about Ronnie and other stuff. Even when we were going with each other he was drinking. He had threatened to come back and kidnap Ronnie, but I told him that he would be in jail forever.

When he stayed in the house when he got out of the service he didn’t see me doing anything for Ronnie he said. He wanted to take us to Chicago and me to be a “real” mother to Ronnie. That’s when he decided to go back to Chicago. Of course Mama was like, “You aint takin’ him nowhere.”

I wouldn’t go and I wasn’t that much in love with him. It was more a argument type situation with us. I don’t know if it was ‘cause we were both Gemini’s or what. If he said it was red I said it was blue. Plus it was just…eh, I don’t know.

He sent me a picture of him in his navy uniform and Ronnie had that with him for the longest. After Ronnie talked to him in college I think Ronnie destroyed it. That was the last picture we had of him and Ronnie had it last. I regret not keeping in touch with him. It would be easier now to bridge that gap if I had.

J* Have you talked to Ronnie since you’ve been here?

B* No, Janice said she sent him an email and said that she just met Elmost and his wife and he just text her back and said, “Good maybe next time.”

I almost hate going back ‘cause it feels so good. In our family meeting I mentioned that maybe Mama intentionally kept us apart. Not to be mean or nothing, but maybe ‘cause she wanted everything to flow through her. We never had birthday parties or were encouraged to celebrate others birthdays, but she never forgot any of our birthdays.

J* It explains a lot.

B* Mama was the baby of the family and sometimes she had baby ways. She encouraged each of us in our efforts. She encouraged us separately instead of inclusively. But so be it, that was then and this is now.

Patsy was the one who made us realize that Don was really hurting now. She made us see that everything he says is not emblessished. I hope to get to know my great nieces and nephews and so they can start sharing with their children.

J* Do you think Grandmommy lived through you.

B* I know she did.

J* She used to say that she was very bashful and was excited to hear some of my escapades and she would be shocked by some things, but liked to hear it.

I was very associated with Bubba, but not so much Grandmommy. She was associated with the schools. Just like people were shocked to find out that I am Mildred’s sister.
That should not have been. Mama encouraged me in different ways.

J* Like what?

B* I was involved in woodcraft rangers, girl scouts, brownies. I had teachers that really cared about me and I would spend sometime with them. She liked me dressed a certain way and at a certain point I would say don’t Mildred want clothes? Don’t Patsy want clothes? She would say, “Don’t worry, Mildred sews her clothes and Pasty don’t really care about that. She would always make sure I had certain kinds of clothes.

I wanted a coat for a game coming up on one Friday and she said, “I aint got no money for no coat.” I really wanted the coat, and I had accepted no, but I really wanted the coat anyway. Come Friday I had the coat.

I felt encouraged to do what I did. I felt like that’s what she would have wanted to do if she could have. I felt like she enjoyed certain things that I did. She liked it. It was a joy to her. She said that me and Bubba were different. Sometimes not good different.

J* You and Bubba were close?

B* Oh, I always wanted to be with Bubba. Bubba and his friends. I would hear him planning on going fruit hunting and they would plan to leave at 5 in the morning. I would sneak out too and follow them. When I got far enough and I knew he wouldn’t send me back…

It really hurt me when he quit school ‘cause I was so close to him. Especially when I found out he was doin’ heroin. But he would always protect me. People would say, “No, I can’t give you that ‘cause you Bro. Bob’s sister and Bro. Bob would kill me if he found out I gave you that.” He kept us safe.

One time I came home late and he was behind me and he was with a bunch of other niggas. I kept the door open for Bubba to come in behind me. The guy he was with came up to the door after Bubba got in and Bubba grabbed a knife and put it to his throat and said, “You don’t never come up to my door, nigga! This is my parents house and don’t you nevah knock on this door!”

Ronnie loved Bubba. Even Jacquie said, “Bubba was my favorite.” Even people in the neighborhood would say that Bubba was so respectful. He never stole from us, from the house, now he stole from the stores and stuff like that but not from us. Other people tell stories about how their family member’s would come home and find all the furniture gone or something. I think Mama was glad that Bubba went before her ‘cause I think she was worried if we would take care of him. That’s my opinion. In some ways she didn’t know if Bubba would be the same…Daddy was dead and Bubba really respected Daddy. She said she wondered how would he act if Daddy was not around. I don’t think it would be any different. In any event she was glad that he went before he did.

In Mama’s mind, Ronnie was more hers than mine. I once told Ronnie that my only regret was that when we were growing up, Daddy would come through the house saying, “Sunday school time!” When I had Ronnie I told Daddy, “I’m eighteen and you are not gonna make my child go to church.” Those words I said to him, I regret that. I rejoice now that he married Jacqui and her father was a minister and that’s a good thing. Now he was baptized before but…I’m not against how they are raising Kennedy and Tyler but I wish they were in an environment where they could see more of a mixture. Not just white folks. They have that in their church but…I mean, we had plenty of that. I think that somehow that might lead to shock.

(Me with Bobby part 3 coming soon)

Me with Bettye 8-23-09

I was admittedly reluctant to have this conversation with Bettye. Aunt Bettye. Bettye Davis. Mostly because I was intimidated. I didn't know what I would ask her or if she would take the time to have a conversation with me. I wanted to include her in the blog and was surprised to find out that she had been reading the postings. She had.

Before we could begin, I knew I had to clear my own air and story that I had made up about her. I acknowledge that the story was completely mine, not hers. My story, fueled by my own insecurities.

B* And what story is that?

J* I made up this story a long time ago and let my ego and insecurities provide proof enough for me to run with it. I made up that you don't like me. Again, I admit I made it up.

B* I know that, because I've never said anything to you or about you that said I didn't like you.

J* I had a story going on that you don't like me because I didn't finish college.

B* Really?

J* Yeah. That you like Roshann and Angela, but not me. I know it sounds young, but then, maybe we're all just fifth graders.

Funny thing about communication. Once I put air behind the thoughts I had been holding in, I got to see how small it all is. But once we got that out, that pink elephant I held between us, we were able to move forward. I could hear her. Really hear her without that voice in the background of my brain. I grew my conversation up. I could listen to her and be with her as an adult in this conversation. Not an insecure child. And so we began. Again.

For most of the conversations I've posted on this blog I would type as we talked so that I could get every word. Word. For. Word. But then Bettye has that Jamisina Earl Jones voice that doesn't command. Doesn't demand. But you just know to be still and take it in. And so I did. Prayerfully another time, another conversation perhaps I can get it all on tape. I have known Bettye my whole life yet to me, this was our first time...talking.

So, you will find, if you have not already, that this post will be more a narrative notes of our conversation.

After my…breakthrough, I didn’t know where to begin. I had plenty of questions. I’ve always had plenty of questions for her. But then, I had to keep reminding myself, is a blog, not her biography. Although I did ask her if she was writing her story, more on that later.

I asked her about Troy’s mother. I was always curious about who and where she was. She told me that her name was Lucy and that she and Granddaddy were together. Together together, like boyfriend and girlfriend. I didn’t know that. I had never heard any stories about her and I just made up that she…that she…come to think of it, I didn’t make up any story about her. She was just…Uncle Troy’s mother. But in fact, Grandmommy knew her. They were all in Louisiana. Lucy was older than Grandmommy.

I also found out that Lucy did not have other children. So the only siblings Uncle Troy had were his brothers and sisters from Grandmommy and Granddaddy. Revalation to me.

But back to Bettye. Senator Bettye Davis. I was grateful for this conversation with her because I got the opportunity to acknowledge her for being such a powerful, strong, self-assured, amazing woman. She has held such powerful positions in her political career but none of those positions make her who she is.

J* Have you always been so confident?

B* (Slight pause) Yes. I was raised that way.

J* You seem to have that kind of confidence that, I know that you would be the same Bettye if you were the store clerk at the local grocery store. I can see you now at the cash register makin’ sure people were lined up right, with that…voice.

(We laugh. Slightly. At least I do.)

About school:

B* You know, a degree opens a lot of doors for you, but it’s not everything. I went to school (Grambling State University), then stopped and went back. I remember when you were there. Then you left and got married. You went on and did your own thing.

(Pause)

B* I mean, how could I look down on you for not finishing. Look at my own children. People go and stop and sometimes go back.

We talked more about the degreed and undegreed. I recognize her, out loud, as being my aunt not because she married my uncle. They were never separate to me.

Troy and Bettye were married in 1959. Troy was in the service and traveled and she traveled with him. As I stated earlier, Bettye did go back to college and graduated in 1967.

Other facts:

-Bettye is 71 years old. Now, I’m not sure about what I think 71 is supposed to look and be like, but she sure is not it.

-She is from a large family and has a brother and sister alive in Texas.

-Bettye and Troy were married for 47 years and this year would have been their 50th.

-Uncle Namon married Bettye and Troy. I had to pause when she told me that because, well, remembering Uncle Namon, I can only imagine the ceremony. Surely he said something that had Bettye, Troy and all the guest rollin’.

J* What’s next for you?

B* I don’t know.

J* How did you get into politics?

B* Growing up in the south, politics was the furthest thing from my mind. My degree is in social work. I got appointed for a seat as a school board member. People said I should run for a state office and I said ‘Why not? I could do a whole lot better than the folks in the position. I ran for the House of Representatives.

Bettye Davis has done so much in the world of politics and I would love for the world to know her story. Her complete story (as completely as she would like to tell it.)

J* Are you writing your biography?

B* Not officially. I do have a lot of notes though. My granddaughter, Alicia is helping me put some things together.

I’m looking forward to it.

Me with Bobby part 1 8-3-09

For this conversation, Bobby and I find a semi-quiet, sorta empty spot in the basement. Of course, it's a family reunion so pop ups keep...popping up.

J* When you remember the house on Orange, what do you remember first?

B* I remember when Mildred finally moved out. I got the room by the door and I could sneak out of the house anytime I wanted to. When Daddy would say no I can’t go I would say, “Wait till you go to sleep.” Or mama would tell me, “Just wait.”

As you well know, I love to go. I was also sorta angry because Mildred and Harold were getting married and that meant I was gonna have to be the one to take care of everybody. That was gonna get in the way of my going. I worked that out by cooking wieners and beans and something quick. I liked the house until they built the apartments in the back because they cut down all the fruit trees. I didn’t like that until I got to move into one of them.

J* Where were you going when you were leaving?

B* I met this guy, William Woods. He was in the navy. I was still in high school but I was still going to clubs. They called him Woods ‘cause they called people by their last name in the service. I got pregnant but I didn’t know I was pregnant. We had broken up by then. I found out that I was pregnant in my seventh month. When I told him, he accepted that it was his. And it was his. He brought all his sailor friends up to the hospital and they had to put him out because they were so loud, drinking and all that. His ship was leaving for six months after that.

When Ronnie came out he was so light. I said, "He can’t be my baby." Then Woods said, "He looks just like my sister.”

When I was pregnant and would feel down or something, Don and John would comfort me. They said, “If you have a boy would you name him Ron so that we can have a Don, John and Ron?” I said I liked that. I like the name Kevin, so his name is Ronald Kevin Woods.

When Ronnie was born, he was the first grandchild that was really around Mama. Tony was really the first.

I let Mama take over. I was being my little wild self. She told me I had to go back to school or get a job. She thought I should get a job since I had Ronnie. I got a job at the telephone company. I was working split shifts and in between my time, instead of being with Ronnie I would go visit my friends or go to Big Tate’s or something. If I came home. When I got home, Ronnie would be sleep.

Genevieve* Aunt Bobbie, I just realized that man called.

B* Who?

G* Mr. Woods. He called and said he wants to come to the reunion.

J* He's here?

B* Yeah, they were from here. I called him and invited him to come. I was hopin' Ronnie and Jacqui would be here and Ronnie could have met him.

Anyway, I was out and Ronnie slept in the room with Mama and Daddy instead of sleeping with me.

When Woods came back from Hawaii, I was going with this guy that played the bass at the club. And he caught me blowing kisses to him coming down during intermission. Instead of coming with the ship, he flew in. I tried to explain that we were just friends but he didn’t buy it.

But believe it or not, Mama agreed to let Woods stay there in the house at 2060 Orange Ave. and we slept in the back.

J* What!? Nobody’s ever said that.

B* Yep. He was upset because Ronnie was sleeping with Mama and Daddy and he said I wasn’t being a mother to him. He asked me to marry him. I told Mama that he asked me to marry him and move back with him to Chicago. Mama said, “I don’t care if you marry him or not, but you aint takin’ that baby.” Then she said she didn’t think I should go to Chicago with him because she said, “You don’t know anybody in Chicago. He might get you down there and do anything to you.” That was all the reason I needed to say no. So we didn’t get married. Plus, I wasn't really, really in love.

J* How long did he stay?

B* Two or three weeks before he went back to Chicago. But when he left he said, “I’ll give you three months to make up your mind and come. If you don’t come, then it’s all over.”

At that time I had already met Nero.

J* The bass player?

B* No. He was another sailor. I asked Mama if I could get one of those apartments in the back. She said yes.

Nero and I ended up getting married. But Ronnie, of course still stayed down at Mama's house. Then Mama moved to Taper and sold the house on Orange. But I still lived in the apartments back there and I just rented from someone else.

Nero was a jealous person. I didn’t understand his jealousy. He was tall and big. He would have this look on his face and I would run out of the house screaming. I would go into the beauty shop where my girlfriend used to work. It was open all night so somebody was always gon be there. Seem like I would leave him like every other week. Mama used to drive by to see if Nero was messing with me.
He would accuse me…

(Bobby calling Woods’ brother)

Well if he’s on his way, good… where was I.?

J* Nero.

B* I had stayed home from work one day and Nero was at work.

(Woods calling back)

B* Are you gonna be able to come over?

Woods* I’m pretty sure we will. Are you gonna be there all day?

B* Well, I was really disappointed, but Ronnie and Jaqui didn’t come. It was their anniversary so they didn’t come, but I really wanna meet you.

W* Well, when I get back home, I’m gonna tell you exactly what time we’re gonna meet you.

(She ends the call with Woods)

B* That was him! I never met any of his family. OK, where was I again?

Anyway, what pissed me of was one time his friend came to the house ‘cause he figured Nero was home by that time. I was still in a robe and a gown ‘cause I had been home all day. He wanted to fight the guy ‘cause he thought the guy came over to have sex with me. My girlfriend told him “Don’t nobody want ole ugly Bobby but you.”

I would leave him and I would leave mad. Then he would come and find me. Daddy told me when I leave him for good, it was gon be on a clear day and I would be sure. It wouldn't be after no fight or nothin' like that.

Sure enough one Saturday morning I got up and fixed breakfast. He was still in the bed while I was fixing breakfast. I said, “This is your last breakfast that I’m gonna fix for you. Nothing is wrong. I just wanna tell you that I’m leaving you this time and I don’t care if you find me, I’m not coming back this time. I’m through. I left him and I never been back.

I said, "I’m not mad. I’m not anything, I’m through."

At the time I was living with a friend of Mildred’s, Verna Lou. He found out where I was living. He breaks in and he just gon man handle me and wrestle me, not wrestle me but… He dragged me in the street. One of my shoes was in the street. Verna Lou went looking for Bubba.

When Bubba got to 'em he told him that Long Beach was not big enough for the both of us.Since I was here first, he had to go and he suggest very soon.

He left that night.

Bubba told him that if I was through with him then he better leave and not to mess with me. So then I was living on my own and I couldn’t afford it. I was getting in more trouble.

J* Are you ok with them? (The other people in the room)

B* Yeah, I’ts my life.

I had a lot different boyfriends and I couldn’t manipulate them all. I started getting mixed up in my manipulation. I met this guy. I called him my Daddy Greg. He was about twenty something years older than me. Everybody called him my Daddy Greg. There was another guy, George, he really liked me and really wanted to marry me and I said ok, but then I met Daddy Greg. He was another sailor. I was at the club with George and Greg asked George if he could dance with me.

While I was dancing with Greg he asked me what I did and I told him. He asked me where I lived but I didn’t tell him that.

J* That’s where yall met, at the club that night?

B* Yeah, that night at Cozy’s. I mean, not at Cozy’s, but at the club.

Greg had been looking for me since we met at the club. I had heard that this older guy had been asking around Long Beach about me. He was standing out by my job and told me he was looking for me. I said, "That's stupid." I told him I was engaged. He said, "You might as well tell that other guy that the engagement is over."

George started getting suspicious and so I told him, “I don’t want to be married to you." I took the ring off and it went in the gutter. That was the end of me and George.

J* I guess so.

He told me that his children were important to him and that he really wanted to be there and raise them. "So if at all possible that’s where I’m gonna be. So if you wanna be with somebody then go head ‘cause I can’t tie you down. The only thing is, don’t be with me after you’re with somebody else.” I liked him because he was older and always told me the truth.

Later on, he got back in touch with his wife and he moved to Philadelphia. Some time went by and he and his wife were separated and he sent for me. Things had changed. He had gotten in an accident, he had a plate in his head, a lot of things had happened. The last time I saw him he had just moved back here and he was gonna buy a home here. He and his wife were divorced.

J* Where is he now? Is he alive?

B* I think he died. He had moved to Long Beach. Had a house on the west side.

What made me leave Nero? Mama had moved to Taper. I went to pick Ronnie up one day from her. He was still a baby. Nero had slapped me in front of Ronnie. That spoiled it for Nero. After that, when Ronnie would see a man and a woman fighting he would always say, “Is that Nero? Is he gonna slap that lady?”

This guy told me that Nero is doing well now though. He was a physics and math teacher. His sister who is a nun told me that.

I remember I was sorta mad because Ronnie was mine and I felt like I couldn’t t have no say. I couldn’t take him down to Azzie’s with me. I wanted him to know my friends. Whatever I was doin', I wasn't doin' it in front of Ronnie. I wanted him to know my friends though, know me. They all know about him.

J* Who was Azzie?

B* My good friend. Mama wanted me to be friends with this other girl 'cause she only had one child, not four. I told Mama she was all caught up in how things looked. I told her that this other girl that she wanted me to be friends with, she only had one baby but she done had about three abortions so what's the difference? Mama found out I had Ronnie and that I took him over to Azzie’s and she didn't like it so she sent Mildred to come get him.

Back in high school, me and my friends, about ten of us, started this sorority at Poly.

J* What was it called?

B* Delia. We were the best dressers. I always hung with this crowd that thought they was the best. We would go to the clubs and leave by ourselves and the fat women would leave with the men. My friend Connie said, "How come we keep leaving by ourselves?"

We were known in Long Beach. When we walked into the club, we were noticed. Partly because we were dressed so nice, or one of us was dating the owner, or someone in the band, or something.

J* I remember once I was on the bus in junior high and we were going down Long Beach Blvd. The boys on the right side of the bus were all leaned over looking out of the window and I was like, “What are they looking at?” It was you. Walking down the street in something flow-y, lookin’ all good.

(We laugh)

J* If you had a weekend with Kennedy, what would you tell her? I think you have so much to teach her.

B* I do. And I'm gon have to. She don't really know me. Ronnie don't really know me.
Kennedy loves excitement. She hates to be bored.

J* She reminds me so much of you.

B* She does. She is like, I aint gon be bored.

(I take a call from Bettye)

B* I know one thang, I gotta get outta this t-shirt.

(Call from Bettye ends. Brief conversation with my mother. Bobby and I continue. The pop ups.)

B* My friends used to tell me, "Where you find all these suit wearin' niggas?" I say, "I don't know." Mama had a lot to do with that. She would tell me, "You don't need no nigga aint workin'."

Mama used to tell me there is nothin' more important than friendship. Your girlfriends boyfriends will do anything they can to mess up friendship. And that has never happened. She also said, "Never, never go with a man that's prettier than you."

(We laugh.)

Now I don't know about no prettier than me. I think Mama was hurt by some light skinned guy thought he was pretty or something, and he didn't choose her.

But because Kennedy is so attracted to excitement I don't want her to be with some thug because that's so different from her. Yeah, I have a lot to teach her. I would tell her that fun is one thing, and I don’t want her to lose her desire to have fun, but I would tell her to discriminate.

Comin' up, we thought we were sophisticated. I remember my friend’s sister told me, “I don’t know what makes you think you’re so much. I get my dope from the same place you get yours.” I had to stop and say, that's true. I mean, maybe my dope was brought to me, or when I went to pick it up, people like her wasn't down there, but she was right. It came from the same place.

I would tell her to be aware of what’s going on around her. I would tell her don’t take everything from every body. Don’t take drinks from every body.

(More people start coming in the room so we take a break.)

Another thing I would tell her, is that I would always be there for her. I would always listen. I hope that she would come to me with anything. She’s my granddaughter and I always will be there for her. No trouble would ever come between me and her.