him an indulgence—years of dispensation—in the type of prideful individual achievement that the church otherwise frowned upon. In the tough winter of eighth grade, much of what kept him going was being on the bishop’s special TV choir, which sang on a local UHF station, and, most important, standing front and center on Sunday, reaffirmed by the congregation’s shouts of “Amen” and “Praise Jesus” as he sang out his faith.
Quietly at first, the complaints were whispered to Bishop Long and other church leaders. Why him? He’s been up there so long, why not give some other kids a chance? Barbara heard the grumbles and tried to ferret out the sources. She knew how important the singing was to Cedric.
But it was no use. On an early spring Saturday during choir practice, Steve Lawrence, Scripture’s young choir director, took Cedric aside. “Some people are complaining about you singing all the solos,” he told him. “It’s time for other people to have a try singing solo.”
And so, on Sunday, Cedric stepped back. When people asked why, he wasn’t sure what to say, and it boiled inside him.
Barbara tried to offer counsel. They talked often late into the night about it, as she tried to find passages from Scripture that would help ease his feelings of rejection and censure. “It’s like I’ve done something wrong for being proud to sing God’s praises,” he moaned one night. He said he was tired, too tired to do homework, and went to bed early.
A month later, a call came from Maggie Brisbane, Cedric Gilliam’s mother, who was organizing a family visit to Lorton prison. She would take Cedric to visit his father, while another grandson would visit Cedric Gilliam’s brother, Darren, who was also serving time. Barbara, thinking it might be just the thing to restore her son’s drive, to remind him of why he must work hard and trust in God, agreed to allow it. But the visit went badly. Cedric Gilliam talked mostly to his nephew, a tough, self-possessed high school football star, and ignored his skinny, studious son. Cedric returned home dumbstruck and livid, with nowhere to turn.
Near the end of the long winter, Barbara got a note about a minor altercation at school—just a push fight, but not something she’d expect from Cedric. After that, she heard complaints from teachers that Cedric was talking back, that his fuse was short and his tone disrespectful. He started to be kept after school to clean lockers or mop the cafeteria, the self-styled discipline program of the school’s tough principal. Because Barbara understood his resentment and frustration, she had trouble blaming him. And her reliable ally, the church, suddenly seemed to lack enough answers—or solace—to challenge all that beset her son.
Come spring, a call came from Vera White’s office summoning Barbara to a meeting at school. On the way, she kept reminding herself that Ms. White called Cedric “one of our brightest students” at the previous fall’s PTA meeting. This time the message was different: it was no longer worthwhile to bus Cedric all the way to Jefferson. He wouldn’t be invited back for ninth grade. It was decided that he could go to Ballou, arguably the most troubled school in the District, despite its middling math/science program.
For Cedric and Barbara Jennings, there was nothing left to say. After all their struggles, they both were certain they had been left behind.
B arbara walks out the church’s double doors and onto the street, which is busy with nightlife now that the rain has stopped. On her way across the street to catch a ride home from a friend, she passes aclutch of female hookers hovering near the church. She sees the woman in a spangly blue dress who came up to Cedric last year after one Sunday worship and said, “You’re a cute one, you’re gonna drive them wild.”
Barbara, who is alternately concerned and thankful that Cedric doesn’t have a girlfriend, tells this story often, always
Quietly at first, the complaints were whispered to Bishop Long and other church leaders. Why him? He’s been up there so long, why not give some other kids a chance? Barbara heard the grumbles and tried to ferret out the sources. She knew how important the singing was to Cedric.
But it was no use. On an early spring Saturday during choir practice, Steve Lawrence, Scripture’s young choir director, took Cedric aside. “Some people are complaining about you singing all the solos,” he told him. “It’s time for other people to have a try singing solo.”
And so, on Sunday, Cedric stepped back. When people asked why, he wasn’t sure what to say, and it boiled inside him.
Barbara tried to offer counsel. They talked often late into the night about it, as she tried to find passages from Scripture that would help ease his feelings of rejection and censure. “It’s like I’ve done something wrong for being proud to sing God’s praises,” he moaned one night. He said he was tired, too tired to do homework, and went to bed early.
A month later, a call came from Maggie Brisbane, Cedric Gilliam’s mother, who was organizing a family visit to Lorton prison. She would take Cedric to visit his father, while another grandson would visit Cedric Gilliam’s brother, Darren, who was also serving time. Barbara, thinking it might be just the thing to restore her son’s drive, to remind him of why he must work hard and trust in God, agreed to allow it. But the visit went badly. Cedric Gilliam talked mostly to his nephew, a tough, self-possessed high school football star, and ignored his skinny, studious son. Cedric returned home dumbstruck and livid, with nowhere to turn.
Near the end of the long winter, Barbara got a note about a minor altercation at school—just a push fight, but not something she’d expect from Cedric. After that, she heard complaints from teachers that Cedric was talking back, that his fuse was short and his tone disrespectful. He started to be kept after school to clean lockers or mop the cafeteria, the self-styled discipline program of the school’s tough principal. Because Barbara understood his resentment and frustration, she had trouble blaming him. And her reliable ally, the church, suddenly seemed to lack enough answers—or solace—to challenge all that beset her son.
Come spring, a call came from Vera White’s office summoning Barbara to a meeting at school. On the way, she kept reminding herself that Ms. White called Cedric “one of our brightest students” at the previous fall’s PTA meeting. This time the message was different: it was no longer worthwhile to bus Cedric all the way to Jefferson. He wouldn’t be invited back for ninth grade. It was decided that he could go to Ballou, arguably the most troubled school in the District, despite its middling math/science program.
For Cedric and Barbara Jennings, there was nothing left to say. After all their struggles, they both were certain they had been left behind.
B arbara walks out the church’s double doors and onto the street, which is busy with nightlife now that the rain has stopped. On her way across the street to catch a ride home from a friend, she passes aclutch of female hookers hovering near the church. She sees the woman in a spangly blue dress who came up to Cedric last year after one Sunday worship and said, “You’re a cute one, you’re gonna drive them wild.”
Barbara, who is alternately concerned and thankful that Cedric doesn’t have a girlfriend, tells this story often, always
Similar Books
![The High Queen's Vow [The Mystic Women of The Realm Series Book IV]](/res/dh/book4.jpg)
