never counted on me learning everything old Mavis had to teach me. The hotter the summer got, the more Mavis loved to talk. And I loved to listen.
One day she said flat out you look just like your mama. Lord chile you got that same black hair all down your back.
Did you know my mama?
Yes chile! I was raised up beside her on this farm. I knowed her good as I know my own self. I never knowed anybody sweet like your mama. Smart as a whip too!
She was?
Lord yes she said and laughed at the same time.
Did her mama make her work too?
Lord no! She won’t cut out for hot work. Her mama made the other ones work like dogs but not your mama. You don’t plan to tell the bosslady I been telling you anything do you?
Oh no I said so maybe she would tell me more.
She told me enough that summer to let me know I was not the only one who thought my mama’s mama was off the rocker.
She said the bosslady had always been peculiar but ever since my mama died she had acted touched.
I did not need to ask touched with what because I already knew.
But still it is hard to believe in your head what you feel in your heart about a person. Especially somebody you know good. I figured one day I would do some encyclopedia research and see if there is a name for what ailed my mama’s mama. But that was like trying to look up a word you don’t know how to spell. What would I look under? Meanness? Angry? Just crazy? Then I figured it was a little bit of everything. And anyway, my family never was the kind that would fit into a handy category.
By July I was like a boy. When I started out both my hands were a red blister but then I toughened up good.
I thought while I chopped from one field to the next how I could pass for colored now. Somebody riding by here in a car could not see my face and know I was white. But that is OK now I thought to myself of how it did not make much of a difference anymore.
If I just looked at my own arms and legs up to where myshorts and shirt started I said I could pass for colored now. I was tan from the sun but so dark I was just this side of colored. Under it all I was pinky white.
At the end of each day the colored workers went to their shack and I walked to my mama’s mama’s. On work days she left a plate of something for me on the stove. That might not sound social to you but it was perfect for me.
We ate right many miniature chickens or turkeys. I do not know the difference. But they were baked and not crunchy the way I most enjoy chicken. When we both ate at the same Sunday table we both picked at our little individual chickens or turkeys and did not talk. And still it was OK by me.
After supper each night it was not raining I walked up the colored path and spied on Mavis and her family.
It looked like slavery times with them all hanging out on the porch picking at each other. They fought strong as they played and laughed.
I looked regularly but they never saw me or at least they did not mention to me to stay away from their house. I wondered right much about them and the way they got along.
My mama’s mama did not pay them doodly-squat. I saw the amount she had written on the envelope she handed Mavis every Friday.
She did not pay me a cent except room and board. I kept figuring up how much I was worth by the hour.
But Mavis and her family showed up in the field every day when I was thinking of how I would save up my money and leave if I was old as them. I guess it never dawned on them just to pack up and leave.
While I was easedropping at the colored house I started alist of all that a family should have. Of course there is the mama and the daddy but if one has to be missing then it is OK if the one left can count for two. But not just anybody can count for more than his or her self.
While I watched Mavis and her family I thought I would bust open if I did not get one of them for my own self soon. Back then I had not figured out how to go about getting one but I had a feeling it could be
One day she said flat out you look just like your mama. Lord chile you got that same black hair all down your back.
Did you know my mama?
Yes chile! I was raised up beside her on this farm. I knowed her good as I know my own self. I never knowed anybody sweet like your mama. Smart as a whip too!
She was?
Lord yes she said and laughed at the same time.
Did her mama make her work too?
Lord no! She won’t cut out for hot work. Her mama made the other ones work like dogs but not your mama. You don’t plan to tell the bosslady I been telling you anything do you?
Oh no I said so maybe she would tell me more.
She told me enough that summer to let me know I was not the only one who thought my mama’s mama was off the rocker.
She said the bosslady had always been peculiar but ever since my mama died she had acted touched.
I did not need to ask touched with what because I already knew.
But still it is hard to believe in your head what you feel in your heart about a person. Especially somebody you know good. I figured one day I would do some encyclopedia research and see if there is a name for what ailed my mama’s mama. But that was like trying to look up a word you don’t know how to spell. What would I look under? Meanness? Angry? Just crazy? Then I figured it was a little bit of everything. And anyway, my family never was the kind that would fit into a handy category.
By July I was like a boy. When I started out both my hands were a red blister but then I toughened up good.
I thought while I chopped from one field to the next how I could pass for colored now. Somebody riding by here in a car could not see my face and know I was white. But that is OK now I thought to myself of how it did not make much of a difference anymore.
If I just looked at my own arms and legs up to where myshorts and shirt started I said I could pass for colored now. I was tan from the sun but so dark I was just this side of colored. Under it all I was pinky white.
At the end of each day the colored workers went to their shack and I walked to my mama’s mama’s. On work days she left a plate of something for me on the stove. That might not sound social to you but it was perfect for me.
We ate right many miniature chickens or turkeys. I do not know the difference. But they were baked and not crunchy the way I most enjoy chicken. When we both ate at the same Sunday table we both picked at our little individual chickens or turkeys and did not talk. And still it was OK by me.
After supper each night it was not raining I walked up the colored path and spied on Mavis and her family.
It looked like slavery times with them all hanging out on the porch picking at each other. They fought strong as they played and laughed.
I looked regularly but they never saw me or at least they did not mention to me to stay away from their house. I wondered right much about them and the way they got along.
My mama’s mama did not pay them doodly-squat. I saw the amount she had written on the envelope she handed Mavis every Friday.
She did not pay me a cent except room and board. I kept figuring up how much I was worth by the hour.
But Mavis and her family showed up in the field every day when I was thinking of how I would save up my money and leave if I was old as them. I guess it never dawned on them just to pack up and leave.
While I was easedropping at the colored house I started alist of all that a family should have. Of course there is the mama and the daddy but if one has to be missing then it is OK if the one left can count for two. But not just anybody can count for more than his or her self.
While I watched Mavis and her family I thought I would bust open if I did not get one of them for my own self soon. Back then I had not figured out how to go about getting one but I had a feeling it could be
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