Lessons

If all the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players, I have a production for you.  Hi.  My name is Stella and I will be the main character of this, well, story or play, if you will.  I am the six year old counterpart of Rosie, or so I am called when I am fourteen.  Now Rosie is the fourteen year old counterpart of YaYa which is older, much older.  The plot of this story is a timeline of  significant events that formed who YaYa is today.  No, we are not separate personalities or anything like that, it’s just the way I choose to tell the story.

                                 Stella

When I was six years old my family moved from north Mississippi to a very small town on the coast of Mississippi.  My father had retired from the Air Force, and took a teaching job at a community college on the coast because my mother had breast cancer and one of the military hospitals that did treatment at this time was there on the coast.  I, with my older sister and brother. went to school at the Catholic elementary school in town.  You know that phrase that says, everything I learned, I learned in kindergarten? Well, one of the greatest lessons I learned was in the first grade.  It was 1966, and to be honest, I had no idea about the “p” word, prejudice.  

I was invited to a birthday party for one of my classmates, Harold, who happened to be black.  I was so very excited as it was my first birthday party ever!  When I got to the party, I noticed there weren’t very many of my friends from school there. Of course, I didn’t pay no nevermind, I mean, I was a kid and I had the best time EVER.  I made all sorts of new friends and we played games and had cake and lots of good food.  When my momma picked me up from the party, Ms. Celia , Harold's momma, met my momma at the door and hugged her tight.  Ms. Celia said to my momma, “in this day and age you could have easily not brought this baby to this party, but I’m sure glad you did.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, Ms. Violet.”  Miss Celia gave me the biggest hug and said, “You keep that kind spirit your momma gave you right there in your heart, baby girl, always and forever, ya hear?”  She was crying, so I gave her a big hug.

When we got in the car I asked momma why Miss Celia was crying and what she was talking about.  

“First of all,” my momma said, “some of what is going on out in the world is not nice, Stella.  You are a child, and there are adult things you will learn about later.  There are two things I want you to always remember.  The first thing is, you have a CHOICE to be kind.  Don’t let anyone tell you differently.  The second thing is this, plain and simple. You don’t ever judge people for ANY reason because, sweet girl, you can’t possibly know what another persons’ shoes feel like until you are walking in them.  You have your own shoes and your own path to walk.”

That was my life lesson at six years old.

Rosie

I bet you are wondering at this point why my name has changed.  It is a nickname that a boy gave me.  He is not my boyfriend, but he started calling me this because of the words to a song, entitled Rosanna. He said parts of it were, well, me!

My fourteenth birthday is September 22, 1974.  One week later my daddy comes home from the hospital and says, “Your moms gone.”

My first thought was, “gone where?”  You see, through the years mom had spent a lot of time away in the hospital.  A few times she went to other military hospitals for treatments, so my initial thought was that she went somewhere else, until I saw tears in my daddy's eyes. My dad didn’t cry much, well, NEVER, really.  This is a defining moment for me.  My dad walked to his room, my brother hugged me and went to his room where my sister is talking on the phone.    I stood in the living room for a long time staring out the back sliding glass doors at the bayou.  Then I walked out the front door and around the corner.  We lived in a community, a country club actually , that had a resort hotel.   I saw Big Benny sitting out behind the kitchen of the inn.  Big Benny was a black man who ran the maintenance and kitchen and other things on the property.  I walked up and sat down on a bucket and started shucking corn. All of us kids used to do that with Big Benny.  I remember he  didn’t say anything for a while, then he spoke up.

“You have something on your mind, chile. Wanna tell Big Benny?”

“My momma died today.” I hung my head and the tears started coming.  I wiped them away angrily.  “What does this mean/”

Big Benny continued shucking corn for a moment, then stopped and looked at me.  “You let them tears fall, baby girl, they are cleansin’ your heart from angry thoughts. I am so sorry about your momma. That cancer is a tough thing, and I know that people don’t talk much about it.  It’s gonna be strange for a bit, I reckon, because nobody in yalls group of people has died, so your friends ain’t gonna know what to say to you.  Want me to tell ya a secret?”

I had to smile because whenever Big Benny had a lesson to teach one of us kids in the neighborhood, he’d start by asking if we wanted to know a secret.  I looked at him and nodded my head.

“Since your friends, Susanna and Tom and all those chil’ren you hang out with are gonna look at you and not know what to say,  just tell them first that you don’t know what to say either.  Believe me, words will just start to come out.  It may take awhile, but it's okay to talk about her and it's okay that you don’t have a momma.  You are kind and strong just like her and she taught you well before she went to heaven.  There will come a time and a day when someone will say or do something for you and you will know why things happened the way they did. Now you get yourself on home so your daddy don’t worry about 'cha."

For the next nine months or so I just went day to day.  It was like I was scared of everything. I was scared to talk about mom because I didn’t want my family or my friends to feel uncomfortable, but if I didn’t talk about her, would I forget her?  I fought to keep images in my head of her, or hear her voice.  However, I never wanted to show my fear either.  There were days that my thoughts ran so fast I thought there was something wrong with me.  Then summer came, and along with it a young man I had known for several years but only in the summers. The resort hotel was a place many people came back to every year, and Daniel was one of those people.  There was a place where all the kids used to hang out called the ski dock.  The hotel had boats that took people skiing in the bayous and out to the bay.  At lunchtime when the employees were taking their two hour lunch break, us kids would go down there, hang out, listen to music, smoke cigarettes and swim.  Once in a while someone would sneak a six pack of Falstaff or some cheap beer down there.  That always led to the guys jumping off the roof into the water.  The one thing I remember most, though, is the first day of summer. Everyone was in the water, playing a game to see who could swim under the dock in one breath.  I was a shoe-in because I could swim the longest underwater in the pool, but I could not get in the water that day. I was so scared of everything. I remember my heart racing really fast and Daniel came and sat on the dock next to me.  He didn't ask any questions, he knew something was wrong.  He got in the water ahead of me and motioned for me to get in.  I couldn’t show my fear so I eased my way into the water.  As we swam, we talked and eventually I was able to tell him about my mom and how I have no idea why I am afraid to swim under the dock. I've done it a thousand times.  Without saying a word, Daniel took my hand and swam with me under the dock.  Big Benny was right.  That one kind act, the strength of Daniel’s hand and the fact that I knew he would not let go changed everything for me that day.  It is though I had a purpose and I was ready to face things and be okay that a bad thing happened in my life. One day I will understand why, but I didn't need to know right then, just like my momma once told me.

                                  YaYa

From Stella to Rosie to Ms. Stella for many years when my children were growing up, I am now YaYa, named by our first born grandson.  I am sixty years old now.  My sweet daddy died in 2003, so I have been an orphan for many years.   Through the years, I have made so many bad choices, and learned from each one. My greatest accomplishment is three children and many kids who call me mom.  Eleven grandchildren and one great grandchild who are all my pride and joy.

When I turned sixty. Something changed in me.  I realized that for many years I tolerated things I should not have.  I have forgiven things that mean nothing to anyone but me, and that is okay.  I am that free spirit  the nuns who raised me said would get me in trouble, and sometimes it has.  I am a product of many mistakes and many accomplishments.  

The thing is this.  The older I get, the more I realize that things really do happen for a reason.  Throughout my life, many young women who have lost their mothers to death or drugs have made their way into my life.  I have been blessed with them, and I am grateful for them.  

This free spirited self tries to always be kind and remember that my shoes are my own.  I walk in them and make my own choices.  I am not incontrol of other people's choices, nor should I judge them because frankly, they are none of my business.  Not my monkeys, not my circus.  

I have worked toward becoming a minimalist.  My goal is to camp by myself in a safe campground for a month or two and write.  I am not scared to do that, thanks to Daniel, who, by the way, is still one of my best friends.  I want to inspire people to do more and not worry about what people say.  If people are talking about you today, don’t worry, they will be talking about someone else tomorrow.  

The hardest time of my life was three years ago.  In one summer, my brother passed away and a month later, my aunt who was my momma for all of my adult life passed away one year short of her 100th birthday.  When I returned home from that funeral, a month later, I found my brother in law in his home. He had died from alcohol poisoning.  

These three events, back to back, taught me one thing.  Life is short.  Live it like there is no tomorrow, because honestly, there may not be.

I am a blessed person.  The lessons I learned in life have served me well.  I am not perfect, but I have become more bold and straight forward.  I get up each day and start over.  No excuses.  As I tell my grandchildren, excuses are like boogers, everybody has them!