Tired

"I am tired. I am tired of walking. Tired of yelling. Tired of marching."

"Grandma ain't you tired of just about everything?" , spout the child rudely.

"Yes I am." , she looked up at the sky and sighed. "Let me tell you a story."

1965

It was hot and I was ready to give up. My legs were weary and my breath was shaky. I honestly didn't think I could walk no more. I was holding my sign up proudly in the beginning just to have it dragging along behind me. I kept marching though. I felt my pressed hair sweat out from my sweat and my trousers kept slipping down a little. A kind man gave me his belt and offered me a water. I saw how bloodied up he was. I remember the cops stopping him in the beginning and beating on him with clubs and spraying him down. I couldn't take the water. So I declined. This was my first march and I chanted louder than any other kid my age out there. I begged my sisters to come but they said no fifteen year old girl should be protesting. I agreed with them but someone had to do it.

By the time the march was over, I had gone over eight miles of the town. Now keep in mind I had a sweater on to make me look older. So I was sweatin' up a storm. I said my goodbyes and tried looking for the man that had helped me earlier. I couldn't find him anywhere and asked around about him. I had found out he passed away during the march from blood loss and tiring himself out in the heat. I was devastated. Man I burst inside the house crying and rushed to my mama. She asked what was wrong and gripped me into a hug I can still feel til this day. There was nothin' more comforting than my mama's hug. Moving on from that, I remember my sisters running downstairs terrified thinking I was attacked. They both hugged me and we stood there for about five minutes in silence, crying, and enjoying the embrace. Eventually I explained and they rubbed my back and comforted me saying, "it was bound to happen soon". It shouldn't have happened at all. I asked my mama if she was tired of fighting her rights as not only a woman, but a black woman. A dark-skin, black woman. Her voice staying calm, warm like honey and flowing like a summer breeze, she responded yes.

The next day I wore that belt again, and again, and again. It would stay that way for thirty years. It started to get worn so I only wore for protests and days I needed strength.

1970

Ah the 70's were a good time for me. I was marching for gay rights and kissing women. It was great. We protested and I had that belt on. It was kind of a blur though, but I remember stopping and letting some hippie braid my hair and put colorful beads in it. It felt so freeing. I met your grandpa here, even though he was making out with a man, he was straight but I still question him til this day. He claims it was to show that he could kiss men how girls kiss girls with just being friends. I respected him and his overly tight khakis and pink button down. He made fun of my hair and I made fun of his and we went out that night and it was already love. He dipped his finger in my milkshake because he wanted a taste and I did the same to his and we just clicked so well together.

1995

Your mama was a spoiled rotten thing. She wouldn't listen to me at all, so I put hot sauce in her mouth. She needs to start doing it to you badmouthing children, but anyways. I dragged your mom to the Million Man March. There were obviously a lot of men there but we didn't care because we wanted to support our men. I remember her checking out people despite of her complaining of her legs hurting. That's where your mama met your daddy. I couldn't believe my sixteen year old daughter pulled such a handsome fella and I couldn't. Don't judge me, your grandpa was at home so I could look. Okay maybe not but the men there were very cute. It would be a sin to not admire them from afar.

At this point in my life I had been to over a hundred marches. On my body it felt like thousands. On my soul, it had to be millions. I've seen people get beaten and arrested over their skin color. I've seen people die for their sexuality and gender. Baby I have seen it all. I am exhausted of it. I can barely grasp the fact I was marching almost sixty years ago and the problem is still here. Our people are still dying and being harassed. I taught y'all and your mama and everyone I know to be kind and to love. My mama is the one who gave me this skin and I passed this gift on and your mama did too. The gift of radiant brown skin and your brown eyes and kinky hair. Your daisy hair that reaches to the sun. You betta not get rid of the gap between your teeth neither. Your great grandma had a gap like yours and you have her smile you know.

Back to Present

"Wow mama you just over here telling stories instead of getting ready for church huh. We gonna be late!"

"Child. Stop yelling at me I am old. Let me tell my grand-kids about life."

"Grandma you suck at telling stories but where is the belt?"

"The one in my hand that I'm about to whoop you with if you don't quit being a smart ass."

"Yes ma'am."

"Mama you betta not hit my child."

"Yes ma'am."