Racial Reconciliation

My mother whose alias was Bessie, McCray Walters had been locked up in a prison in Virginia and had very little contact with me. When she was released, she immediately wanted all of her kids back. I was terrified of this woman because she kept me out of school for an entire year and had threatened to kill me, holding a knife to my throat. What prompted my mother to put a knife to my throat? Believe it or not, she was cooking some meal in one big pot; we called it “prison goulash.” The poor version of “prison goulash” was anything in the cabinet she could find to put in one pot. I was probably complaining about the food and asking, “Where is the meat?” No, that didn’t move her. My follow-up was, “Momma, can I go to school?” It was at that moment I could feel the blade of a warm knife on my throat. Mother said to me, “You getting on my nerves, crybaby.” She was correct; tears were streaming down my face. I never asked about school again. More than anything was the constant rejection. Just the thought of knowing and struggling to win her affection to what seemed to be futile attempts continues to bother me.

The social worker read from a report, “Stephen has adjusted very well to living with Ms. Rogers. The legal custody of Stephen should remain with Ms. Rogers and reviewed again in October of 1986.” The judge turns to my mother and asked, “What is Stephen’s birthdate?” My mother looks over at me asking how I could do this to her. She then responded that she had been locked up and she was trying to get on her feet; she needed her children back to get assistance and that she does not know my birthday. With that, the judge allowed me to continue staying with Mary Rogers, effectively closing case #83-J-43.

I finished all of high school in the custody of Mary Rogers and never had to look back at custody issues or my mother. I went through four years of college at North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University, graduating in 1990, and then went off to Washington State University, graduating with a Ph.D. in 1997; therefore, I went 15 years without seeing my mother. I saw her for the first time after my daughter Nia-Faye was born in 1998. I thought to myself, “What a frail woman! She does not look much like a monster anymore.” I remember she wanted to hold my child. I reluctantly allowed her to but watched her like a hawk thinking, “You will never bring harm to this one.”

My forgiveness was unfortunately far too late. Our attempts at reconciliation never experienced full maturity because I was holding on to the feeling that a son’s first love, his mother, was not reciprocated. More than that, there was a level of what appeared to be intentional abandonment, outright rejection, and a clear hierarchy of favorite children, where I was the least favorite. This is not to take anything away from my sister Paula because mother went after her in unbearable ways but that is Paula’s story to tell.

Time went on and there were several attempts to at least get to know my mother; during those times, I was impatiently mean. My sister, Sonnettle, would always say, “You need to get to know your mother.” I tried but all I ever got out of her was, “I am still your mother and could you buy me something.” I bought her stuff but I was blessed and was lucky that Sonnettle was actually her caregiver. My favorite purchase for my mother was a cross. I have that cross now. My mother passed away on November 15, 2011; the cause of death was chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and pulmonary embolism with a significant condition of diabetes mellitus. I eulogized my mother at the funeral services. As I stood over the casket, all I could remember saying is that I wanted people to leave my mother alone, “She is at peace.” I also remember saying, “Mother, don’t look back, don’t haunt us, we are good, all of us are good.” My mother loved me the best way she could, I guess. She was a troubled woman with five kids. She more than likely had intangible psychological deficits that prevented functional love. She did the best she could with what she had.