by Shawn James
“Not like you’ve had much time for boys anyway.”
“With my course load I haven’t had much time for myself.”
“You know, you can have some fun. College isn’t all work. And neither is pledging.”
We approach a big oak tree on the far side of the lawn. My eyes light up when I see her surprise. Tied to one of branches of the old tree is a swing!
The seven–year–old in me becomes giddy at the sight of it. “Can I?”
“That’s why I brought you here.”
I hop into the swing seat. Grand Mother Flowers gets behind me and gives me a push. I squeal in glee watching as my toes sail in the air. I rock back and forth building momentum so I can go higher.
“Man, I haven’t done this in years! Not since Mom would take me to Central Park to play!”
“You never got to play much after she passed?”
“No, Daddy was too busy to take me out like that. And Aunt Margaret was just so stuffy. Everything with her was just about me behaving and having good manners with her. I couldn’t even go to a playground or even eat a hot dog with her because she was so afraid of me getting dirty.”
“I can see why you’re such a big ball of tension.”
“I’m a New Yorker. We’re 50 percent stress, twenty–five percent frustration, and twenty percent anger.”
“And what about the other five percent?”
“That’s where we keep our kindness and compassion.”
“You need to have a little more fun.” Grand Mother Flowers snickers.
I think I’ll work on playing now that I’ve got a chance. I build momentum and point my toes forward as I sail higher in the air.
“I’d love to have more fun, but I’m so afraid of screwing up.”
“That’s a bad way to live. Fear keeps you from growing.”
“With so much riding on me, I don’t want to make any mistakes that embarrass my family–”
“Don’t put that pressure on yourself. Everyone screws up now and again. The important thing is that you learn from it.”
“I think I’m learning how to have fun. I could do this all day.”
I catch Grand Mother Flower’s smile as I swing back. The momentum pushes me forward a few more inches on the forward swing.
“That’s what days off are for.”
As I swing forward I catch Grand Mother Flowers’ eyes. There’s something on her mind. I stop my momentum and rock gently as I listen to her. “I heard how you handled yourself at Hanna’s when you were confronted by some troublemakers yesterday.”
“I took a glass of water to the face for the sisterhood.”
“I’m really proud of you for showing so much character.”
“I had this awesome insult that I wanted to roll off my tongue but I had to stop myself. I had too much riding on it to act out.”
“You have your mother’s resolve. She used to bite her tongue a lot.”
“I guess you had to back then with the Civil Rights Movement going on–”
“That’s how you stayed alive.”
“Why do other Black people think people like us act White?” I ask.
“I’m still trying to get the answer to that question myself.”
“I just thought someone older would have some perspective on it.”
“The only answer I can give you is that some people’s experiences don’t allow them to get a broader perspective of the world, so they only see those who live in the ghetto as a true Black person.”
“I guess we’re blessed to get that broader understanding.”
“Unfortunately, they don’t understand that a ghetto is a place of the mind, not a neighborhood where Black people live.”
“Tell that to people today who live there today.”
“Unfortunately, those who grew up in the age of integration and progressive ideals over the past thirty years take for granted all the sacrifices made by previous generations to get them where they are today. They imbibe propaganda from the media that tells them that the approaches their ancestors used to achieve success are White concepts, not concepts we came up of ourselves from observation during slavery.”
I think I’m getting an understanding of how women like the ones I ran into yesterday can become confused by progressive ideas. People watch things on television and see images in magazines that depict Black people one way and tell them that they have to “keep it real” by portraying a stereotype as their identity. And when they get confronted with the image of what really is an African–American person they’re so brainwashed by that media that they call it “White”.
“The irony is that they take a fantasy for reality in their quest to “keep it real”. I say.
“While the real world passes them by.” Grand Mother Flowers replies.
“I can see how someone can get confused by listening to these ideas in the media, reading things in magazines and stuff. How can I avoid becoming confused by it?”
“By understanding who you are. When you have a strong sense of self, and know who you are, you can’t become corrupted or confused by what the world tells you Black is.”
“I’ve always felt that what’s real is relative to where I was.”
“Not necessarily. While one person’s reality is relative to their experiences, you ultimately control you and what you believe is real will become your reality.”
“Sort of like what God says about believing something and it’ll come to pass.”
“Exactly. As long as you’re alive you have the power to change your reality.”
“Just like I’m changing it now.”
“You’ve come to a decision about who you want to be?”
No hard decisions, but I’ve started thinking about who I want to be. “I can honestly say the baggy T–shirts and jeans are gone for good.”
“And your feminist views?”
“I stopped being a feminist two days ago. Now I’m going to just be Colleen. And Colleen is going to enjoy this swing.”
Grand Mother Flowers gives me a push. I point my toes forward and let my body sail in the air. As I build momentum, I soar higher than I did when I was seven years old.
Chapter 32
I’m soaring high on the swing. Air swooshes around me as I rock back and forth swinging on the momentum I’ve built up over the past half–hour.
I swing forward and catch the sight of Abby’s curly black hair bouncing in the distance. Her eyes light up as she catches my smile. I slow my momentum down and the soles of my feet slide into the grass. My body comes to a full stop as she approaches me.
“Hey Abby,” I greet. “What’s up?”
“Hey Col. Marcy and me were heading to the hairdressers and we wanted to know if you wanted to come along.”
I grimace at Grand Mother Flowers. “I guess I’ll be cutting my day off short.”
Grand Mother Flowers smiles at me. “Nice to see you have your priorities straight. I’ll meet you back out here tomorrow to brief you on Slipdress Sunday.”
That’s one appointment I’m not going to miss. “I’ll definitely be here.”
I hop off the swing and Abby and I trod across the front lawn. As we approach the statue of the goddess, I see Marcy standing next to Rumsfeld and the Rolls. That dress is so hot, I’m going to get my hair styled up so it can stand out.
Chapter 33
After Marcy, Abby, and I got our hair done in upswept styles, I got back to the house, found a comfortable chaise in the suite and started studying the Theta manual. Three chapters in I think I’ve gotten an understanding of on the history of the sisterhood.
From what I read, The Thetas were founded in 1934 by Andrea Robinson and Alma Travis, the daughters of wealthy Northern Black and Iroquois businessmen. In their senior year at Spelman College, they created the Theta organization as a place for wealthy Black women to support each other during Jim Crow. Their mission was to promote leadership, integrity, and character among Black women and to instill Christian values
in their sisters.
Robinson insisted on keeping the organization secret so that White racists wouldn’t be able to sabotage the mission of the Theta Sisterhood. And she wanted to protect the organization from mammies, handkerchief heads and other African–Americans who she felt would undermine the organization’s mission and goals. Because she feared The Thetas would be sabotaged by forces within Jim Crow America, she insisted that the location of the Theta House remain secret to Pledges and that the address could only be revealed to them after the pin ceremony.
Over that year Robinson and Travis traveled all over the country and began recruiting rich women from the Black Elite at the Historically Black colleges and Finishing Schools to join their organization. As they trained the first fourteen pledges during the first year at the Theta House, they instilled in them a sense of leadership and the application of Christian principles in their lives.
Through the 1940s they promoted Christian values in the Black community and dedicated themselves towards protecting the wealth of Black families through investment in Black businesses. As they prepared to expand the organization, Robinson, Travis and Dr. Edna Flowers began working on developing the Theta code of conduct and a social education in etiquette, Christian values, and discipline. They hoped by the end of a then four–week program a woman would have the social skills she’d need to survive and maintain a family in Jim Crow America.
Over the decades each of the original sixteen women have sent their Sisters, daughters, nieces, and cousins to pledge the Thetas and join the sisterhood. The only woman to not bear a descendant from the original sixteen was Robinson herself. She mysteriously passed on in 1973 in a tragic car accident. I’m still wondering why a ninety–eight year old lady was driving a Ford Mustang. Mine gives me a hard time on the curves sometimes and I’m only nineteen.
After Robinson’s passing, the organization’s mission changed a bit to focus on contemporary issues. As more Black women entered the corporate workplace due to the Vietnam War and affirmative action, The Thetas focused on teaching young women from wealthy families with the social skills they’d need to survive in corporate America and worked towards preserving traditional Christian values of the African–American community in the face of liberal progressivism.
Mom, Aunt Margaret, and Daddy worked together towards establishing a non–profit trust to keep the Theta organization operating after Grandma Travis passed in 1978. Currently The Thetas are privately funded by the annuitized payments from trust funds of the estates of Alma Travis and Andrea Robinson, along with donations from each family to pay for the expenses of each pledge during their eight–week stay at the Theta house.
I knew my grandmother was one of the original sixteen, but to learn that she was one of the two original founders was a surprise to me. Maybe her dedication for political activism is where I got my misguided passion for feminism from.
It was also surprising to me to learn how involved Grand Mother Flowers was towards developing the Theta curriculum. She developed most of the challenges and the standards for excellence a sister must meet. Because of her strong academic background each of the challenges have an educational component.
Turns out every Pledge is stripped naked and examined by a medical doctor, and then interviewed by the other Dean Mothers to ensure they are physically and mentally fit for pledging before participating in any Theta activities. The paper bag stuff was just to screw with me and see how I’d react to it. After Pledges pass examination they’re trained in etiquette, protocol, and the application of Christian values in their lives along with being taught why they have to protect and preserve Black institutions and Black Culture.
Along with the social education, Pledges are also put through an intensive fitness program and diet modification to develop good eating habits and develop wellness. Pride prosperity, power, and pulchritude.
Learning more about the Theta hierarchy, Pledge is the lowest rank in the Theta Sisterhood. If a Pledge meets the Theta standards for excellence, they’re promoted to Sister when they’re pinned. Sisters with five years of service are promoted to Dean Mothers and Sisters with twenty years of experience are promoted to Junior Grand Mothers. Senior Grand Mother is the highest rank in the Theta Sisterhood. And Grand Mother Flowers is currently the longest–running Senior Grand Mother. As the Senior Grand Mother she has the final say over what goes on or who comes into in the Theta Organization.
To remain in good standing with the Sisterhood, a Theta has to volunteer once every four years to support the training of a Pledge. They also have to attend at least two events a year to introduce themselves to Pledges and work towards supporting them in their careers after graduating college.
From what I’m seeing every Sister and Dean Mother and Grand Mother usually has a personal reason for involving themselves in the life of a Pledge. I know Angela and Edna are here because of their relationship with my family, Abby is here because she lives not too far from me, and Marcy is probably here because she majors in economics like I am. Maybe in a couple of weeks I’ll find out why Dean Mother Morgan and Dean Mother Carver decided to volunteer.
I’m halfway through finishing chapter four when Abby and Marcy stroll into the suite clad in silk pajamas. Abby has a bowl of popcorn, Marcy is carrying a couple of videotapes.
“Hey Col, you gonna spend Friday night buried in a book?” Abby asks.
“That was how I spent my Friday nights at the dorm in NYU.”
“Classes ended two days ago Colleen.”
Not for me. “I have a test in three weeks Abby.”
“Well, we got kicked out of the lounge. The Dean Mothers wanted to watch old people movies.”
“We’ll try to keep things quiet.” Marcy says.
I could take a break from the monotony of print. I drop my book and jump off the chaise. “No need to do that. What are you watching?” I ask.
“House Party, and New Jack City.”
House Party! I’d drop everything to watch that movie. “I think it’s time for a study break.”
“So you’re watching with us?”
“Definitely.”
Marcy pops the videotape in the VCR. As the movie starts on the screen, Abby looks me over.
“Col, aren’t you going to get changed?”
“Changed?”
“Er…You’ve been wearing that suit all day.” Marcy says.
I check my watch. Nine thirty! Man, I must have been reading for hours. For a textbook, the Theta manual is some compelling reading. But with Theta business hours over, it’s time for me to slip into something more comfortable.
Abby hits pause on the VCR. It looks like they’re going to wait for me before they start the pajama party. I rush over to the dresser and grab a pair of pink short–sleeved broadcloth pajamas out of the bottom drawer, hurry, into the bathroom and get changed. I’m met with approving smiles when I rush out of the bathroom clad in my bedclothes.
Abby hits the pause again. The movie resumes as I flop on my bed. Looks like the Black movie marathon is starting with House Party. Marcy jumps on her bed across the room and watches the movie while Abby has a seat on the edge of her bed as she chomps down on popcorn. She smiles at me; it looks like she wants to talk about something.
“Col, you doing anything tomorrow?”
“Other than my morning workout and getting briefed on Slipdress Sunday by Grand Mother Flowers, my afternoon is free. You want to do something?”
“I thought you could help me with this.”
Abby pulls out a suitcase out from under the bed and unzips it. I light up at the sight of a computer case and packaged parts for a desktop PC.
“Wow that’s the new Intel motherboard!”
“I was going to work on this by myself, but since you know your way around the insides of a PC, I thought maybe you could help me.”
I check out the PC parts she has in the box. A water cooled case, the Intel motherboard and a top-of-the line processor. It looks like she’s building a
great machine. I definitely want in on this. “Do you have the NVIDIA video card! Cause this kind of board needs the NVIDIA if you’re gonna game–”
“I bought it when I ordered the board.” Abby says pulling the video card box out from under the motherboard.
“Oh and you have the DDR3 sticks! This is gonna be one bad machine–”
“Er...guys, you do know that I’m here too.”
“Awww…Is Marcy feeling left out?” I inquire.
“Er…Yeah.” Marcia says rolling her eyes. “You guys are gonna sit there and make plans without me?”
“Hey, there’s only one of me–”
“I thought we were friends Colleen.” Marcy says folding her arms.
I can’t help the fact that I’ve gotten closer to Abby than Marcia. We just have a lot in common. But I can understand how she can feel left out. Maybe I can do something to forge a stronger connection with her.
“We are friends Marcy. And as a friend, I was going to ask if I could borrow that purple double–breasted suit in the closet next week.”
“Borrow this–”
A pillow flies across the room and hits me in the face. As it falls to the floor, I catch the smile behind Marcy’s grimace. Oh, sister wants to play.
“Nah, you can have it back. It’s not my color.” I joke as I hurl the pillow across the room.
The pillow catches Marcy in the chest. As Abby zips up her suitcase and puts her computer parts back under her bed, Marcy hurls it across the room and catches me in the face. It’s on now.
“But I think it’ll look good on you. Why don’t you get a better look at it?” I say as I rush across the room over to her bed.
Marcia’s eyes grow wide with surprise as I pounce on her bed and swat her with her pillow. She grabs the other pillow off the bed and lets me have it. It’s rock em’ sock em’ pillows until I’m hit from behind.
I turn around and Abby snickers at me. I give her a playful smile before twisting my face into a grimace.
“Oh so you want some too.” I tease.
I try to take on both ladies but, I’m no match for the onslaught of goose down. As I’m pummeled with pillows, I fall off the bed and tumble to the floor. The room fills with laughter as I concede defeat.
“Okay, Okay, You win.”
Marcy and Abby drop their pillows and reach for me, I take their hands and they pull me up. Man, I never thought getting my butt kicked would be so much fun.
