by Tavis Smiley
The next day we arrived at my younger sister’s one-bedroom apartment. Sherri took us in and helped me put my life back together. I started working for UPS at night and my sister kept the kids for me. During the day, I looked for another job and a place to stay. Sherri will always be my hero for giving me a hand when I had less than nothing.
My ex-mother-in-law’s eviction occurred just after I had finally decided to get a college education. After high school, I had gone into the military, where I met my husband. When I left the military, I had children and wound up going from one dead-end job to another. While I was in Wilmington, a sister working at the unemployment office stressed to me the importance of going back to school while my kids were young. Naive in the ways of the world and those of academia, I told the woman that it was impossible because I did not have any money. Nonetheless, her words haunted me until I decided I would try it.
After the kids and I got settled in Greensboro, I asked Sherri how difficult it would be to get admitted to North Carolina A&T, where she was a student. She felt that I could still get in for the spring semester, but I wanted to take it slow, and so I applied for the fall semester. The paperwork was not very difficult. My sister walked me through everything, showing me a few shortcuts, advising me about whom to see when I had to go to the financial aid office or the registrar’s office, and encouraging me to “just relax and have fun.”
The only thing my sister and I disagreed on was my decision to move into the worst housing project in Greensboro. Morningside Homes had a bad reputation from one end of the Triad to the other. However, we had been staying with my sister for four months, and I felt we needed our own place. Moreover, I wanted a cheap place so that I could concentrate on my studies and not have to worry about rent all the time. On my son’s second birthday, I signed the lease. I prayed and asked God to watch over us; He did. He blessed us with a few neighbors who looked out for us and treated us like family.
However, almost on a daily basis, I had to deal with women whose lives consisted of baby-daddy drama, trips to the welfare office, and spending all their food stamps in one day. I could hear the whispers as I came to and fro: “There goes that stuck-up girl from New York with the car. Yeah, she think she hot shit because she go to A&T. She a nigger just like us.” When I went to school in the morning, there would be a group of “player haters” standing around outside. When I came back home, they were still there.
My mother called to encourage and sometimes threaten when I wanted to drop out of school. My father, too, supported me at every turn and kept me rolling in whatever car he could get from the auction.
Sophomore year, my estranged husband stopped paying the court-ordered child support. Nonetheless, I made the dean’s list both semesters, got over my fear of water and learned to swim, and decided to start putting my journalism skills to the test via the student newspaper.
Senior year I became managing editor at the A&T Register. For four years, I struggled to be a parent, a student, and a Black woman trying to simply be herself. I would not have made it if God had not blessed me with a family whose love is never-ending. In addition, He strategically placed some special people in my pathway who understand that love and Aggie (A&T) pride go hand in hand.
There was Andrea Cummings. “Dre” was one of only a handful of my classmates who wasn’t too scared to come to the Grove. Matter of fact, folks thought she lived at my house ’cause she was always there washing clothes or having her usual plate of mac and cheese with a glass of ghetto Kool-Aid. Not only did Dre encourage me, she was there when family could not be. My sister moved out of state in 1996, which left the kids and me without any real relatives in the area. Dre stepped up to the plate and helped as much as she could. When the kids got the chicken pox, we took turns watching them and going to class. The next semester, I got the flu, Ronald junior had an earache, and Britt had a touch of pneumonia all in the same week. Dre would stop by in between classes to help cook, get our medicine from the store, and help keep the apartment clean. She was also there for the heartbreaks and the bad-hair days. To this day, I don’t think she knows how much her friendship means to me.
Dre; Lisa, my next-door neighbor, who served as my alarm clock and inspiration for three years; Mrs. Wiggins, my academic advisor and friend; Dr. Styles and Mrs. Tonkins, two of my teachers; Mrs. Bea, who befriended me during my freshman year when I worked part time at Sears; Mrs. Cook, A&T’s financial aid advisor; the Durhams, who managed to keep my car running and gave the kids gifts at the holidays; my journalism teacher, Mr. Johnson; and my family all showed love at a crucial time in my life. On May 15, 1999, North Carolina A&T State University awarded me a bachelor of arts degree in English.
The past seven years have been an example of what a determined person can do in the face of adversity. However, I know that I did not get here by myself. My success was made possible by the love and sacrifice, individually and collectively, of people who understand that no man or woman is an island, and we must all work together.
DREAM A LITTLE DREAM
Germaine Sibley Gordon
About five years ago one of my close friends organized a group of ladies she called an empowerment circle. In this circle of sister friends each woman took the time to reflect on her life’s events. “Guard your thoughts,” my empowerment sisters would always say. “Guard your thoughts” became such a powerful statement to all of us because it meant that if the mind can think it, you can achieve it.
At one point in my life I found myself in a deep emotional rut. I was spiritually unfulfilled with my job, my boyfriend, and myself. Less than six months before, I had received my graduate degree and felt ready to take the world by storm. But in the months since, I realized having just any job and any man was not fulfilling at all.
By January of the following year, I’d had enough. I knew I needed and deserved better. I quit my job and focused on a positive outcome for my life and a career I truly enjoyed. Bills, rent, and others’ opinions didn’t matter. On some days I questioned my decision (especially when the bill collectors called). Fortunately, I had my sister friends to talk me through the fear.
A few weeks after quitting my job, I quit my relationship. My heart knew I needed someone who was going to add to the happiness I chose for myself. My current relationship was draining, and if I was going to change, I needed to let go of things that kept me down.
I was living in Chicago with no immediate family; most of my friends lived out of state. Talk about scared! Deep inside I knew that if my life was going to change, I was going to have to change as well. My lack of respect for myself and my need for companionship was evidenced by my tolerance for verbal and spiritual disrespect.
For the first time in my life I was alone and open to the world and what it had to offer. I had no job, man, family, or school (I had been in school almost continually since kindergarten) to hide behind. It was scary yet invigorating. In the following weeks, my life began to change for the better as my personal faith began to deepen and my understanding of God’s love began to increase.
While visiting the house of one of the few sister friends I had in the city, I met a nice guy who had come to visit her husband, and he and I started up a conversation. We had seen each other before but never had much to say to each other. This day, though, something was different. For the first time in months, I felt energized about my life. Like two old friends, we spoke as if reunited after many years apart. There was an immediate comfort with him, and at that moment I knew we were going to be closer than mere friends. A few days later, we went out on our first date, and a week after that we were inseparable. The relationship was refreshing, as we both worked to learn more about each other and about ourselves. He knew I wasn’t interested in anything less than 100 percent commitment, and he respected my spiritual development.
Three weeks after we met, I received a phone call from a local university. The director of the youth program knew my new beau and had spoken with him a few days before. He had gi
ven her my name as a possible dance teacher for a spring-break arts camp. As God would have it, I was hired for a one-week workshop. With the money, I was able to pay off some bills and catch up on my rent.
As a result of “cleaning house,” my emotional rut had turned into emotional riches. I felt better about myself, which in turn resulted in better outcomes in my life. My understanding of “that little voice inside,” the God spirit that is within all of us, had grown.
I am now married to the guy I met, and we work constantly to grow together spiritually. I work every day to direct my thoughts in a positive way in my relationship, my career, and my life. Like everyone else, I have my days of uncertainty, but the spirit of God that lives within always pulls me through. “Guard your thoughts” is a powerful reminder of how we can live our lives.
I continually strive to be of service to others who are working to develop a deeper spirituality, as I believe that whatever we do, our thoughts have the power to dictate how far we go and how successful we come to be!
ADDICTION
Sharon Ewell Foster
There were two hundred women in white in front of me. Women of all colors and all faiths, from all social and economic groups—women bound by a common goal: change. What was so moving about them was the sense that transformation was in the air. It sizzled and crackled during the time we shared. It was a spirit; it was alive.
I was not speaking in a church or in a theater. My audience was a group of inmates dressed in prison uniforms at Dawson State Prison in Dallas, Texas—each one of them in a program designed to help them recover from addiction. Some of them were drug addicts and dealers, others prostitutes, some gamblers, and still others thieves. Their addictions were characterized by their reliance on some outside force that would make them feel better—something that would take away the pain.
What could I possibly tell them that would make any difference in their lives? I wasn’t even sure how I’d come to be among them. A single mother of two, a former Defense Department employee, I had taken a detour from my book tour to talk with the women. I hoped to say something to them that would encourage them.
As I spoke to them, I looked for opportunities to walk among them and to hug them. It occurred to me, as I talked, that there were few differences between them and me.
For years, while I worked for the Department of Defense, I applied for job after job. I sought promotion after promotion. I looked and prayed for raise after raise.
“This job will be the perfect one,” I would tell myself. “Everything will be all right if I can just make some more money, if I can just get a better job or a better supervisor.”
It was called having a career, and most people applauded me for it. Lots of people have careers, and you shouldn’t confuse them with me; my need for promotion consumed me. While I enjoyed the last two years that I worked as a civil servant, most of the time I was dissatisfied or miserable. I hid how I felt behind suits, lipstick, pumps, and stacks of paper piled on my desk.
For the sake of more money and a better title, I moved to places I never wanted to live. I neglected or abandoned important relationships and ruined my health. I dressed and behaved in ways, and tolerated treatment, that violated my sense of who I was and what I believed. I needed those promotions, the recognition, the money—those fixes—to help me feel better, to make me complete. That sounds pretty much like addiction to me.
As I stood among the two hundred women in white, jailed because their addictions were illegal, I realized that we had so much in common. There was a woman from my hometown, East St. Louis, Illinois. There were single women, married women, women with children, women who had had careers. There were women who could pray and quote scripture as well as corner girls. I shared their joy, and like them, I was free. They no longer needed their “fix”; I no longer needed to spend hours scouring employment lists. (There are many trees in the rain forest breathing easier because I am no longer sending out hundreds of résumés each year.)
Like them, I was forced by circumstances to face my behavior and to commit to making a change. But it was not until I stood before them that I realized that I had shared a similar transformation. It was then that I was able to tell them how I became a new creature, how I wrestled to find my true purpose and promise. It was then that I was able to offer the women hope and to share with them the joy that I have found—the joy that we shared—on the other side. It was standing in front of a group of women, sharing our scars, that I realized that I was free indeed! Gathered in the arms of the women, I prayed the same prayer for all of us: “Lord, help us to face ourselves, to change, and to become all that you have destined for us to be.”
GETTING OFF WELFARE
Sharon Blessman
I am a registered nurse in the inner city of Detroit, Michigan. My job involves connecting needy people with the resources they need. Many times the people that I help are so destitute that they lose hope. Many are pregnant teenagers, single parents, or poor families whose major concern is a choice between food and other necessities in life. My major hurdle in working with this group is to bolster their spirit.
I share with these people a personal story of hope and courage that I’ve had the privilege to watch unfold. A good friend, whom I will call Beth D., had moved to the Detroit area when she was in her early twenties. She did all the things young people generally do—party, party, party. She went to work at a local Taco Bell. She moved in with her boyfriend, and things went smoothly for a while. Then the inevitable happened: Beth got pregnant! Shortly thereafter, he began to physically abuse her.
Beth had only a sister in the area. Her mother was deceased, and her brothers and father lived in another state. She did not enjoy the benefit of a strong support group in the area. Like many women caught up in the cycle of abuse, Beth agreed to take her boyfriend back and entered into marriage with him, hoping this would improve the situation. But the abuse continued. Finally, after two years, she decided enough was enough.
Now Beth had a baby and a minimum-wage job, lived in a dangerous neighborhood, and had limited resources. But she said to herself, “To hell with this! I deserve better and so does my child!”
So she picked herself up by her bootstraps. She used the welfare system to get her jump start. She attended Lawrence Technological University full time and did nails to get extra cash in between study sessions; my family helped out with her young son. These were hard times for my girl, but she forged ahead.
Because of her determination, courage, and strength, Beth graduated with her master’s degree in business. She now holds a top position on the Detroit school board and has the financial security to send her son to any college or university that he wishes.
My message for those of you who may find yourselves in similar situations in life is this: Don’t ever allow the welfare system to run your life. Use it only to advance your life! Never be afraid to step out on faith. Keep in mind that if you believe, you can achieve. Love both God and yourself with as much intensity as you can muster. And never say “I can’t,” because you can! Keep the faith, because it will keep you!
A DREAM COME TRUE
Sondra Simmons
You try to keep me from reaching the top.
You throw obstacles in my path, to try and make me stop.
As I reach for a new level you do what you can
To hinder my progress, but you don’t understand.
From the crown of my head to the soles of my feet,
I am a wish fulfilled, a dream complete.
You can’t stop me from being what I am destined to be
No matter how you criticize and talk about me.
You make my load heavy, but I still stand.
I refuse to break, although I may bend.
And yes, I dare to walk with my head held high.
For I am a dream that refused to die.
You laugh as I stumble along my way,
Hoping for me that tomorrow will be a darker day.
Yo
u undermine every move that I make.
You give nothing as you greedily take.
Relentlessly you seek my demise,
Desiring only to see defeat in my eyes.
You ask who in the hell I think I am,
As you look at me and wish me damned.
I am the Cream of the Crop, a Journey Complete.
A Quest Fulfilled, a War That Knows No Defeat.
I am the Top of the Line, a Long Journey’s End.
Ruler of the Hill, a Drinking Man’s Gin.
A Cloud’s Silver Lining, a Wronged Man’s Just.
A Poor Man’s Desire, a Rich Man’s Lust.
A Drink of Water, when a hard day is through.
A Wish Fulfilled. Yes I AM
A Dream Come True.
LEAVING THE FRONT PORCH
Lamont Jackson
My father died of cancer, and my mother died violently. All of this took place before I was two. I became a victim of child abuse, spent time in the hospital, and jumped around to several foster homes.
When my guardians left the house, they would lock me upstairs in my bedroom, and when company was over, they always made me sit outside on the front porch. If I didn’t comply, they would punish me by burning my hands on the stove.
One day when we had company, as usual, I was exiled to the front porch. I sat there for about one hour before something or someone spoke to me and told me to get up and run. It seemed as if the voice was telling me that I should run as far away from that place as I could, and so I ran! I spent two weeks in the hospital for burns to my hands and for malnutrition.
