BOMAW 1-3

by Mercedes Keyes

  Shawn turned and looked down at Sylvia. "I'm sorry about all this."

  Sylvia smiled, glancing out the side of her eye to his mother; she used psychology on her. She so much as dared her that she could take it. Sighing, Sylvia looked up at Shawn. "Go stir the maple…and try to stay out of trouble, okay?"

  He grinned and leaned down and kissed her.

  Peace was found for a period while the women took deep breaths, shook off the event, and got breakfast out onto the four picnic tables. As the kids started gathering around, Sylvia noticed more of them. Kathy Ann had two that were there, who returned to the area with their grandfather, a sixteen year old daughter, Jenny Lee Dearborn—looked just like her mother, but she was on the hefty side and her fourteen year old brother, Jason Brian Dearborn. Their father, Kathy Ann's husband, was at work, a habitual overtime worker. They had bills galore, and it seemed all he was was a mention when they gathered.

  Shanna was the only one that didn't have children.

  Jake had three kids as well, two of them by a woman named Christine; there was Benjamin, twenty-two and Kevin, twenty. And Paul by a woman named Sherry, he was seventeen, skinny as can be, battling a serious case of acne—he seldom looked anyone in the eye, his acne an issue for his self-esteem. Sylvia could just imagine what the boy must endure, surrounded for the most part, by males who were all attractive in their own way. They'd all been out with their grandfather, and then the last one came into the group driving up in another four wheeler that had more stumps stacked on it. Meribel's Derrick Jr.—DJ for short.

  Sylvia felt kicked by a mule when he stood from the vehicle and looked their way.

  "DJ, leave that stuff until after you eat!" Gert ordered him, he stood smiling at her, turning the key off and stepping away from the four wheeler.

  "I'm starving, too, grandma! I like to fainted out there!" he kidded.

  "Aaah, mijo…come on, you can eat now," Meribel invited him.

  Sylvia couldn't take her eyes off of him. He was his father's son all the way, just much better looking than Armundo had been. Just as Crystal did, he had a honey-brown complexion, smooth and clear. Light brown eyes, and the most perfect afro, cut and lined. He was taller than Armundo as well, standing a bit over 5'10. He smiled, and perfect gleaming-white teeth flashed a light on his face. He was the pride of Derrick, his one son who played football. He ran track and field as well, and was up for a pro ball contract with one of the NFL teams. He stood with wide shoulders, like his father, narrowing down to a trim waist, abs galore, a tight hard butt that his jeans rode low on just right, and bow-legged like his father.

  "Mijo, grab a piece of sausage right quick, Shanna's doing the eggs now…go over and meet Sylvia."

  He looked up at her then and smiled, knowing already who she was. Walking towards her, Sylvia felt lightheaded, her heart hammered and her eyes filled with tears. He was Armundo alright, and it was unsettling to her. While things between her and Armundo hadn't been ideal, he had turned around before his death…she'd actually felt a rekindling in her heart for him, no, not as strong in love as she had been in the beginning, there would have never been that, but she did mourn his death. And now this son of his, so much like him, it made her short of breath, she had to sit down.

  "You okay?" he asked, noticing the look on her face.

  She nodded; he was the final assault, the other layer to her stress. She was afraid she would start crying. She was tired, hungry and edgy, and trying to get a grasp of everything that was suddenly happening in her life since Shawn Everett McPherson.

  "You look just like your father," she said to him as he sat across from her. Shawn walked up then, looking down at her. "Hey…what's up?" She couldn't look at him right then, and wiped her eyes. "I'm fine, Shawn, just needing something to eat, I think." She felt shaky, and her nausea was forever hovering, usually not willing to subside until early afternoon.

  "Hey, Tio, how you doing?" DJ lifted his hand and did a black hand shake, a double shift of the hands, gripping twice which Shawn was comfortable with.

  "I'm still kicking, and you about to go pro ball!"

  "Yep…I just have to make up my mind which team I'm heading for."

  "You can name your ticket with three offers up before you."

  "Naaaw, I'm not gonna play games. I'm signing up with the Philadelphia Eagles."

  "Well, good for you! We're all proud of you. I'm gonna go over and get you two a plate, bring Angela in to eat," he said, squeezing Sylvia's shoulder. She smiled up at him, glad for the moment to collect herself. She turned back to DJ and spent a few moments getting to know him. She learned right then, while he certainly looked his father's son, he was made up of better stuff. Very eloquent and a gentlemen when speaking. Full of ideas, goals, and accomplishments. So he wasn't just a talker, hopping from one idea or thought to another, like her own son by Armundo. He'd yet to manifest anything he said he was going after. Not so with the handsome young man before her; he was making strides and reaching his goals and dreams. Shawn sat before her a platter heaped with four pancakes, two eggs, sausage and bacon, a bowl of fruit and a tall glass of milk.

  "Shawn! Oh, my goodness! There's no way I'm going to be able to eat all of this!" She laughed as DJ thanked his uncle for a similar plate, but it had more on it. He wasn't complaining, he dug right in. Sasha sat next to her brother, Angela next to her dad, who sat down next to Sylvia, all had their plates. The pavilion was filled with humming voices as everyone stood to get their plate filled. She looked over at Shawn, who had six cakes stacked up, four eggs, three sausage links, a stack of bacon, a bowl of fruit, juice and coffee.

  "Ach, you're gonna eat all of that?"

  "Ooooh, yeah…been waitin' on this. Hey, you get started!"

  "Sylvia…I don't see you digging into my pancakes!" Gert shouted from her griddle, watching for her to take the first bite.

  "This is sooo much!"

  "You're eating for two now," Shawn stated, shoving in a heaping fork of the pancakes and sausage. He closed his eyes and shook his head as if he were in heavenly bliss.

  "Eating for two…it's only that big now, Shawn, it don't need that much—"

  "Don't call my baby an it!" he corrected her mildly, but she could tell from his tone, he meant it.

  "Excu-u-use me. The baby is only this big!" She held up her fingers to indicate the size. "The baby, nor I, need all of this."

  "I'm waiting, Sylvia!" his mother called, still waiting.

  "Okay, okay, okay…" Sylvia picked up her fork, cut into the steaming stack with butter and pure just-made, warm maple syrup running down the sides, and put three small cut squares stacked into her mouth. Then she knew why… "Oh, my god!" She chewed with the flavors blended on her tongue, explaining to her as no one could, why all the kids loved this family tradition. Shawn was watching the look on her face, Sylvia opened her eyes and looked at him. "Yeah…exactly. It's that good," he bragged. Sylvia looked back at his mother, who was grinning, she could tell she'd won over another one with the look on her face. Gert then called out to everyone there, "Mama done good?"

  "Mama done real good!" She heard them all return loud and clear, many with a mouth full of food. Shawn reached over and pulled her over to him by the neck, and kissed her full on the lips, syrup, pancakes and all in his mouth. Sylvia was laughing. "Yuck, Shawn…I don't need you to feed me, Shawn!"

  Gert turned back with a smile of satisfaction, flipping more cakes.

  Jake, holding a beer, not yet eating, stared at them from the other side of the pavilion, while Doris sat talking with Shanna, pretending not to notice where he stared.

  Chapter 48

  Gert's Theory...

  Breakfast had turned out a success, everyone pitched in and helped to clean up the pavilion while the sap was still boiling away, each of the kids taking turns for a while to skim it, stir it and add more if, on their turn, it was needed. Plenty enough sap had been gathered, and the men were all out corking the trees now, pulling in all the buckets an
d replenishing the wood stack.

  Gert, Shanna, Meribel and Sylvia were riding one of the golf carts with Meribel and Shanna in the back, and Sylvia sitting beside Gert as she took her around their land, showing her various areas and their woods. Comfortable with the women present, and feeling that she could ask it, Sylvia did.

  "Okay…you have to explain something to me; what is the big deal with me being black all about?"

  Shanna and Meribel both laughed, with Shanna saying, "Oh, you've gone and done it now! We'll be hearing this for the rest of the night!"

  "Oh, Shanna, you just hush! You'll be free soon, then you get to do it right this time like Shawn," Gert started.

  "You mean marry someone black?" Sylvia asked.

  "Noooo, don't have to be black…just anything else other than white," Gert clarified.

  "And why is that?" Sylvia asked.

  "Because white folks is too white! Some black folks is too black! Some Chinese too much of that!"

  "Huh?" Sylvia blurted, then laughed.

  "Now, hear me out! Don't jump the gun on me before you know what I mean. You see, I got this theory. Reason why no one is really, really happy with the way they are, is because they're too extreme!"

  "What do you mean, 'too extreme'?" Sylvia asked.

  "Okay, I'm gonna start with white folks…let's begin with the women. Many may start off as lookers, but what happens when they get past their thirties? Some it happens to in the twenties. Wrinkles! You know why? They too white! Skin's too dry, too thin, not enough elasticity to keep it supple. They need to bring in a new blood source, one with thick skin and melanin, pigmentation. The strongest source of that…is in the black race. Ain't no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Too many white women's figures are made up of fat instead of muscle, that's why so many get saggy asses—"

  Sylvia burst out laughing. "Oh, my goodness! I can't believe you said that!"

  "Why not? It's the truth! How many black women you see with their asses running down the back of their legs? Many as I've seen, I could count on one hand with fingers missing. But how many white women like that? Too many to even bother counting."

  "Oh, my lord," Sylvia gasped, shaking her head.

  "Hang on, girlfriend, she just gettin' warmed up!" Meribel inserted, laughing.

  "Well, look, if you think about it, it make perfect sense! It wasn't the Lord's idea that we be idiots and ruin what started off as perfectly built bodies in every variation! Had we stuck with him and did it his way, we'd all have a chance at rhythm, a chance at beautiful toned skin, and turning forty with no wrinkles!"

  "But then we'd all look the same, mama Gert."

  "I don't believe it! I don't believe for one second we'd all look the same! What I believe is that we'd always be surprised by what our next child would look like! If we had all continued to mix, each of our children would be unique! There would be no common traits. We've gone and done to the humane race what people have done to dogs and cats—generated breeds! And you all know what comes with pedigreed breeds…genetic weaknesses! They become known for a certain trait or fault. Same thing happening to us humans; we've created faults in our health and looks. I give you another example. Extreme black races…there ain't no one that can convince me, that it was intended for some to have such extreme tight, dry and beaded-up, segregated hair!"

  Sylvia gasped, "Ach! I can't believe you said that!"

  "You better believe she did! Derrick had to keep this black woman from beatin' mama Gert up! We was on the bus because…" Meribel kept stopping for laughing. "…because our car broke down, and we decided to ride the bus back to the house to get my car. Well, it was just me, Derrick, mama Gert and Joseph. We go and sit on the bus, girl, and there was this big black woman sitting in front of us with two of her kids. Well, they had really dry beaded-up hair, and mama Gert is staring and staring, and then she leans forward and whispered in this woman's ear, 'Ma'am, you need to bring in new blood! Next chile' you have, make it by somebody other than black…and get them kids to marry out, too. That'll fix that hair'."

  "Oh, my goodness! You didn't!"

  "Oh, yes, she did! Derrick was so embarrassed, and he had to stand…" She was laughing with tears in her eyes. "…between mama Gert and that woman on the bus, she was slamming him upside the head with her purse and cussing mama Gert out!"

  "Oh, my goodness!" Sylvia exclaimed.

  "I didn't mean no harm. I felt sorry for them babies. You know doggone well, little black girls want their hair to grow normal, too, without breaking off. They want shine, they want bounce and manageable hair, too! Or else all these companies with they chemical strengtheners wouldn't be making a mint selling products for just that."

  "So, you don't like afros?" Sylvia asked, a bit offended and it showed.

  "I love 'em! I had one myself, years back. You talking about curly hair. There's a difference in black curly hair, and black dry, kinky hair. The dry-kinky is very hard to keep from breaking off, because it's too flat-celled. I know; I went to beauty school for a short period of time, and learned all about it. You, Sylvia, have black curly hair. Hair that can be worn in an afro or be straightened with a relaxer, and it will grow and do what you need it to. But there is a type of black hair that is in the extreme…that's the problem. Extreme is not good. Extreme white is not good. Extreme Chinese…another example. They look too much alike! Half of them can barely see out of their eyes! But look at their cartoon drawings: every one of them have huge eyes! Why do you suppose that is? They don't like their small eyes. But out of all, the white race is the one with the most faults. Easy to burn white skin, wrinkles, Osteoporosis, muscle deterioration, crippling arthritis. Nooo, I know I'm right. What have I told all of you, Shanna?"

  "Try not to marry white."

  "Why?"

  "Because if we are going to strengthen our children, our bloodline, and keep our family smart, healthy, and strong, we need to bring in new blood," she repeated, all of them knew it by heart, their mother had preached it since they were little.

  "That's right! Marrying white over and over, you washing out all the good stuff! Stuff we all need. Now, look at me, Sylvia…I'm fifty-nine years old, will be sixty in a few months. Look at my skin, have you noticed I'm not that wrinkled?"

  Sylvia searched her face and did notice it. She had a smooth-like texture that was not bothered by too much wrinkling. There was a bit, but not as much as she was used to seeing on white women her age.

  "As a matter of fact, you're not."

  "You know why?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "Because there's African and Indian way back a few generations. I had a great-great-great-grandfather who was African—pure—on my father's side. On my mother's side, there was Crow Indian. And look at my beautiful children, my sons and daughters. But…now it's time to dip back some…we gettin' too white. Enough is enough, I didn't care what they married, mind you, just as long as it wasn't white. Derrick was the only one who listened. He married my sweet Meribel," Gert reached back and pinched her cheek. They were stopped by a stream, just talking. Meribel blushed. "Now, look at that skin! Her hair, eyes, and features! That's how you keep it right."

  "Angela's beautiful!" Sylvia defended.

  "'Cause she looks like me!" Gert blurted, and all three burst out laughing.

  "You something else, Gert! I swear you are!" Sylvia shook her head laughing.

  "Now, the second time around…Shawn has done it right. 'Cause you two…gone give me my sweet, little brown grandbabies with fat black curls! Oh, I can just see'em now! Dana Mocker think her lil grandson is the cutest. His daddy black, you see, by her daughter. And she's always bragging and bringing him around to show him off!"

  "But, mama, he is cute; as cute as he can be!"

  "Well, my Shawn and Sylvie gonna give me one even cuter."

  "Oh, my goodness! You trippin'! What if he or she is born and not brown, but light-skinned with your husband's hair color and eyes?"

  "Hush your mouth, now! Think brown!
Think smooth brown skin, thick fat black curls, and dreamy dark eyes! Oh, Sylvia! I got to show you my picture when we get home!"

  "Mama's got this huge picture of a little black baby with a tear rolling down his cheek. She goes on and on about one of us bringing her one."

  "Lord…I cannot believe this!" Sylvia confessed.

  "Look, I already know what he's gonna look like," Gert demanded. "You, Sylvia, are gonna connect waaaay back in our African gene pool! This baby is gonna be brown. That's that, I don't wanna hear no more about it. And, Shanna, just in case, your next gonna have to be a black man…shiny, super black! Because, maybe…just maybe…this one might not be brown. Oh, I just gotta get me a lil brown one. If Dorothy Mocker can get one as cute as hers is, when they're all as ugly as sin—"

  "Mama! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

  Sylvia and Meribel had tears flowing, they laughed so hard.

  "You know me…I tell it how I see it! And I see ugly when I see them!"

  Gert restarted the golf cart as they all talked, heading back towards the house. Sylvia sighed, smiling, thinking about her future husband. So…generations and generations ago, somewhere way back when, there was African, there was Indian that helped him come to be. Granted, one couldn't see it now, for all intents and purposes, he was white. Or as he stated, aligning with his father, Irish. But how did anyone really identify what made a race or nation look the way it did? Certainly, if all traits and features were traced back, they would no doubt all be amazed at what each version of man was made up of.

  Back at the house, Derrick, Meribel, Bart and Gert, Shanna, Sylvia and Shawn talked in the kitchen about their plans for marrying.