Tell the Truth & Shame the Devil

by Lezley McSpadden

  I started to cry. Andre and I had eleven years and two kids. The more I thought about each of those eleven years, the harder I cried. I was crying for the pain I had endured with him. I was crying for his mama. I was crying for Moo Moo who was six years old, and had spent a lot of quality time with Andre. Andre took Moo Moo to school regularly, and Moo Moo even had a room at his house. Jazzy on the other hand was a baby. She would never really know her father.

  • • • •

  I was at Straub’s scooping potato salad into a pint for a customer when I felt my phone vibrate. I saw that Mike Mike’s school was calling and asked one of my coworkers to take over. I slipped into a back room at the store. The school nurse was on the other end, and I was terrified that she was calling to tell me that my son had been hurt. She explained that Mike Mike had come down with a bad headache. It was one of the busiest days at work, and I wanted to make sure that the boy wasn’t trying to just get out of school.

  The nurse gave him aspirin, but said his headache hadn’t gone away and his blood pressure was running high. Something was seriously wrong. I took him to his pediatrician who wanted Mike Mike to see a cardiologist as soon as possible. When I heard that, everything in the room felt very far away and I was filled with a quiet panic.

  Then I found out that his Medicaid didn’t cover him to see a cardiologist. I yelled at the insurance people over the phone. I pleaded with the doctors to make an exception. In the end, Straub’s allowed me to add him into my work insurance. So I quickly got him in to see a heart doctor at the St. Louis Children’s Hospital where they could start monitoring him, but before we could go back for a follow-up, he had another episode at school again. I rushed him to the emergency room.

  “Mama, am I gonna be OK?”

  “Of course, baby. Don’t be thinkin’ nothing bad. We gonna find out what’s wrong with you. I promise,” I tried to hide my own terror. Mike Mike was a sophomore in high school, he was already towering over me, but in that moment all I could see was my little boy, and I could see he was afraid.

  When we got to the hospital, they admitted him immediately to ICU. I was pacing and wringing my hands.

  “Mama, what does all this mean?” Mike Mike asked looking at all the monitors they had him hooked up to.

  “Mike Mike, they just wanna make sure your heart is OK, but don’t talk. I want you to rest.”

  “Mama, you think they gonna find out what’s wrong with me?”

  “We gonna get through this, Mike Mike.” I just held his hand until he drifted off to sleep.

  When the doctor pulled me out of the room to explain what they were going to be looking for, I just couldn’t hold it together any longer. I broke down crying.

  Mike Mike was suffering from hypertension. He was overweight and his heart was working too hard.

  After his hospital stay, they put him on meds, but Mike Mike would complain occasionally about chest pains and headaches. I knew that it was all about changing my son’s lifestyle, his eating habits for one, and trying to get him to exercise. But it’s tough getting a teenager to understand the seriousness of things sometimes.

  “Mike Mike, what did you eat yesterday?” I probed.

  I seasoned up some chicken cutlets and laid them on the grill outside.

  “Mama, I didn’t eat nothin’ bad.” I could hear it in his voice that he had probably eaten something fried or ordered a pizza at one of his grandmothers’ houses.

  “Mike Mike, you have to do what the doctors say. You are the one who’s going to suffer, but it hurts me to see you in pain.”

  “Mama, don’t worry. I’mma be fine,” he winked.

  I made his plate with the grilled chicken, broccoli, and rice, and he complained. Mike Mike was hardheaded, and didn’t think his illness was all that important.

  It wasn’t until we found ourselves back in ICU and he was hooked up to more machines that he began to take the hypertension seriously. His vision was impaired and he was in bad shape. I just kept praying, “This too shall pass.”

  He wasn’t a talkative kid, but I knew he not only felt bad physically, but that he was worried about what was happening to him. Seeing all the doctors and the nurses discussing their reports in front of him, and then discussing what test they were going to run next, shook him up. After several days in the hospital they released him, and Mike Mike immediately started eating fruits and vegetables and smaller portions, and even though he wasn’t an athletic kid, walking to and from school was something that he started to really enjoy doing.

  I bought him a portion plate so that he wouldn’t overdo it, no matter how good the food was. I had to encourage him to do right even when I wasn’t around. I needed my baby to take care of himself. I couldn’t imagine losing my son to a heart attack or stroke. He was still just a kid. He had his whole life in front of him.

  Mike Mike’s hypertension made me pay attention more to his overall health.

  So, when, on our way back to Mrs. Brown’s house after he spent the evening having dinner and doing homework over at my house, he said, “Mama, I have to sit close to the board in class. Somethin’ don’t feel right,” I took it seriously.

  I knew his blood pressure was causing headaches but I wanted to be sure that there wasn’t anything else wrong. So, getting his eyes checked was next.

  Sure enough, he was nearsighted.

  When we were sitting in the doctor’s office, I had wanted to get him some nice frames so badly, but I couldn’t afford them.

  “You like these, Mike Mike?”

  “Yeah, Mama, but these look cool,” he said, flashing his smile as he picked up a pair of frames—they weren’t designer or name-brand glasses, either, they were just the basic frames the insurance would cover. “I’mma wear my glasses. I don’t care about no brand.”

  And he did wear him too—and he could see better and think better.

  • • • •

  On June 16, 2012, what would have been Granny’s eighty-fifth birthday, I got the heart-stopping news that my big cousin, Tracey, who I had always looked up to lost her daughter, Kiera, to a serious illness. I was hurting for her; I couldn’t imagine losing one of my babies. How do you pick up the pieces after that?

  When it rains it pours. Just as we’d gotten through Kiera’s passing and Mike Mike’s health crisis, my landlord lost the house we were living in in Berkeley. Then we moved to Hoard Street and Mike Mike enrolled in Jennings High School and Déja enrolled in Jennings Junior High, Moo Moo was in elementary school, and Jazzy was in daycare. It was Mike Mike’s job to walk Moo Moo to and from school. I was dealing with the fact that Mike Mike wasn’t adjusting to Jennings High School well. He missed the friends he’d grown up with in the Normandy schools, he wasn’t engaged at school, and he wasn’t keeping up with his work.

  But, Mike Mike missed his friends at Normandy and Déja wanted to be where her brother was, so I reluctantly agreed to let them both go back to school in the Normandy district and I would drive them back and forth all the time.

  I was nervous about Mike Mike and Déja living over there in that neighborhood, though. Things had changed since I’d been there hanging out with their daddy. Pine Lawn wasn’t ever a real safe place, and it had gotten worse. I mostly worried about Mike Mike’s safety. He was a growing boy, and there were a lot of gangs popping up in that area. He was big for his age, and I didn’t want the boys in the streets trying to test him. I was glad he was so into his video games and that he’d rather be in the house.

  I was happy when Déja decided to come back home with me. She has always been my child who would change her mind like the weather. After just a short while she decided she missed her friends and the school and wanted to move back to Jennings.

  Louis and me were getting closer and he moved in. I was excited because I’d finally have a responsible man in the house also helping share the financial load.

  Around this time, my mama had moved into the Canfield Apartments just off West Florissant. It was a complex that
ranged from low-income to working-class. Some were typical one- and two-bedroom apartments in two-story brick buildings, but Mama got one that was more like a small house with a basement in it.

  Mike Mike would visit my mama a lot. Brittanie and Bernard had moved into a new place on Solway Street, which wasn’t far from Mama.

  • • • •

  It was the end of the day, and I had just taken my clothes off and was about to take a hot shower when the phone rang.

  “Mama, my toe hurtin’ real bad. Can you come and take me to the doctor?” Mike Mike said in a muffled voice.

  “Your toe? That same one you broke before?” I asked skeptically. Last year he had slipped in the kitchen and broken his toe while I was at work. He toughed it out so long I barely got him to the doctor that day. But I didn’t think it was his toe tonight. Whenever he called me talking about “Granny ain’t cook nothin’ ” or telling me some other lame story, something was really wrong. I jumped back into my clothes and rushed out of the house. Sometimes you just need to lay your eyes on your child to check things out for yourself.

  Mike Mike came right out of Mrs. Brown’s house when I pulled up. It was dark outside, and he hopped in the passenger seat and immediately looked down. I couldn’t see his face, so I hit the light. Mike Mike had lumps and bruises all over his face.

  “Oh my God, Mike Mike!” I gasped, gently turning his face toward mine. “What’s wrong? Who did this to you, Mike Mike?”

  “Mama, I had a fight with this dude from school the other day, and then the dude’s brother and uncle came over and jumped on me.” His voice was low and shaky. I knew he wanted to cry but was trying to show me he wasn’t weak.

  Tears welled up in my eyes.

  Mike Mike began to slowly explain what had happened. “I had a fight with this dude at Normandy. I ain’t wanna fight that dude. He just kept pushin’ me.” He sniffed again.

  “I know, Mike Mike,” I said, shaking my head, trying to keep from crying myself. He didn’t like trouble, but it did always seem to find him. It’s like people want to see what he can do for his size.

  “I bet it was about a damn girl,” I smacked. He nodded. “Did you hurt the dude, Mike Mike?” I asked, putting my hand over my mouth.

  “I got the best of him, Mama,” he said while struggling to hold his tears back. Then a single tear rolled down his face. “The dude’s uncle and his older brother came over and jumped on me to get me back.” He burst into tears.

  My son was scared. I was scared too. I raised my fists and pounded them on the steering wheel. “Mike Mike, who is this boy? Who is his people? Where they live?” I shouted. I wasn’t angry at him, but my emotions were taking over. I felt helpless.

  “Well, Granny tried to run out an’ help me . . .”

  Mike Mike cleared his throat and explained how Mrs. Brown had gotten pushed to the ground in the scuffle. What kinda grown men would jump on a teenager and then rough up his grandmother? I had no words that I could get out. I dropped my head.

  I got Mike Mike’s wounds cleaned up and him settled, and made sure he got himself ready for bed. I walked outta Mrs. Brown’s house—my heart was racing, my mind going a million miles an hour. I pulled over and burst into tears.

  I didn’t have no church where I could call my pastor to come pray for my son. But I knew one Bible verse, and now was as good a time as any to put it to work. I closed my eyes and quietly prayed to God.

  The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

  He leadeth me beside still waters . . .

  I had gotten the news of another death in the family. My mother’s brother, my uncle Carl got the news on May 10, 2013, that his son Terrell had been shot and killed in Sacramento, CA. Uncle Carl had already suffered the loss of another son to street violence in 2005. Terrell’s murder scared me more than ever, with Mike Mike being a young black man out here. I didn’t want to think about anything happening to him.

  I was now seriously questioning that whole notion that God doesn’t give a person more than they can bear. As far as I was concerned, God had some explaining to do.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MANCHILD WITH PROMISE

  September 2013 was the start of Mike Mike’s senior year.

  “Boy, what is you doin’? What is all this on my table?” I had walked into the kitchen and found Mike Mike at the table with all these computer pieces spread out.

  “Mama, don’t touch nothin’. I’mma clean it up in a minute. I’m fixin’ somethin’ on my game.”

  He was in deep concentration. I lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. I was watching my child do something I’d never seen before. I thought he was going to leave permanent grooves in his forehead he was concentrating so hard. He sat semi-hunched over. His eyeglasses had slid down on his nose.

  Mike Mike looked like a doctor performing brain surgery, placing one tiny computer piece after another tiny piece inside other larger computer chip pieces. Then he pushed green wires into tiny holes in a plastic box. I was getting a headache just watching. It was like one big electronic brain that he had just put back together. Mike Mike placed the last computer piece then stretched his back and smiled, pride beaming out of him.

  “Mike Mike, look what you did!”

  “I ain’t know you was still in here, Mama,” he said, a little embarrassed.

  “You fixed that whole computer, Mike Mike?” I was amazed.

  “Yeah, Mama,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “My baby is a genius!”

  “Aw, that was just a li’l somethin’-somethin,” he blushed.

  “Boy, you really are good at this.”

  “Yeah, you think so, Mama?” he asked, flashing me that grin of his that grabbed my heart every time, no matter that he’d been using it on me since he was an itty-bitty boy.

  “I know so! You my brainiac,” I said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

  Mike Mike had always been into his video games, but he was using his brain in a different, bigger way now. I just wanted him to be around more people like him so he could learn and grow.

  I was headed in late to work one morning after a doctor’s appointment and decided to drop off some clothes for Mike Mike at Mrs. Brown’s.

  I dashed up her front steps and rang the doorbell. When the door opened, it was Mike Mike standing in front of me.

  “What the hell you doin’ here?”

  “Um, well, I wasn’t feelin’ good, so I wasn’t gonna go, and then . . .” He was stumbling and stuttering all over the place.

  “No, you bullshitin’ me! You take yo’ ass to school!” I said, pushing my way into the house. “Do your granny know you here?”

  “I don’t know. No,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “Naw, Mike Mike. Look, you cain’t just decide you don’t wanna go to school. You don’t have a choice. You s’posed to be graduatin’ this year!”

  Mike Mike looked away. This wasn’t too long after we’d had a big fight about him getting failing grades. I was furious but tried to keep my cool.

  “Mike Mike, is somethin’ wrong at school? You know what? You gonna come home with me and ride that bus up to Lucas and Hunt Boulevard, or I’ll drop you off on my way to Straub’s.”

  “I don’t know if I’mma graduate. Miss White said I ain’t got the credits.”

  “Oh, I’mma get to the bottom of this. I’m callin’ whoever this Miss White is now!”

  My brain was in overdrive. I was trying to map out a plan in my head. I didn’t care if we had to get up at 5:00 in the morning, I was going to just have to do it to get Déja, Moo Moo, Jazzy, and Mike Mike to school, then myself to work.

  I couldn’t dial the number to the school fast enough. I fired up a cigarette. Mike Mike was giving me attitude, but I didn’t care. My leg was shaking like crazy. I took puff after puff in between barking orders into the phone for the school secretary to get me to a lady named Miss White. On second thought, I
hung up. In person would be better. I called out sick.

  I sat in front of Miss White and looked her up and down.

  “Well, Miss McSpadden, we didn’t even know you existed,” she said, slightly sarcastic, peering over her reading glasses. She leaned back in her chair and adjusted her suit jacket, which was a little too tight. It turned out Big Mike, who registered Mike Mike for school since he lived in district, didn’t put me down as an emergency contact. So while he and his girlfriend had been receiving calls from the school, I’d been in the dark.

  “First, of all, I’m Mike Mike’s mother, and I’ve always existed. Just ’cause a father registers a child don’t mean the mama ain’t nowhere around. I’m here to tell you that starting today, his mama is taking charge! I want to know what does my son need and how do we help him?”

  I just wanted him to get his diploma. At this point his biggest challenge was getting through the schoolwork.

  I developed a relationship with Miss White after that day, and she was doing a weekly check-in with me about Mike Mike’s progress and what he needed to do. We were all determined to get him into that cap and gown. But when it was all said and done, I needed Mike Mike to step up. One day she called me while I was at work to tell me he wasn’t turning in homework on time.

  “If Mike Mike isn’t doing what he needs to be doing, then damn right, you better call me!” I was in between preparing a catering order and wrapping a customer’s sandwich in the back with the phone cradled between my ear and shoulder.

  After that call, Mike Mike was at my house doing homework before I drove him back to Mrs. Brown’s house. He threw his pencil down and pushed away from the table.

  “Mike Mike, what’s wrong?” I asked, putting my hand on his shoulder.

  I knew he was frustrated and wished I could’ve helped him more with the work.

  “Is the work stressin’ you?”

  He nodded.

  “And, Mama, that teacher don’t like me.”

  “No, Mike Mike, she don’t need a diploma. It has everything to do with completin’ what you s’posed to.”