Mama Day transports us to another world, although part of the novel's action takes place right here in NYC. Memory, storytelling, thoughts and lived events carry us deep into the culture of geographic regions and the characters we meet.
Consider your family history. Talk to an older adult about a special memory and ask her/him to share the story with you. If you have access to relatives who are very old, great. If not, ask a close relative, family friend, or someone who has been part of your upbringing to share a story with you. Share your story on our DB.
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ReplyDeleteOne of my grandmother's favorite stories to tell is about her climbing trees and hanging out with her neighborhood friends. Everyday after school she would go down to a housing scheme called "Windsor." She and her friends would chat and laugh and carry on about who was smartest and who likes who, and so on and so forth. It was always exciting for my grandmother to climb the trees in her mother's yard. It was always a grand experience to see who could climb the coconut tree the fastest.
ReplyDeleteShe often proved to the boys that she could out-climb them.
Written by TIANNA ADDAE
DeleteMy mother’s childhood memory…..
ReplyDeleteOne of the most memorable times in her life was growing up in rural Java, VA during the 1950's.
Her grandmother owned 5 acres of land, which held a large three room house, where she, Uncle James, and her older sister Virginia stayed with her grandmother and uncle Mac. Uncle Mac had recently returned home from the war.
They had chickens, hogs and cows, and their own fishing creek in the back of their farmhouse. She and Uncle James would sneak away to the creek to fish for hours, when uncle Mac would have to work in town. The creek was abundant with grouper and cat fish any time of the day.
She remembers working on her family’s farm beginning at the age of six, she had to get up at 5am every morning to string the tobacco and pull corn, along with her older brother James during the summer months to sell and trade for goods; they would attend school during the winter months.
She also remembers growing up around several ‘Hillbilly’ families (working class and poor whites). Although the white and black families all visited each other’s homes and their children played together, as a child she could never understand why her little white friends didn’t attend school along with her and Uncle James.
As she got older she began to realize the time period she was actually growing up in. Even though my mom doesn’t remember experiencing the negative connotations of racism first hand, she knew it was in full bloom Virginia. Her mom and aunt worked in the city to help the family with bills and support for mom and her siblings.
One of her funniest memories was collecting wood for the fireplace or the coal stove for heat. She said although the front part of your body would be warm from the fireplace, your backside would be freezing from the cold chill sneaking up behind you. She stayed with my maternal great grandmother until she turned 16, after my great grandmother Ella became gravely ill, and had to be hospitalized; mom had to move in with her paternal grandmother who turned out to be just as endearing.
My Uncle James lied about his age to get into the army and was shipped overseas, and my mother ended staying only one year with Grandma Ruth, she left the following year to marry my father.
My father's happiest memory was his one week vacation to Sydney, Australia. My Dad was a senior field medic during the Vietnam War. He was a paratrooper in the Army's 101st Airborne Screaming Eagles Division. Basically, he jumped out of air crafts to help the wounded soldiers on the ground. In February of 1970, my Dad was granted a 1 week ''R & R'' or rest and relaxation in the South Pacific. He choose Australia and they sent him to Sydney. He spent 6 days on Bondi Beach, watching fishermen catch sharks and partying. He even saw the Sydney Opera House being built. He said he was really sad to go back and finish the rest of his deployment. It was paradise to him and if he could go back, he wouldn't hesitate.
ReplyDeleteOne of my Grandmother's favorite memory was when she was a little girl she would ride her father's horse in Jamaica where she was born and raised. My grandmother and her brothers and sisters would fight about riding the horse because they all loved it and riding a horse was a big deal when she was growing up. In Jamaica at that time not many people owned there own horse so the fact that her and her brothers and sisters could ride a horse and was unique many people in Jamaica walked to place to place.
ReplyDeleteOne of the stories that my grandfather likes to talk about is how his life was hard but yet at the same time “sweat”. He said that when he was around my age, he was the one who had to take care of his family; he never talked about his father so I guess he was never around. He talked about the fact that he use to work as a “yard boy” which is known as a gardener today, which didn’t pay much but was enough for him. He also told me about riding a donkey to work every day that he used his money from work to bye, which most have been a little fun because I rode one when I was younger and it was a lot of fun for me. He said that, that life would be considered hard for many people today but for him it was fun.
ReplyDeleteLife was hard for my Grandmother as a teenager. She grew up in Georgia living with her grandmother, her aunt and cousin. They had a farm in which they grew food because they really didn't have canned foods. My Grandmother was named after her mother in which she died when she was about 3 or 4. She said that it was hard being black. There was no voting and no TV. She said Children in those days, had to walk to school, walk to the store because they had no buses or cars because they were black. She met my grandfather in high school and got married at 18. Her favorite memory was when she had a 16th birthday party. She never had a birthday party, so this was her first. ( and it was a surprise and alot of kids came)
ReplyDeleteMost of my family past away already. But I had a covistaion with a co worker who has been working at my job for most of his life. He is 74 he been working at United Postal Service since he was 20 well he said since my age. We call him Sosa he was born in newyork just like me and we have a bit in commen he told me his story. Back in 1960s for african american finding a job was pretty easy for black male well only manual labor he explained that college wasnt the option for him. he would leave everyday to find work mostly construstion or some type of heavy lefting. He soon joined the teamster union with United postal service and became a Driver. "The money was Great!!But not worth it" Sosa is surprisingly pretty wealthy he did investment and was collecter of watches and certain jewerly all while working with Ups. While working there he realize the black and spanish were seprated parkslope ups building was where most of the black people weere working and helping while spanish and whites were in the city or queens. The parkslope building was never new and not a healthy place to be a facilty for workers and drivers. He told me life was a bit easy back then its more compliated now he wished me luck and told me i should quite this job. I found out a bit more about Sosa he doesnt want to stop working amd his famly is in alanta with most of his money. He doesnt want to stop due to the fact he has worked for soo long i assume he doesnt know how. I wont forget the story he told and well greatly take his advise in to consideration.
ReplyDeleteI asked my mother to tell me how it was growing up. I didn't get a favorite memory or a happy one. What I got in response was sporadic stories of a struggle, the only memories she has. Starr, my mother, told me about her memories of her 21 year old mother, Joyce, before she was murdered. She explained that she was raised by her grandparents, whom were alcoholics, but that Joyce would visit her and bring her candy. She would sit my mother on her lap and tell her how she loved her, stroking her hair. Rumors say due to mob associations, police questioning, incarceration and release, Joyce was subsequently murdered. My mother was 6, and she remembers answering the phone call that would inform her of her mother's death. She remembers the dress, tights, and shoes she wore, walking up to her coffin, and kissing Joyce a final time. My mother said she cried for days after that.
ReplyDeleteThe fights for custody began. A check really. In the end her great aunt Estelle won. Having 11 other children, my mother would be the youngest. Starr hated living in Astoria projects with her new "family" and was always the outcast. She was beat by everyone, molested by cousins/brothers and uncles, and forced to clean and take care of children Estelle was paid to care for. If she missed school to babysit these children she was beat by her cousin, though it wasn't her fault. When she mentioned the molestation she was called a liar, so she stopped saying anything. My mother, Starr also had to care for her great grandmother, bathing her and changing her diapers. All of these things happened between the ages of 8 and 12. When enough was enough, she left home at 14, and that's just the beginning.
I ask one of my grandmothers if she remember, about how it was growing up ? or how it was having 7 children ?. She started off saying that it was hard growing up . Her family didn't have much. Back then ,it was her and her 7 kids (4 boys and 3 girls)and my grandfather, but my grandfather was always out working on the ship, probably wouldn't even come back for days. My grandfathher use to sail off with other men to catch fish and do trades so, he was gone for days. They lived in a two bedroom apartment with 10 people living in it. Some of them had to sleep on floors . My grandmother said she felt bad about not sending all her kids to college cause she didn't have enough money. Only two were able to go, out of the 8 children. she went on saying about how she took care of her kids, work and still try to keep her family together, because we had a big family. She still continue you to live strong and keeping her family together until this day.
ReplyDeleteI didnt get the opportunity to speak with whom I wanted to speak to so I resulted to my dad. My dad grew up in a family with 17 brothers and sisters down in North Carolina. He was practically the youngest of his siblings. His father was never around so he was surrounded by mostly females.
ReplyDeleteMy father adored his mother and would do anything she asked of him. One of his duties being to take his younger siblings to school on a daily basis. "One sunny afternoon" as he told me, one of his sisters named Malika was not there to be picked up from school. HIs first feeling was shock and that feeling grew to him being scared. Of course the rest of his siblings realized the same thing he did, and was unsure of what to say. When he got back to his mother, her reaction was speechless. As they begin on the search for my aunt, there was no clues to finding what happened; it left my grandmother feeling helpless. Until all the pieces to her family were put back together, she would not sleep.
I asked my grandmother what it was like growing up in Trinidad and she immediately told me that it was different, completely different to the times now. When she was growing up children actually had childhoods and they were called just what they were, children. They had their innocence and were naive. It was rare for children to have jobs, their parents took care of them until they decided to leave the nest. She then told me about the times when she and her friends went to live television shows, such as Aunty K, Sunday Serenade, and Counting for Talent and as she was telling me this she was smiling to herself. "We didn't have much freedom, ya know," she said, "...but we were content and had composure and had a lot fun, children today, hm...I don't know..." and they didn't worry about kids getting snatched up and murdered, that did not happen very often at all and when it did it was a huge deal because things like that didn't happen regularly.
ReplyDeleteOf all the stories my mom has told me & my sisters, the one that stands out the most was her having to stay with my grandfather's family for a year. She told us staying was quite difficult because his family was Muslim and everything they did revolved around being Muslim. Changing into Muslim beliefs was something she wasn't used to, she had to cover her hair, pray often & change her name. I could only have imagined how hard it must have been to get in a different habit of not only doing things but living your life.
ReplyDeleteI asks my dad to tell me a story about his life in Guyana when he was young. He went straight into telling me about him working with his dad at 16 years at a baker shop, which own by his dad. This baker shop was located in a town in Georgetown,Guyana. In this shop my granddad bake his own bread and cake while my dad help him sell it. I never meet my granddad before, he passed away 20 years ago, so to get this little story about him, made me feel good. Also, my dad told me this shop was very popular back home and this is the place where he meet my mom, but they did not start dating at the time until five years later. Moreover, my granddad gotten older and gave his shop to the youngest child in the family, who turned the baker shop into a residential apartment. This story took place about 43 years ago. The shop is still own by one of my dad Brothers, who kept it as a residential place.
ReplyDeleteI asked my mother about a specil memory she had growing up in our native country Trindad, her frist response was "Wow I have so many" and we both giggled, because I too can remember the sweet days growing up in Trinidad. She then begun ti tell me about a sunday her, her mother her father her uncle her aunty and many siblings setting out to lime(hang out) on the beach. My grandomther cooked a big sunday meal which included all the island dishes like curry crab, dumpling and calaloo and everyone packed up into the car and drove to the fardest point on the island guayaguaire. They spend the day on the beach where they met other familys members, played cricket and football(socca) and builded sand castles. My mother said it was one of the grestest time in her childhood, she said she had so much fun that on the ride home all the children were fast asleep.
ReplyDeleteI asked my grandmother what was it like growing up ? Her answer was bien duro meaning really hard . It was hard for her because she was the oldest out of 9 siblings 6 girls and 3 boys they lived in Caguas ,Puerto Rico in el barrio she played the mother roll while my great grandmother worked two jobs but it was too much for her to handle she couldnt even go to highschool she only made it to the 8th grade in 1948 . Soon she moved out to live with her aunt from her fathers side of the family . She said her greatest memory is when she came to New York at the age of 15 she said she felt a bit of relief to be on her own but than after two years living in the big apple she wasn't . She had to stop being a teenager because she became a mother at the age of 17 in 1954 and had my aunt the oldest out of 9 children .
ReplyDeleteI asked my mom what was worst thing that happened to her?
ReplyDeleteShe told me when she gave birth to me the doctors had to operate her because she couldn't give birth on her own. I am her first child. She barely lived and the doctors that operated didn't do a good job and she went back home and her stomach reopened and she had to go back to the hospital to have it stitched again. She almost died. But even with all that she said that she was grateful to have me.
I was born and raised in Jamaica, Jamaica is an island in the west indies and is the third largest island in the Caribbean. On this island Arawak Indians were the first people to live in Jamaica. Jamaica means land of Food and Water, the island was under the rule as a british colony until 1962.The island provides many places around the world with sugar and many other exports.
ReplyDeleteAs a child growing up my great-grandma always told me stories about her ancestors and their slave masters. The slave owner was a woman who owned many sugar estates and she rode on a broom at night from each one. She was a wife three times and she murdered all of her husbands throwing them through the third story window. The last one she try to killed by poisoning his food the husband seemed to sense something strange and decided to switch the plates and after she ate a couple bites she died. After that the slaves occupied the land and my great-grandmother believed that the woman was still riding on the broom through the night. I remember my great-grandma house that she had on the plantation built from thatch, mud and painted with lime wash. As a child I remember her killing goats and chickens at the end of the year and sprinkling the blood in the four corners outside the house. She told us she did this to keep away the spirit of the witch .The family and the community would come together on the plantation to celebrate the coming of the New Year. The house became a national tourist attraction which is still popular to this day people come to see the house with the White Witch of Rose Hall Annie Parmer. To this day many believe the house is haunted and at 3pm everyone leaves.
I have family that are/were in the military (Navy, Army and Marines), but the most graphic yet interesting story I have heard from someone to date would be from a man named Darren who finished a couple of tours over seas with the United States Marine Corps(USMC) that I had the pleasure of meeting at one of the nightclubs that I do security for. We were talking about tattoos that we have and after he showed me his tattoo related to him serving in the USMC, I showed him my anchor tattoo that represents my grandfather and other family members that are/were in the navy and he immediately started telling me the story of him being in the passenger side of an armored Humvee traveling through a hot-zone in the middle of Afghanistan. A fellow squad mate of his was on the 50 caliber machine gun turret that is mounted at the top/roof of the Humvee was hit by a few enemy rounds while they were driving and one of the other squad mates pulled him out of the turret in order to perform the actions of a field medic. There was a lack of room to operate on the wounded soldier and the windshield had taken a lot of damage from hostile gunfire, so Darren kicked out the windshield and medic climbed out of the back and onto the hood of the Humvee. The wounded soldier was pulled onto the hood as well. Here this vehicle was, traveling between 70-100mph while being fired upon, there was a medic performing surgery on a wounded soldier on top of the hood of the Humvee. "This guy's blood was everywhere, dude. The god damned inside and front of this Humvee was covered in the blood of a man who decided to give his F***ing life for his country while we were taking rounds from every angle. I'm talking movie s***! I even got a little in my mouth because of the wind, but you don't think of that s*** because we're just trying to survive," Darren said. The wounded soldier ended up surviving along with the rest of Darren's squad mates. I have witnessed events in my life that I think are crazy and at times unbelievable, but this is a story I can appreciate and will never forget that I think is worth a share.
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