In Pursuit of Sanity: A Memoir of My Life’s Spiritual Journey

By Lavinia Lynn Reynolds

I am so grateful that you have chosen to read my memoir—my story of child abuse, drug addiction, abortions, rapes, domestic abuse, and mental illness. My prayer is that you will feel my pain and understand the generational curses, which, I learned through research, began back during slavery in my family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490756271

Lavinia Lynn Reynolds

Lavinia Reynolds is a born-again Christian and a proud mother of five children that consist of four adult sons and one daughter, and she is also a grandmother of ten grandchildren. Lavinia is a member of the Lansing Church of God in Christ under the leadership of Bishop Samuel L. Duncan Jr. and serves faithfully winning souls for Christ on the evangelism ministry. Lavinia’s past life consisted of a series of generational curses, which included child mental abuse, abortions, drugs, alcohol, gambling, sex addictions, rape, domestic abuse, crime, and mental illness. The wisdom that God has given Lavinia as a result of her past life has allowed her the ability to be able to help others heal from their wounds and gain total freedom in their life through her testimony. Lavinia has been mandated by God to write about the traumatic life she lived. Lavinia has shared her testimony at Villa Maria Center in Villa Maria Pennsylvania, The District, an extension of Mt. Zion Church in Orion Michigan, as well as Christ Community Church in Montreal and most recently a live interview on Healing Women’s Heart Christian Radio.

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Copyright 2015 Lavinia Lynn Reynolds.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

All names are fictional, except for the author’s and those from the Lansing Church of God in Christ (LCOGIC).

Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-5626-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-5628-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-5627-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015903227

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter One Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Chapter Two Newberry Street

Chapter Three Dear God, I Know You Love Me

Chapter Four The Beauty Of Crystal

Chapter Five The Icing On That Christmas

Chapter Six Thank You, God, For My New Teeth

Chapter Seven The Valley

Chapter Eight Mama Will Be Mad If I Don’t

Chapter Nine I Do

Chapter Ten The White Fur Coat

Chapter Eleven Please Forgive Me

Chapter Twelve Beauty School

Chapter Thirteen Shining In The World

Chapter Fourteen Pure Pandemonium

Chapter Fifteen Miami

Chapter Sixteen My Three Sons

Chapter Seventeen The Street Life

Chapter Eighteen Tell Her I Love Her

Chapter Nineteen Sleeping With An Enemy

Chapter Twenty A Glimpse Of Joy In Total Darkness

Chapter Twenty-One A Bad Dream

Chapter Twenty-Two The End Of A Nightmare

Chapter Twenty-Three A Bleeding Heart

Chapter Twenty-Four A New Beginning

Chapter Twenty-Five I Can’t Turn Back

Chapter Twenty-Six I Set Myself Up

Chapter Twenty-Seven Losing A Part Of Me

Chapter Twenty-Eight Nineteen Ninety Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine Pearls, Rubies, And Diamonds

Chapter Thirty True Love

Chapter Thirty-One Lcogic

Chapter Thirty-Two East Lansing

Chapter Thirty-Three Pressure Will Burst Any Pipe

Chapter Thirty-Four The Battle In My Mind

Chapter Thirty-Five Giving Up

Chapter Thirty-Six The Process

The Process: Stage One

The Process: Stage Two

The Process: Stage Three

Chapter Thirty-Seven I’ve Been Set Free!

Epilogue

A Prayer In Behalf Of The Life Of Lavinia

Overcoming (A Family Prayer)

A love story about a serious generational curse, child mental abuse, abortions, drugs and alcohol abuse, rape, physical abuse, crime and mental illness

From my heart… for my precious daughter, my four beloved sons, my confidants and friends, my special daughter-in-law, all my darling grandchildren, my dear sister and brothers, and my closest relatives… in honor of Mama and Daddy, with all my love.

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I thank God the Father, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit for saving my life, for delivering me, and for providing me the wisdom, memory, and knowledge to write and distribute this book he predestined me to write.

I begin with a list of people who have made a tremendous impact on my present life and this book. God has made my life over with the aid of so many people that I could never acknowledge everyone. I do want you to know that I am grateful for all you have given me.

To my family, I love you, and thank you for your support, understanding, and your love. I thank God for you and pray that he blesses you to feel his love.

I will now attempt to thank my new family in Christ:

Bishop Samuel L. Duncan, Jr.—I know, without any doubt, that God ordered my steps and led me to your church. I realize today that I didn’t come to LCOGIC just to see my children as I thought. It was all in God’s plan that you be shepherd over my soul. Ever since the first message I heard you preach, I was drawn to your church. There is a divine connection between us. Thank you for everything. I’ve always valued your wisdom. I’ve heard every word you’ve ever spoken to me.

Elect Lady Dorothy Duncan—You have said things that left me seeking God for understanding and answers. You are that godly mother I never had in my mother. I will honor you both as long as I live.

Evangelist Joyce Jackson—You have been a prayer warrior that’s been praying for me over a decade. I remember saying to you one morning on our way to Morning Prayer after God had delivered me, Sister Jackson, you thought all the years you prayed for me were in vain. God is completing his work. You said, Yes, he is, and what a work he has done! I love you dearly.

Sister Nora Henderson—You always looked like my first mother-in-law. You’ve always been so loving and kind. I love being part of the Sunday school class you co-teach. Thank you for your godly love.

Mother Julia Shane—You have opened up the church every Saturday morning to allow me to spend time alone with my Father. Thank you for always opening up God’s doors.

LCOGIC Choir—Wow! When I was a child I loved to dance. I stopped dancing because I didn’t want to blow my high when I got older. When God changed me, he blessed me to be a worshipper through dancing. I’ve been to other churches; I don’t feel the anointing from no other church choir like I do ours. You are the best!

Mothers of LCOGIC Sunday School Class—My dad taught me that if I wanted wisdom, spend a lot of time with the elderly—one of the best things he taught me. I love being among you all.

LCOGIC Family Prayer—To all those who come: thanks for praying with me and allowing me to vent as I healed. You just don’t know how you’ve helped me maintain my sanity through prayer!

Patricia Castro—I remember once I was in church and you said, I like your style, sister. Then you tried to get me to be friendly. I am so sorry. I was so messy then, but today I value your friendship and your help with our clothing ministry. I like your business knowledge.

Nora Smith—Thank you for believing in me and praying with me every Tuesday and Thursday morning. You are a blessing in my life.

Elder Ray Taylor—Thank you for all you taught me about how to study the Bible on my own. I love my Strong’s Concordance. I will always be grateful for the teaching you gave me. In basic training, I needed the knowledge.

Charlotte Hopkins—My sista, my friend, thank you for giving me the confirmation to write this book. God said it first. And then you said it second: You need to write a book. What kind of life did you live? I ain’t never heard nothing like this in my life!

Rosie Cannon—My friend who has been there for me through the good and the bad, somebody that I could talk to any time of the day or night—God bless you!

To that beloved sista in Christ—The one that whispered in my ear and said to me, What was needed was for me to take a good look at LaVinia. I love you, and I thank you. You helped me keep my cool. Thank you from my heart.

Pamela Dunavant—You proved to be a friend when I needed one most. I’ll never forget you. Thanks for sticking by me when I had no one. Thanks for believing in me.

Joe Wood—Even though I disliked you for calling the police when I had my first nervous breakdown, I learned that you were one of the guardian angels God placed in my life to protect me from myself. You stopped my house from burning down when I left a pot on the stove. You’ve been more than a neighbor. I thank both you and your wife. Good looking out!

Patsy King—You are one of God’s chosen women. You keep on blessing me with your presence. I thank you for allowing me to reach out to people with the clothes you’ve donated.

The Women’s Center of Lansing—I thank you all for the kindness you showed me and also the growth you allowed me to make. The center became my home away from home at the time I needed it to be.

Action of Greater Lansing—Thank you for allowing me to be a part of Action. I feel empowered!

Gamaliel Fire of Faith—Thank you for helping me give birth to the leader in me. Your training was awesome!

Dr. John Parrish—You gave me so much when I came to The Cove for the spiritual retreat. Your mild mannerism was calming to my spirit. I pray I can come every year. Thank you for your prayers and support as I wrote this book. You’ve been a blessing in my life.

My Therapist—It’s been a ride, but you have helped me in ways no other therapist ever did. When you told me you didn’t believe in medication and that you believed if a person talked about their issues with truth and courage, they could be healed. You were right! God was the director. I thank you for your help.

Vera A. McKinney—Thank you for all your help.

Introduction

I am so grateful that you have chosen to read my memoir—my story of child abuse, drug addiction, abortions, rapes, domestic abuse, and mental illness. My prayer is that you will feel my pain and understand the generational curses, which I learned, through research, began back during slavery in my family. At a very young age, these curses manifested in me in more ways than one and has affected me and my family. I hope that you can relate to my story as it touches your life and that you will use my life’s story to help you change whatever is in your life that is destroying you.

All of us have either done something wrong or had something wrong done to us. The Holy Spirit (if called upon) is an ever-ready help in time of need. Before you make a decision that you are alone in this cruel world, hear me out. This is my story. I keep it real, raw, and true. I expose myself in hopes that my memoir will help you deal with and be willing to be honest about your past so that you can be set free. I am here to let you know that you are not alone and that if God can change me, he can change anyone. Jesus is real!

Furthermore, I am so honored that God chose me as one he speaks to as I walk down the street at five thirty in the morning, something I do often because nobody is outside, except me and God. One time I asked the Lord, Father, why did you save me? Everybody I hustled with is dead. Mama and Daddy are dead. Why am I alive? God started speaking back to me. He told me that he had a purpose for my life. He told me that I was his trophy. I was his living witness that he is the same God today as he was over two thousand years ago.

People don’t believe that miracles happen today. People don’t even believe in Christ today. God told me that I am to write about the many testimonies in my life. I am to share with the world that he is real. This generation has been run off from God’s house due to untruths taught. God is love, and he loves us no matter what we have done. He loves us so much that he gave his only Son. God wants us to come to him and give our lives to him. He wants us to realize that there is a place called hell, and if we don’t repent, that’s where we are headed.

This memoir is not written to entertain anyone. It is written to teach the Christians what God’s purpose is, not just for my life but for all Christians’ lives. We are to be servants of God. We are to serve, not be served. God wants people to know that he loves them and that the church is a hospital for the lost soul. It is a place where we turn our life over to God. It is his house. It is not any one person’s house.

The many strongholds that Satan controls us with can only be lifted through prayer and being a part of God’s house. Prayer is the answer, yet when we are knee-deep in sin, we turn further away from God, but that is the time that we need to get closer to him.

I wrote from my heart about issues that most people will never share with anyone, let alone the world. God has placed in me to do this because he wants people to know that they are not alone. I was that family member that God allowed to go through more than the average person, and there are so many more like me. This memoir is for them, yet it is also for those of us that have been in the church most of our lives and have formed a judgmental opinion of those that are lost in deep sin.

I was always looking for love in all the wrong places—men, sex, drug addiction, and clothes. I became a person that even I didn’t recognize. I became an addict hopelessly lost to whatever sin made me feel temporarily better for the moment. I became very lonely, desperate, immoral, and hell-bent on self-destruction. I hated myself. I wanted to die at some point in my life, but God had another plan for me. He picked me up and brushed me off. He turned my midnight into daylight. He did for me that which only he could.

I tried so many times to change, only to make it last two or three years, and then I was right back at that which I was familiar with. But when God washed me clean through the blood of his Son, Jesus Christ, I knew I’d never turn back. When God said to me, It’s over, I cried, I praised him, and I worshiped him because I heard him. I heard him loud and clear. God, through his Son, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, is really doing the same miracles he did over two thousand years ago. You will realize that as you read my memoir.

Chapter One

NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP

It was Sunday morning. I woke up excited! I knew I would be wearing a pretty new dress and fancy shoes on that day, something that I did every Sunday throughout my childhood. I put on a beautiful red velvet dress with a laced bottom petite skirt and cancan slip underneath. My shoes were shiny patent leather. Mama washed, pressed, and curled my hair the day before—that was expected every other Saturday throughout my childhood.

I am Lavinia, pronounced la-veen-ya. My sister and brothers couldn’t pronounce my name when we were younger so they affectionately called me Beanie. I was told that it started off as Veanie by Mama and my aunt; but my sister, brothers, and cousins changed it to Beanie. Mama called me Bean for short.

I loved wearing new clothes, especially whenever we went to church. It made me feel very special. We went to church every Sunday when I was a small child. Mama told me that Daddy was a deacon in the church when I was four or five years old. As a family, we often studied the Bible at home. During the summer months, we attended vacation Bible school. That’s where I first learned the song, Jesus Loves Me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the words to that song would be my help throughout my life.

My youngest brother, Johnny, was quite funny during that time of my life. He would imitate the preacher when we returned home from a long boring day at church. If you’ve ever attended a black church in the 1960s, you can imagine the style of the preaching and how he mimicked the preacher. Come… come to Jesus, he would say. We would laugh because he sounded just like the preacher at the time. Our granny called him Johnny Preacher.

Mama’s birth name was Patty. She was the eldest of six children. Granny was Mama’s grandmother on her mother’s side. When Mama lost her mother unto death, she and three of her siblings were sent to live in Detroit to be raised by her grandmother on her father’s side. The other two siblings were raised in Pontiac by Granny.

Mama felt that because she was the oldest, she was responsible for keeping them together as a family. She once told me that, for years, she hated her father. She felt it was his fault that her mother died. It’s my understanding that she was diagnosed with tuberculosis after giving birth to six children before she reached the age of thirty.

I was also told that my granddaddy Frankie, as we called him, was a rolling stone, living from house to house. I wonder what type of woman my grandma was. I do know that two of Mama’s sisters were not Granddaddy Frankie’s biological children, the two that Granny raised.

My daddy’s name was Charles. Mama called him Charlie. My mama met him on one of her visits to Pontiac. Daddy was engaged to another woman while he was serving in the navy, but when his service ended and he returned home, he learned that his best friend had married her. Daddy was quite upset. It’s my understanding that that’s when my daddy started drinking. Daddy shared with me years later that when he was a baby, his mother, who was an alcoholic, left him on his aunt’s porch and never returned. Auntie raised Daddy. He had two elder brothers that she also raised.

Mama told me that when she became pregnant by Daddy, my great-grandma made her give up her baby, whom they had named John, for adoption. Daddy didn’t like that idea, and he told Mama, No son of mine will go through what I did! Then he asked Mama to marry him. After they married, they were able to get their baby from the foster home he was in while waiting to be adopted. Mama told me that Daddy changed the baby’s name to Charles, Jr. Family members told me that, right after they married, the fighting between the two of them began.

Mama and Daddy had issues when they met. However, they tried to do what every other American family did at that time: live the average American dream. Daddy went to work, and Mama stayed home to care for their baby. A year and a half later, another child was born. Her name was Vanessa, my sister. Eleven months later, another girl was born, which was yours truly. A year and a half later, my youngest brother, Johnny, was born into this world.

Mama shared with me some pictures and memories of those years. I don’t remember a lot from that era, but I do remember a picture she showed me of myself when I was a baby. I had very big eyes and was bow-legged. The only hair I had was growing in the center of my head. Mama said she often placed a little rubber band around my inch of hair and a barrette. Whenever she told me that story, I thought about the little girl, who wore her hair the same way, on that cartoon show on television about a family who lived in the Stone Age. Mama shared that we lived on Jaden Street in a row of homes that she referred to as the projects. I remember them being made of brick with large concrete steps. I was sitting on the steps in the picture.

Daddy started working for the city as a garbageman. Family members told me that Daddy used to drink and fight with Mama during this time. I was also told that my eldest brother got a whooping every day because he wet the bed every night. They said that he had other issues as well. From the pictures I had seen, we looked like the average family. The pictures of Daddy showed how handsome he was. One picture that I remembered throughout the years was when he was in the navy. He had the most beautiful smile on his face, and his teeth were gorgeous! I remember Mama being very pretty. She was very shapely, with a small waste line. She had a figure that most women would kill to have!

The first memory I have from childhood was when I was almost five years old. We had moved from Jaden Street to Rail Street. Daddy had bought his first house. I have a lot of memories from that time, and what I didn’t have knowledge of, Mama shared her version.

When we were little children, we were left home alone a lot. By this time, Mama also had to get a job because the mortgage was high and more money was needed. Mama worked cleaning houses for rich white people in Bloomfield and Birmingham. They would give her lots of appliances and furniture for our home and all kinds of toys and bikes for us. They liked her a lot.

School had begun that year for me. I was excited to go to kindergarten. All kindergarteners had to bring a rug to lie on during nap time. During nap time, all the kids would fall asleep, but I couldn’t. I found myself asking God, Help my mama make it through her day at work.

Daddy worked during the weekday and was home with us on Saturdays. At least, he was supposed to be home with us. But he would leave home soon after Mama left for work and go to the bar and be with other women—women of the streets—I later learned.

Mama was a good mother during this time of our lives. Whenever she wasn’t working, she spent all her time with us. Mama loved being a homemaker. I remember as a small child having days that I worried about Mama and Daddy. Mama didn’t drink or smoke at that time, but I do remember her going to Mr. Hill’s house whenever Daddy wasn’t home. She told me that Mr. Hill was an old man that loved helping us.

Daddy would come home on Saturdays so drunk that he would fall down and break things that Mama had placed in our home to make it a good-looking home. We started off very young taking care of Daddy whenever he was drunk. Our house had a bedroom downstairs. We would remove his regular clothes and put him in his pajamas, after cleaning the blood from the cuts he would get from broken glass, either at home or at the bar, and put him to bed. We learned at a very young age the roles we would play our entire childhood.

Mama made sure that as small children we stayed well groomed and went to school very clean and neat. She kept mine and my sister’s hair pressed and curled. Mama didn’t believe in having her girls looking any other way than like pretty little dolls; and as small girls, she kept us looking beautiful. The boys, as we called them, weren’t fussed over as much as the girls were, but Mama still kept them clean and neat.

Mama was obsessed with appearance and trying to impress people. She always told me, A first impression is a lasting impression. Daddy was a neat and clean man as well. He was a cook when he served in the navy. He believed in earning a living through hard work and honesty. Daddy always instilled in us the importance of keeping our word: Your word is your bond. After all that’s said and done, your word is all you have, he would say.

Once Daddy was in bed and asleep, my sister and I would start cleaning up the glass and blood so that when Mama returned from work, her house would be the same as she left it—clean. She would be so tired when she got home. We didn’t want her to see how her house really looked. We knew she still had to cook dinner. Besides, she already knew that Daddy had not been home with us because she called several times during the day. Whenever she called, she always asked me what was happening and I always told her the truth. Daddy always managed to make it back home before Mama returned from work. She would come home, take a bath, and then make dinner.

Weekdays during this time of our lives were normal, at least what we thought was normal. However, every Friday evening and Saturday, the drama and chaos would take place, especially payday Fridays. Then Sunday morning, we got up, put on our best clothes, and went to church as a family. Mama always cooked dinner when she came home from work. Sometimes we would eat without Daddy. Once he sobered up from his nap, the arguing would begin. It never failed. Mama always felt she had to check him for leaving us alone and getting drunk. That’s when all hell would break loose. The actual fighting didn’t take place until we were in bed. I guess they thought we were asleep, but we heard it all.

I cried a lot when I was a child. I experienced emotions that no child should ever experience. The fear was overwhelming. But there were some moments on Rail Street that were normal, like in any other child’s life, like the times I would help them tend to our garden. I enjoyed the time I spent with Mama whenever she washed, pressed, and curled my hair. She always fixed my sister’s hair first because it was thick and always said she’d do the hardest job first.

Anyway, one day we were in the kitchen and Mama was pressing my hair. We heard a loud boom outside. It was summertime. The front door was open. Mama quickly laid the pressing comb down. I jumped up from the chair I was sitting on and ran to the door. I saw a car that had struck a huge tree head on directly across the street from our house. Mama had made it to the front door of the house by this time, and together, we noticed that a small child’s head was hanging out of the window on the driver’s side of the car. It was a little girl.

Neighbors came from their homes to see what was happening. My sister and brothers were playing in the backyard and also came running around to the front to see the accident. We watched a man who was bleeding from his head jump out of the car on the passenger side and take off running up the street. My brother, Charles, Jr., ran after him. Charles, Jr., my mother hollered, you come back here! Charles, Jr. kept running. Other neighbors also chased after the man.

Mama turned and went for the telephone. My sister Vanessa, my youngest brother Johnny, and I curiously looked at one another, thinking, Where is Charles, Jr. running? We were small kids, but we knew that his actions could be dangerous. Even the neighbors who were running after this man knew not to get too close. Charles, Jr. was right on him. The man was drunk and couldn’t get away from him. The grown-ups on the street were awestruck at how Charles, Jr. stayed up on that man until the police caught him. Then Charles, Jr. turned around and ran all the way back home.

In the meantime, the ambulance had arrived in front of our house. We were all gathered around watching. The little girl was lifeless. After they pried the car door open, I saw them remove her little body from the car. I realized she was dead. That was the first time I ever saw such. I remember to this day the compassion I felt for her. I also remember solemnly saying, God, please take her to heaven. In church, I learned that heaven is where you go when you die. I also asked Mama if the little girl would go to heaven. Mama said, All kids go to heaven if they die. It was comforting to know that she would be going to heaven. Anyway, we went back inside the house. Mama finished pressing my hair. The next day we went to church.

Summer had come and we were out of school. Mama didn’t want us alone all summer long, so Daddy said his nephew, Teddy, would babysit us. I later learned that Teddy was on drugs, which explains why he allowed us to get into so much trouble that summer. Teddy let us do whatever we wanted. Charles, Jr. would go outside to play, while we would stay and play inside.

One day Charles, Jr. came inside and talked Johnny into going outside with him. He told Johnny that he had snatched our neighbor’s clothes from her clothes line and buried them in the yard next door to our house. He wanted Johnny to go with him that day and help him steal more clothes and bury them. Later that night, when they were discussing it, they asked me and Vanessa if we wanted to steal her clothes from the line the next day. Vanessa didn’t want to, but I agreed to do it. The next morning, when we went outside to play, Vanessa stayed in the house with Teddy. My brother and I went outdoors into our neighbor’s yard and yanked her clothes from the line and ran to the yard next door to our house.

We were digging a hole when the lady walked up to us and angrily said, Gimme my clothes and dig up my other clothes! Is your mother home?

I said, No.

Who’s home with you? she asked.

Our cousin, Teddy, we said.

She stormed over to our house and knocked on the door. We quickly ran inside our house through the back door and told Teddy that the lady was at our front door. As he was opening the front door, he said to us, What did y’all do? She told Teddy what happened and that she wanted every piece of her clothing returned.

After she finished speaking with Teddy, he had the nerve to flirt with her: You sho’ is a pretty lady. Do you have a husband? That’s how Teddy was. He didn’t care what we did. He just made sure when Mama and Daddy returned home, we were in the house, had done our chores, and everything looked like he had done his job. Teddy wasn’t a babysitter; he just wanted to get paid! We thought he was cool!

On the other hand, he told Mama what we had done because the lady said that she would be back. We went outside and dug up her clothes from the ground. Once we were finished, Charles, Jr. took them back to her. When Mama came home and heard about it, the three of us got a whooping. My sister never got into trouble, and this would be the last time that I got a whooping as a child. It wasn’t the last time I got into trouble, but it was the last time I was disciplined in that manner. My eldest brother continued to get whoopings for a while. My youngest brother didn’t get whipped very much after that because Mama always said he wouldn’t be in trouble if he wasn’t following Charles, Jr. around and doing what he said and did. Charles, Jr. was our big brother, and we did whatever he said and did.

Other kids were always jealous of us. Charles, Jr. got into a fight when he was a little kid. He was attending school when another boy pushed him down the stairs. Charles, Jr. hit his head, so Mama had to leave work and take him to the hospital. I remember this so well because Mama always said that when Charles, Jr. fell and hit his head, the doctors said that if any damage was done, they were unable to tell at that point, but time would tell.

After school one day, I was walking home with my sister. We didn’t go our usual route. We were walking along and talking when a dog started chasing after us. We cried and ran home as fast as we could! When we made it home, Mama was there and made us feel safe. She told us to never come home that way again and to go the way she told us to use every day. I was okay with that because that dog put the fear of dogs I’ve had all my life in me. Since then, I’ve never really liked dogs.

Mama’s youngest sister, Aunt Penny, had moved into an apartment building down the street from us. She was a young mother that Mama felt she had to watch over. Aunt Penny was beautiful to me. Whenever I was around her, I was fascinated. When I was a little girl, I watched her behavior. I liked the fact that she kept good-looking men around her. Aunt Penny had a daughter named Angie, and her father was the finest-looking man I had ever seen! I thought Aunt Penny had it going on!

Mama, however, would share very upsetting things with me about Aunt Penny. Mama would get phone calls in the middle of the night and get out of her bed and go to Aunt Penny’s apartment. She would always come back with my cousin, Angie. We loved Angie being with us. My sister and I felt we had to take care of her. Actually, everybody in the house felt they had to take care of Angie; even Daddy treated her like she was one of us. Mama would be so mad at her sister for leaving Angie, but she always tolerated her.

Mama didn’t realize it but she had back then what we call codependency issues today. Angie liked being with me. She was only a year younger than me, but during that time, it just seemed like Johnny and Angie were so much younger than me, maybe because I had already taken on the role of a caretaker, yet I was only a child myself.

I remember playing outside one day. Mama’s granddad in Detroit had left her his car when he died. Mama couldn’t drive it right away so it was parked in our backyard. It was an antique, at least twenty years old. We were told not to play around the car, but when Mama wasn’t home, my brother, Charles, Jr., never listened to what he was told. And whenever he did something, Johnny and I followed. The car was one of those big old cars, maybe a 1940s model or something.

Anyway, we were playing in and around it. I don’t know how I did it, but I closed the front door, and my right thumb was shut in the door. All I could do was holler and cry! My brother, Charles, Jr., came to my rescue and opened up the door and freed my thumb. I still remember what that pain felt like. I think it hurt more once it was freed than when it was stuck! My thumb was swollen, bent, and I couldn’t straighten it.

Mama came home and took me to the hospital. I don’t remember much about my thumb after that because, as other little children would have, I didn’t get much time to feel special. For not long after that happened, another tragedy would take place. Throughout the years, that scar always reminded me of the pain I felt on that day. I had no idea that worse was yet to come.

I remember the tension in our home. Mama and Daddy argued daily. Daddy was losing our home. I would be lying in bed and hear them. I always prayed, God, please don’t let them start fighting, please. Some nights they wouldn’t, other nights they would. I would hear Mama say things like, If you hadn’t been hoe hopping and throwing your money away, we wouldn’t have gotten behind in our house payments. In return, Daddy would snap back and say, Why do you keep running to old man Hill’s house? Words like this carried on for weeks.

Then one day Mama told us we were moving. She was devastated. Mama was so proud of her home. Now she was being knocked down off this I’m-doing-so-well-in-life peg. Daddy never said much to us about family issues. He believed that it was grown folks’ business. He felt making sure we weren’t homeless was one of his primary responsibilities. Mama, however, shared everything with us, especially when Daddy wasn’t home. I remember feeling very hurt and sad for Mama.

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Dear God,

Please help our family. Stop Daddy and Mama from fighting. Help Mama to get through her week at work, Daddy too. Watch over my sister and my brothers, my cousins too. God, please keep us safe tonight. I love you, God. Amen.

Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.

—Psalm 8:2 (KJV)

Chapter Two

NEWBERRY STREET

The first memory I have of Newberry Street is Mama being sad. I was entering into the second grade when we moved. The house we moved into was very dirty. Actually, it was filthy! Mama told me that Daddy said the basement was once used for prostitution and the house was an after-hours joint. Moving here was the beginning of Mama treating me like I was her girlfriend, her partner. She talked with me about everything. Mama and I had secrets that no adult girlfriends should have, not to speak of a child and a grown woman!

Mama and Daddy continued working. All of us were enrolled in school by this time, so the only time Teddy babysat was on the weekends, occasionally. Most of the time, when we weren’t in school, my eldest brother, Charles, Jr. babysat us. Mama applied for a job as a nurse’s aide at the hospital. Thankfully, she was hired for the position. Every morning, she left home by six thirty because we only had one car, and Daddy had to take her to work before himself. My siblings and I got out of bed between 7:00 a.m. and 7:30 a.m. daily to get ready for school.

Roaches were everywhere when we first moved into this house. The house had a concrete block wall in front. It also had a closed-in front porch. Then after passing the second door, you entered the living room. Off from the living room to your left was our parents’ bedroom. Straight ahead past the living room was the dining room. Off to your left of the dining room was a door that led to the basement. It was closed at all times.

The walls and floors were full of holes. I could see down into the basement through a hole that was in the floor of my bedroom. Mama placed the head of the bed over the hole, but once I got into bed, if I looked down between the headboard and mattress, I could see the concrete basement floor. The basement was even worse than the house! It was an old house that had two back doors: one was the entrance to the kitchen and the other entrance led to the basement. There were a lot of old clothes and furniture in the basement.

When our parents were away from home, we would play a game, scary house, down in the basement called. One day, when Mama and Daddy were at work, Charles, Jr. ventured off into the basement. It was very intriguing to him. He went down there every chance he got. Then he started taking Johnny with him. They would use their imagination and come up with different games to play. After we did our chores, my sister and I played with our paper dolls, something we did almost every weekend and every day during the summer. The boys’ games were a lot more fun than playing with paper dolls.

One Saturday Charles, Jr. told Johnny to ask us if we wanted to play scary house. We used the basement as our spooky house. Charles, Jr. made cars out of cardboard boxes for us to ride in. He would push us around in the boxes, and Johnny would jump out and scare us. To be honest, Johnny wasn’t really needed because that basement was scary enough! It was divided into two sections like the upstairs. You could tell that, at one time, somebody lived down there. The furniture looked like saloon furniture from the 1920s and 1930s. The clothes that were left behind looked like the dresses prostitutes wore back then. Even the men’s suits were like those of old. A couple of times, Charles, Jr. opened the basement door and we ventured up the stairs and outside. We didn’t stay outside long because we weren’t supposed to be down in the basement, not to mention outside.

Whenever Mama wasn’t working, she would clean and paint the house. I remember Daddy bringing home some bright yellow paint that he got from his job to paint the kitchen. By this time, he had been promoted from garbageman to working in the paint and sign shop. The yellow paint used to line the streets was the same color as our kitchen. Mama was on a mission to make her home as livable as she could. More chaos started at this point.

Daddy was working weekdays and, as Mama put it, hoe hopping on the weekends. He got clipped every other payday. Mama said, His hoes took his money; that meant my parents were always short on bill and food money. Mama was working daily, but she wanted more than their money could buy. She wanted to impress the Joneses, as people often phrased. I can honestly say that I believe that’s why the stealing started.

One time Mama, Vanessa, and I were in the grocery store. Vanessa and I were so excited. We ran off to the toy section. Mama continued looking for the food she needed. That day we saw a toy necklace and bracelet set. It was so beautiful! We ran back to Mama. With excitement in our voices, we asked, Mama, can we have this? Please, please! Mama took the packages with the toy jewelry inside them and proceeded to open them. She took out the necklaces first and put them around each of our necks. Then she removed the bracelets and placed them around both of our wrists. Then she said, There. It’s yours. Vanessa took off hers and said, No, I am not doing that! But me—I wasn’t about to take off mine—I was happy! I kept staring at my bracelet and thought, Wow, this is so pretty!

Mama made her way to the checkout lane as Vanessa and I followed. Mama placed the food on to the checkout counter. After paying for the food, we walked out of the door. I stared at my bracelet all the way out of the door. Vanessa didn’t say anything to Mama, but when we got home, we went into our bedroom, and she said to me, Beanie, you and Mama go’ get in trouble. I paid her no attention. I just kept smiling and looking at my new pretty bracelet.

Later, when we went to church, I learned about the Ten Commandments from the Bible, particularly the one that says we should not steal. That was when I started to feel bad because our stealing habits had increased. I loved feeling special. I was the only one who went with Mama when she had stealing on her mind. She was on a mission and needed me to help her complete it, and I was very happy to do it. In those days, the stores were easy to hit. Mama taught me everything: how to hide clothes, put two to three dresses or whatever we were trying on onto one hanger. So if they were taking count of three outfits, it would really be six to nine. I also learned if they were taking count, nine times out of ten, no floor walkers were watching. If floor walkers were working, they didn’t count your outfits before you went into the dressing room.

I learned how to steal clothes and then take them back to exchange for the things we couldn’t steal: dishes, paint, bedspreads, sheets, contact paper for the walls, vases, ashtrays—whatever Mama needed to complete the house, even roach and rat killer. I won’t say that all I did was steal with Mama because I also did things that little girls did to have fun. My cousin, Cathy, lived a few streets away from us when we lived on Newberry Street. Vanessa and I would spend some weekend nights at her house and have lots of fun.

Aunt Mabel was the third sibling out of Mama’s five sisters and brothers. Mama and Aunt Mabel were very close; all of them were. Aunt Mabel was married, and her husband was not like Daddy. Uncle Ben was for no nonsense. Whenever he was around, the atmosphere changed. I always felt safe at my cousin’s house. Even though Mama told me that Aunt Mabel was cheating on Uncle Ben, and at times they argued, it was nothing like at home.

I always worried about what was going on at home whenever we spent the night at Cathy’s house, but we still played and played and played—you know, girls love to play! We never discussed what was going on in our home; we just played. We usually spent the night with Cathy on Fridays. That way, we could be home on Saturday to get ready for church on Sunday. Daddy and Mama often fought the night before; but come Sunday morning, we all went to church like one big happy family.

As we started to adjust to our new life on Newberry Street, I went to school daily with a lot of hidden fear and emotional disconnection. I couldn’t learn anything because my mind was always focused on what was going on at home. I’ve always been friendly, so I had several friends, some that truly liked me and some that were going through as much dysfunction at home as I was. One friend from school that I will never forget was Dolly. She was jealous of me because of the clothes I wore, but on the other hand, she liked me because she was able to tell me about the fighting her parents were doing. I