FINDING HER PEACE: Within Life Faults

By Salimah Lee

This is my autobiography, based on my recollection of events that occurred while I lived at 160-17 North Conduit Avenue Jamaica, N.Y. as one of 13 children (1969-1985). It details abuse on different levels and lessons of hate and survival all masked with music, laughter, and sibling rivalry, all hidden but i

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bowker
• Release date: Jun 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986294827

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PROLOGUE

I’ve wanted to write my autobiography for the last 20 years. After my mom and I watched an Oprah special episode (Grooming – 2010), I told my mother I had documented my childhood. She said, Write your book when I’m dead and gone. My mother and father have since passed.

This is my autobiography, based on my recollection of events that occurred while I lived at 160–17 North Conduit Avenue N.Y. as one of 13 children (1969–1985). It details abuse on different levels and lessons on hate and survival all masked with music, laughter, and sibling rivalry, all hidden but in plain sight, behind the gates and walls of a big, old, green house. Despite the tribulations and real-world experiences with prejudice and betrayal, I learned to love and trust beyond the gates.

1

EARLY YEARS - 1969 – 1983

EARLY MEMORIES

I was born Wednesday, September 22nd, 1965, at 8.13 p.m. in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to Franklin and Sadie Williams. From Pennsylvania, we moved to Brooklyn, where a lot of my father’s family lived, and then to Queens.

The New House—North Conduit—1969

My younger brother, Israel, was so excited about moving to the house in Queens because it was so much bigger than the house we lived at in Brooklyn. In the backyard, there was a blackberry and mulberry tree in between our property and the neighbor’s property behind us. I was amazed that we had trees that could provide us with food.

Israel and I entered the house through the back door; it smelled stale. We ran through the entire house, listening to our voices echo in the halls. My father put up a full chain-link fence around the entire house because it was on the corner, and he wanted to keep us inside the house and under his control.

Mrs. Bridget

Mrs. Bridget, an elderly Caucasian lady, was the owner of the house we rented. When my parents set up the lease agreement in 1969, they indicated that they had five children, but there were nine of us. Mrs. Bridget came by about once a month and when she came, we had to hide.

My mother got very angry with me when I asked her why we were hiding. One time, Mrs. Bridget brought a handyman, Mr. Paige, to check on a leak in my brother’s room. Israel and I were hiding in his room at the bottom of the mobile closet. Mr. Paige turned the light on to look for the leak when he saw our legs sticking out of the closet. He said, What are you doing here? We said we were hiding from Mrs. Bridget. He said, OK.

He told Mrs. Bridget that my mother had more than five kids. Once Mrs. Bridget found out, she called my mother and said that she knew that my parents had nine children, and she said it was OK because the house was so well maintained. Mother was so excited, and she said we didn’t have to hide anymore. The next time Mrs. Bridget came, I took a good look at the face we had been hiding from.

God Sent Me an Angel

One time, Israel and I were jumping on Jorgies’s bed. We heard our mother tell us to stop jumping, but we didn’t. We only jumped higher and harder until I felt myself sailing through the air. I landed headfirst on top of the cast-iron radiator. Blood seeped out of my skull. Israel scooped me up and struggled to carry me down the steps.

My mother grabbed a towel from the arm of her chair and put it on my head. She began braiding my hair vigorously. She got Israel to bring her a jar of Vaseline and started putting it on my head. I sat on the floor watching TV until she sent us to bed.

The next morning, my mother checked my head and said it was OK. I knew something was different. I wasn’t the child I had been the day before. I saw people who nobody else saw, and they spoke to me without moving their mouths. I started sitting on the seventh step from the bottom of the staircase. Sometimes, I sat in the dark and listened to unfamiliar voices talking loud and clear. The first voice I heard was a little boy. Then, I saw him for the first time.

It was nighttime, and I woke up to go to the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed and saw him standing by the bed. I told him I was going to the bathroom. He followed me and waited outside the bathroom until I was done. I flushed the toilet, and we walked back to my room. I climbed back into bed and went to sleep. He was the first of many angels God sent to watch over me.

I first heard the song Amen in a movie with Sidney Poitier called Lilies of the Field. One evening after we finished cleaning the kitchen, my sister Holly started singing Amen. We joined her, singing loudly. Amen always made me smile because when we sang, my angels sang above me. The louder we sang, the louder they sang. They sounded beautiful. I wondered if anyone else could hear them, but they didn’t seem to.

To this day, I hear voices and feel thoughts from people that have crossed over. I have dreams that manifest in my present life. It used to puzzle my mother and my older sister Jorgie once she called me schizophrenic. They were my angels.

Christmas

What Do You Want for Christmas?

One of my vivid early memories has to do with Christmas. My sister, Holly, said Dad was calling everyone down one by one to find out what they wanted for Christmas. I didn’t understand what that meant, but she was so excited that I had to share her excitement. When it was my turn, I ran down the long flight of stairs to find my dad sitting at the table. He asked, What do you want for Christmas? I looked at him and asked, Can I have a teddy bear? He said, What else do you want? I responded, That’s all. He said, OK. I ran happily back to my siblings.

Christmas morning arrived, and we all rushed eagerly downstairs to see our presents. There it was! A perfect brown teddy bear with a bright yellow bow! That’s for you, Salimah, my father said. Later that day, we took our gifts up to our room to play. I sat on the top of our curved steps to play with my bear. I could see my reflection in his large, brown shiny eyes. He was stiff because he was stuffed with sawdust. His silky yellow bow was huge. I was so excited to sleep with him that night. My siblings were behind me playing with their new toys. I heard my mother walking up the steps, and she stopped directly in front of me. She smiled slightly at all the chaos behind me, and then she looked down at me. I smiled at my bear happily and looked up at her. She didn’t smile back. Instead, she said, Give me that bear. You’re not going to do anything but tear it up. With that, she took my only Christmas gift out of my hands. I wanted to scream, Give it back! I believed she would give it back to me, so I followed her downstairs.

She walked into the living room and placed my teddy bear on the blue, plastic-covered couch. I asked her, Can I have my bear back now? I didn’t understand why she had taken him. She told me to go upstairs and play. With what? I thought. When I got upstairs, my siblings asked me what had happened to my bear. I told them, Mom took him and put him in the living room. My brother Israel and I both went downstairs to see my bear sitting on the couch all alone. Israel looked at me sadly, and we both went back upstairs.

Days turned into years as I waited for her to return my bear. He sat on the couch until I was about 17 years old. One day, Mom said, Salimah, you can have your bear now. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was annoyed and bitter. How dare you take a small child’s only Christmas gift? I glanced at her as I walked by. She watched me pick him up. I walked upstairs carrying him, realizing he wasn’t the same. The sawdust had broken down inside him, and his pushpin eyes had popped out. His bow had faded to a pale yellow, and his head leaned to the side. He was no longer the strong brown bear I had received so many years ago.

This was a bittersweet moment. It made me sad and made me resent my mother more than ever. I realized that by taking my bear out of my hands, she defined the place I held in the family. I had just learned the true meaning of Only the strong survive. The squeaky wheel gets the oil. This lesson was learned too late. I didn’t cry or stand up for myself when my bear was taken. I’ll remember that Christmas forever because never again was that question, What do you want for Christmas? asked of me.

What is Christmas?

We don’t believe in Christmas, my mother would say. I didn’t understand. If we don’t believe in Christmas, why do you buy us presents? I asked. By the way my mother looked at me, I knew that I should stop asking questions before she called me fresh pot. If my father heard her call me fresh pot, I would get in trouble.

I saw Santa Claus on television and heard stories about him from friends and teachers. My siblings and I stayed awake at night to see if we could see him, but we never did. One day, I read up on him in the encyclopedia. To my surprise, there were all sorts of Santa Clauses and Saint Nicks. There were colorful pictures of the jolly white man dressed in elaborate outfits all containing fur. Not all countries called him Santa Claus, and they didn’t look alike or dress like the Santa that I knew.

Dad, who is Santa Claus? I asked. Who do you think he is? he asked. He comes to your house and brings you gifts while you sleep. You leave him milk and coo … before I could finish the word cookies, HA-HA-HA-HA, my dad bellowed. I WISH A WHITE MAN WOULD BREAK INTO MY HOUSE WHILE I’M ASLEEP, EAT MY FOOD, AND LEAVE YOU SOMETHING! He continued, Remember this: NO white man is going to give you anything for free! I worked too hard to buy y’all things. I’m not giving the white man credit for anything! He asked, And where is our chimney?" I remembered the hot spot on the wall and pointed it out. Then, I wondered, Where would he come in? It suddenly made sense. Kids were being made fools of all over the world. Why?

What are you going to ask Santa for? The kids on the bus were so excited for Christmas. Santa doesn’t even exist, I said to myself. Don’t tell all the kids he’s not real, I remember my mother saying with a little laugh. I want Baby Alive, I heard the girls saying. They can eat, sleep, and wet themselves. What do you want? my friend Charlotte asked.

I looked at her and thought that I wanted a Baby Alive, too. But I knew I wouldn’t get one. I slumped down in the large leather seat, listening to the chaos around me. I couldn’t wait till the bus came to my stop to get off.

Christmas Lights

My father used to say, We don’t celebrate Christmas, but he’d decorate the whole house with lights. He went on top of the roof and put shiny red and yellow lights all around the huge house. He even put lights around the windows inside. They were so pretty. I remember wanting to go outside, but he said, No, you can’t go outside. It’s too cold. I’d sit by the window, waiting for him to turn