I Am Abraham: My Story, My Truth, & My Redemption

By Abraham L Henderson

I Am Abraham is the story of Abraham L. Henderson, who was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to gospel singer William Henderson and his wife, Dorothy Henderson. Once divorced, William left the family, leaving young Abraham and his siblings, Gwen, and Bill, to be raised by their mother in the Pittsburgh area. After being teased about his name on

• Language: English
• Publisher: Qui 2 Life Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986951317

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

My name is Abraham Lee Henderson, Sr. When I think about my childhood, I think about my parents. My father, William Henderson, and my mother, Dorothy Clay, met in a West Virginia church service. My dad was a professional gospel singer in a group called, The Morning Doves. His voice was smooth as silk and swept my mother right off her feet. Shortly after they met, my mother moved in with him, and they married. Soon after that, they had their first child, my sister Gwen. Then came my brother, Bill, and then me, Abraham.

I was disturbed, out of control, and insecure as a child. Although there are probably a lot of other words to describe me at the time, I’ll just stick to those for now.

At four years old, I remember being fascinated with matches.

My parents always said, Don’t play with matches. You’ll get burned or start a fire.

I heard them, but I was defiant and kept playing with matches. Then the day came when I accidentally set the couch on fire. Flames rushed throughout the living room. My mom rushed me, my brother, and my sister out of the house to safety.

Fire trucks were everywhere as firefighters worked to put the flames out and save our home. However, they couldn’t save me from the butt whipping headed my way. When my dad came home, he tore my tail up. I was only four, and I don’t think anyone realized the depth of my issues at the time.

When it was time for me to head off to kindergarten, my parents decided to move to an area called Homewood. Kindergarten was fun, and I enjoyed my school. However, things between my mom and dad weren’t as joyous on the home front.

My dad had a drinking problem that was getting out of control. I respected my parents because no matter what happened with them, they both made sure me and my siblings knew we were loved.

One night, things came to a head when my dad came home extremely intoxicated and badly beat my mom. My siblings and I tried to stop it, but he just threw us across the room like a piece of paper. My mom had to defend herself the best way she could. So, she picked up a pair of scissors and stabbed him in the chest. My father fell to the floor, and she ran out of the house to the neighbors for help.

The stab wound was close to his heart, and his life hung in the balance. When the police and ambulance arrived, my dad was rushed to the hospital while my mother was taken to jail.

There I was, five years old, devastated with my life turned upside down. Me, Bill, and Gwen were split up in the aftermath. We didn’t know what was happening. I was sent to my godmother, Janie Davis, and my brother and sister went to the Taylors, who lived in another town. I’m not sure how long my mom stayed in jail. It was probably a day or two, but it felt like forever to me.

Finally, my mom was released on bond, and we were reunited with her. But life was different now. Although my dad pulled through, he was no longer in our lives. My mom packed us up and moved with a family friend who lived in another neighborhood. I missed my dad so much. To be separated from him at such a young age felt like I didn’t get a chance to know him.

My mom got a job, and not too long after, we moved again. This time we had our own place and a fresh start. Life was stable and getting back to normal. I finished kindergarten and was excited to be starting first grade.

I was a mixture of nerves and excitement on the first day of school. Keeping with the new school year tradition, I had new clothes and a fresh haircut, and I looked forward to meeting new friends.

I entered the classroom and took the last seat at the back of the room. Even though I had a love for school and learning, I was kind of shy and insecure. So, hiding in the back of the class suited me just fine.

The class filled with students, and the bell rang to start class. The teacher called the class to order and asked each student to stand and introduce themselves. That back seat saved me. There were about 20 kids in the classroom, which meant I would go last to introduce myself.

My classmates popped up and down like popcorn as they said their names. My turn arrived faster than I thought.

I stood and said, My name is Abraham.

The classroom roared with laughter. Hi Abraham Lincoln, a kid belted out.

At age six, I didn’t know anything about Abraham Lincoln, and I didn’t understand why they were laughing at me. It was my first day, and they didn’t even know me.

It must be something wrong with me, I mumbled as I sat down.

I was angry, hurt, and confused. I went home that day determined never to go back. In my mind, I had quit school. That was my first day of first grade and my last day of school forever.

Arthur Fletcher once said, A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Well, I wasn’t wasting my mind on school any longer. I was done.

When I walked through the door, my mother could tell something was wrong. So, she started to investigate.

So, how was your first day at school, she asked.

As I plopped down on the couch, I grunted, I hated it.

She said, Hate is a strong word. What happened?

I said, The teacher asked us to introduce ourselves to the class. The whole class started laughing when I stood and said my name was Abraham. One of them even called me Abraham Lincoln.

Trying to console me, she said, Oh, Abe.

But there was no consoling. Before my mom could say anything else, I made my bold proclamation.

I’m never going back, I said in my firm six-year-old voice.

Oh yes, you are going back, she said just as firmly.

No, I’m not, and I’m changing my name, I said as if I had the authority.

My mother stood with her hand on her hip and said, Abraham, you’re not changing your name. Maybe when you’re 18, you can change it, but for now, your name is your name. And you’re going back to school tomorrow.

Well, I went back, but only in body. Mentally I was checked out. Whenever the teachers called my name to answer questions or do anything, I acted as if I couldn’t hear them and didn’t respond. Finally, they realized something was wrong. But rather than search out the issue, they decided the solution was not to promote me to the second grade. I didn’t care. That just made me dig my heels in deeper, and I gave them more of the same the following year.

Somehow, I managed to make it out of second grade, but once in third grade, they held me back again. Honestly, I couldn’t have cared less about school or a promotion to the next grade. I didn’t want to be there, and I didn’t believe I would ever graduate anyway. So, I was just going through the motions.

At this point, my mother didn’t know what to do with me. All she knew was something had to change.

She came to me and my brother and said, I gotta put you kids in something. There must be some type of activity you all can do.

Although we rented our home, it was in a nice neighborhood, which helped in her search for activities for us. Finally, she found out about this place called Shady Side Boys Club and signed us up. Man, it was so much fun. It breathed life back into me. I was eager to get through my school day because we were out the door to the boys’ club after we finished our homework.

I loved going to the boys’ club. I learned to play different sports and board games. We also learned how to make various arts and crafts. But, most of all, I loved it because it allowed me to be myself.

I joined the club’s baseball team and learned to shoot pool. I was so good at shooting pool, and so was my brother, Bill. Back then, we didn’t have those big pool tables. Instead, we had what you’d call bumper pool tables.

Man, do I have some great memories playing pool. Once there was a pool tournament at the club. You had to be in specific age groups to participate. Thankfully, Bill and I made the cut. When the tournament started, my brother and I beat everyone we played. Then it came down to a head-to-head match between the two of us.

You can imagine what the night before our match was like at home. I was nervous. Bill was my partner, road dog, and hero. With my dad not in my life, I looked up to my brother. We even shared a bed. Now, we had to face each other in one of the toughest matches of our young pool careers. There was no way I was going down without a fight.

I said to Bill, Hey man, you may be my big brother, but tomorrow I’m gonna beat you in that tournament.

He didn’t say a word. He just gave me that look that said, You may be good, but I’m better.

The tournament championship game came, and I walked away as the reigning champion when it was all said and done. It felt so good bringing that trophy home. But, now, don’t be fooled. Although I wiped the pool table with my brother, there were many things that he was better at than me. For instance, my brother was the slugger when it came to baseball.

After learning how to play baseball at the boys’ club, my mom signed me and Bill up for a community baseball team. My brother could hit the ball out of the park. On the other hand, I struck out most of the time. I might get a single every now and then, but that was a rare occasion. I still loved the game, though.

I remember this one game where I played right field. I must’ve been out there daydreaming or something because I was not paying attention. Anyway, the batter hit the ball so high up in the air.

I got it! I got it, I yelled as I ran to catch it.

The ball came down, hit my glove, popped out, and hit me in the lip before falling to the ground. Meanwhile, the batter had already run around first, second, and third base and was headed for home plate. I picked that ball up and threw it as fast and as