A Message To All From My Father

By Andrew Potter

I wrote my story as a testament to the one true Father the Almighty. As well after finishing it, something has stayed on my heart to dedicate it to an old coworker of a job long past; her name is Laura. At night she and I worked together as bakers. She asked me, “How do I know there is a God?” If she reads this book, she’ll know what I know, and that is, in my opinion, it is true that the Lord lives. The first time she asked me, I don’t believe I gave her a concrete answer. I know my book spells it out from the first word to the last, because this is his work, I’m his work, so this is our story. Ever since I found the importance of prayer, I’ve asked my Father to use me as an instrument to help others. This is a prayer I have prayed and will continue to pray every day of my life. I’ve always wanted to help the many, as well as my coworker Laura. So, Laura, if you read this book, I hope you really receive the message that the Lord is real because this is a message to all from my Father, that he is real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647018481

Andrew Potter

Andrew Potter is the coauthor of the international bestseller Nation of Rebels. A journalist, writer, and teacher, he lives in Toronto. Follow him on Twitter (@jandrewpotter).

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A Message To All From My Father

Andrew Potter

Copyright © 2020 Andrew Potter

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64701-847-4 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-66240-712-3 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-64701-848-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Beginning

What a Wonderful Life Growing Up in Detroit

Germany, Like Kid in a Candy Shop

Next Time in Germany, Not So Much Fun

Doing Time in Michigan

School Ain’t Easy, but It’s a Blessing

This Still Ain’t Heaven

Now Comes the Blessing

Chapter 1

The Beginning

The beginning of my life’s journey started January 26, 1957, at the Trinity Hospital at 4120 Saint Antione Street in Detroit, Michigan. I was born to Mary Alice Whigham and Jackson Freddy Potter. My life overall has been wonderful even though I had several struggles along the way. To tell the truth, that doesn’t make me any different from most people. I was the youngest of eight children, which gave me an excellent vantage point.

I was able to learn from my brothers and sisters, whose names from the oldest to youngest, are Mary Lois, Moses, Feddie Mae, Letha (she’s changed her name, I’m not sure when, but it’s Joan now), Jackson, Iris, and Ivy. I was able to see the good things they did and their poor choices. I believe even though we all made mistakes we are good people because none of us became criminals. Unbeknownst to me, my struggles began right away because my father worked at Ford Motor Company, and to work at an automobile factory, working as a spot welder gave him a good income but not for my family. He earned good money, but we were poor. As a child, I didn’t know what poor meant, I thought this was the way people lived. What did I know I was just a child, but I did know we went to bed hungry some nights?

The first neighborhood I can remember growing up in was mixed with black and white people; I didn’t realize that they felt different about each other. My first girlfriend was white; it might sound unbelievable, but I lost my virginity to her. I was just six at the time, and that has to be the hardest part to believe. Thinking about my parents’ lifestyle and coming from parents that really didn’t give us a good standard of living (morals), it should make it easier to believe. Growing up, I noticed that other families had things that were very important. They had food, nice clothes, and good homes, they just seemed to live better and happier.

I had my first fight when I was four, I remember I didn’t want to fight the boy, but my mother told me. If you don’t go out there and whip his a——you are going to get another whipping when you come home. I did the math quickly and decided I wasn’t going to get any a——whippings that day. I went out there and got right into it and won, I beat the bully. Now don’t misjudge my mother, this was Detroit, and you better be able to defend yourself, too bad I had to start so young. My mother was just preparing me to stand up for myself.

She was my best friend at four years old because we spent a lot of time together. We played, and she was my teacher, and she mainly taught me how to cook. In the mornings, after everyone would get on their way, and out the door, then our day began. I watched her go into the kitchen and put on a small pot of water for her coffee, then she would turn on the oven to make toast for us; we didn’t have a toaster. One day I asked her if I could taste some of her coffee, she nodded yes, it was good because she made it with Pet milk and sugar. After I watched this routine a few times, I asked her if I could make us both coffee, and toast. She told me to go ahead. I was very happy and excited. The first time she was watching, I know to make sure I didn’t hurt myself or burn down the house. I knew it was too sweet, but she drank it anyway and told me that it was very good. This was the inspiration that I needed to become more interested in cooking; I got my mother’s approval that started my cooking adventure.

From time to time, I picked up other cooking tips watching her. But I was turning five, and now I was about to lose my best friend. I had to start school, this was not a good or nice day, even though she dressed me up for the occasion, and it was September, which meant it was starting to get a little chill in the air. She dressed me with an outfit made for the fall. I wore a yellow-and-blue plaid shirt and a pair of blue jeans lined with the same material as the shirt. The pants had sewn in cuffs. Yes, I was dressed well, but I wasn’t feeling the same. When we got to the classroom door, she leaned down and kissed me, and that’s when the waterworks started. It was good for me that I wasn’t the only blubbering baby in the room, it seemed like the entire class was crying.

Growing up, I was sick a lot because I had a condition called anemia, so I stayed in and out of the hospital sometimes for long stays. Being anemic, I wasn’t sure why, but I needed to eat on time. That was a problem because there wasn’t a lot of food to eat in our house. One summer holiday, we were barbecuing over to one of my parents’ friend’s house, which was just across this busy street name Gratiot Avenue, not too far from us. The food looked delicious, the ribs with all the BBQ sauce glazing over them were making me very hungry to the point I began to get sick because of me being anemic. I believe it was my brother that went and told my parents, they told him to take me home. When we left, the twins came with us; basically, we all had to go home because I got sick.

When we got there, I begin to have convulsions. My brother reacted quickly by putting me into the bathtub full of cold water. He also took all the ice cubes from the refrigerator and dropped them in. He told one of the twins to make me some grits while I was still in the tub, by that time, I begin to settle down. The only problem with his treatment was he tried to trick me by telling me the grits was some of the potato salad from the BBQ, what did I know. I was five. When I tasted them, I knew right away that wasn’t potato salad. I spat them out on the floor and said, This ain’t no damn potato salad they all just laughed.

Finding food to eat was a struggle in my house. I had to become creative. I noticed one time that my mother had money on her dresser, so I took it and went to the store. I bought two boxes of Boston baked beans candy. When I got home, Iris and Ivy were waiting for me sitting on the steps. They told me they knew I took the money, and if I didn’t give them a box of the candy, they were going to tell on me, I was mad, but I had to give it to them or else. We were all sitting on the steps eating the candy when my mother came out yelling, Who in the hell took my damn money? Iris and Ivy both started spitting out the beans and saying, Andrew did it. Of course, I got my butt whipped.

Moving forward, after starting kindergarten, it was uneventful. I wasn’t home that much anymore. I was out playing and making friends, but I still had a passion to cook. It was just too bad there wasn’t much food in the house. I started wondering why we had to live like that, so I asked questions. What was my father doing with his money? We called him Daddy, but to me, Daddy is a term of endearment too bad he wasn’t. What I found out was, my father was giving his money to another woman. The same woman that had the barbeque that summer holiday the day I got sick.

Now it was making sense why we didn’t have much food to eat and the real reason I got sick. Even though my father paid for everything for the cookout, Esther controlled everything—that was her name. She set the time we could eat and how much we got to eat. She controlled him, not just the food that day but that included if we got clothes for school or Christmas presents. Why my mother allowed this to happen to us, I’ll never know. The list of harms their relationship caused my family went on even further. Experiencing such trauma at my young age still doesn’t make my story any worse than others.

Yet I’m telling my story as a story of inspiration and of overcoming all the obstacles presented to me through the blessings of the Lord. In my opinion, if you believe in the Father, the one true Lord, he will place good people on your path for survival. I know reading my story people will wonder why him, the answer is, because he believed in me before I truly believed in him. Now my mother didn’t protest on our behalf or her own because she loved my father; she loved him despite herself and us. Even if she had complained during that time, women had no real rights or voice especially a black woman.

When I described my family’s financial situation, I said we were poor, but that wasn’t totally true, the family was poor but not him. Even though he wasn’t, I never saw him spend any money on himself, including buying himself a new suit or shoes, and that was his choice and his alone, we just suffered from his decisions. We lived above a store, but it was more a meat market than a grocery store, the owner’s name was Mr. Vance. He was a kind man, and I’m sure he saw the neglect that was taking place. My father started an account with him in the store. Since we weren’t getting fed enough and having my condition of being anemic, I conceived a plan that when he and my mother would leave, I’d go downstairs to the store and tell Mr. Vance my father said it was okay for me to put food on his account. I’d grab things that we didn’t need to cook like chips, cupcakes, and pops (soda pops). I believe Mr. Vance knew I was lying, but he still let me, I think he did it because he saw the neglect. Mr. Vance was one of those good people the Lord put on my path. He let me put the food on the account for a while until one day, my father noticed I got caught because he went to Mr. Vance and asked why his bill was so high. I know in my heart Mr. Vance didn’t want to tell, but he needed his money. After that, he whipped me, which was much more painful than when my mother did. Of course it was; he was a man he hit harder. Thank the Lord we got most of our whippings from my mother because that was her job.

Now that the food source was shut down, I had to find another way to feed the twins and myself, so I went out into the streets begging people. I also tried my hand in stealing. In the ’60s, some stores sat the fruits out for display. I walked up to this wooden box crate that was tilted down so it would be easy to see the fruit and pick out what you wanted. I grabbed this big red apple and tried to run, but the man that worked there caught me; he asked me why I was stealing his apple. I told him because I was hungry, and I was going to share it with my two sisters. After I told him my sad story, he let me go. He told me to take the apple but to not come back there again trying to steal from him.

Sometime later, I came home through the back door, which was in the kitchen, and I saw this big roasting pan covering two gas heating elements. I said in my happy, loud voice, Wow-wee, we are going to eat good today! As I got closer to the stove, I was thinking, What is that funny smell? When I reached where I could look inside, I saw melted wax. That’s all my father was cooking, wax to make candles. I looked up at him and said, I will never treat my kids the way you have treated us he slapped the piss out of me. My father was constantly coming up with grandiose get-rich schemes that never bore any fruit but our suffering because we as a family paid the cost for his failures. I asked him where the food was, shouldn’t that be food in that pot? I said, I’m so hungry. I got nothing from him except that slap in the face. So I took to the streets at six and seven years old begging. I would ask anyone I saw walking up and down the sidewalk on Gratiot.

This beautiful lady walked up to me and handed me a dollar bill, then she introduced herself, she was Ms. Yvonne. She was my first angel that the Lord designated to protect me on a good path of life, showing me there was good in this world. Mr. Vance was a good man too, but Ms. Yvonne took it upon herself to help us the twins and me. She took me over to where she worked, at the Interfaith Community Center, a part of the Catholic church in the neighborhood named Saint Anthony. After she introduced me to everybody, she walked me home to my mother and the twins. She told my mother that she had seen me around the neighborhood, and she wanted to help me make money doing little things at the center and working with her husband, Mr. Eddie, so my mother agreed. She took us to her house, where we met Mr. Eddie. Meeting him was good for me because he taught me the value of working hard, with quality. He gave me little jobs around the house to earn money; this was my first experience of working for a living.

When I would return home, those two sisters of mine would be waiting, as they did on McKinley Street, back when they blackmailed me for the Boston baked beans candy. This was their scam to get money from me. They had these code words they would say, Nooni Nushness. That’s what they would say to signal me they wanted something, or they would tell my mother I’d done something bad. Most of the time, it would be something they made up. They figured that they would use this system long as they could, which turned to be for another four years.

Mr. Eddie put the working bug in me; I started doing whatever work I could find. I would cut grass, shovel snow, and go to the store for people that couldn’t get around very well, older people. I did those jobs for quite a while, so we didn’t go hungry. I began to venture out on my own more, I’d go to the movies alone. The first few times, I went with my brother and the twins, but after a while, I started going by myself. The name of the theater was the Rialto. It was about five to six blocks away from the house, it was at 6345-6347 Gratiot Avenue. I’d go see movies, like James Bond, Dr. No, Thunder Ball, From Russia with Love, and lots of Elvis Presley movies. I was a big fan of Elvis then. Those were some amazing times, because how could a child so young walk alone to the movies by himself? I could because the world wasn’t so crazy then.

Nevertheless, there was this time I went to see an Elvis movie. These two girls were sitting behind me; I really wasn’t paying them much attention. They said hi, so I spoke back to them and sat down. While I was watching the movie, I finished my popcorn, so I went to get me something to drink. I was returning to my seat, walking up the ramp. The Rialto was designed with these cool ramps. It had walking ramps to get from the lobby, to the auditorium, and then to the next level, the balcony.

I started back to my seat, but there were the two girls on the ramp, they jumped out and grabbed me. I think they were sisters because they looked alike. One of them tried to kiss me while telling the other one to pull down my pants. They scared the mess out of me, so I hit the one trying to kiss me in the eye, but she was wearing glasses, consequently, they broke, she screamed, then they ran off. I pulled up my pants and went to find someone that worked there. I found an usher and told him what happened. We looked for them, but they were gone. After I got over the shock, I thought about it and told myself, I shouldn’t have acted, so hastily, hum?

When I got home, I didn’t tell anyone but my brother. He laughed and told me I better stop going to the movies alone. The problem with what he was saying meant I would have to go with him. But I liked my choice of movies a lot better than his because he didn’t care about the content or maturity level of his movie choices. Some of them gave me nightmares because they were horror movies. Sometimes I’d be too afraid to sleep alone.

The twins were supreme at manipulating me, I believe it was the age difference. They were two years older than me, but we were born on the same day just two years apart. They were so good at it, they could make me believe I did things I hadn’t done. One night I was wakened by Ivy’s screaming at me saying, "Ooh, Andrew, look at what you did! You burned up the bed! When I woke up, the bed was on fire, I was lying on a burning mattress. The fire was just beneath my head, so I jumped right up. You see, everybody knew I walked in my sleep, so it was easy to sell that lie; even I believed her. I didn’t find out the truth until I was in my twenties. One night, we all were sitting around drinking, and she told me. She said, I burned the bed when we were little because I had gotten a bad report card. I tried to burn it up, so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Then the bed caught on fire, so I blamed it on you because you were already asleep in it."

Somehow my mother got trapped in the corner near the bed; my brother came over and pulled it out just enough to get her; by this time, the firemen were coming in. They managed to put it out amazingly so that it was the only thing damaged. My mother made her way over to me and said, I’m too angry to whip you right now, I will take care of you after school tomorrow.

When I was young, I didn’t like school much. My normal school days just seemed to drag on, but not that day, I never noticed the school clock move so fast before. Next thing I knew, it was three o’clock and time to go home, where my mother was waiting. She told me she was still too mad that she was going to let my father whip me. Now my anguish had to last another three hours waiting for him to get home, knowing that his whippings hurt the worst.

I’m not sure why my life had such painful moments. That’s the reason for this book, to show that anyone can be saved and live through their ups and downs. I know the darkest and painful times in my life were being left alone with my brother, so young. When my father and mother would leave my brother home to babysit me, I knew I was going to be beaten, that’s what he did. He would find some reasons to hit me, and if I bruised, he’d tell me to lie, saying I fell or ran into something. Now my brother is six years older than me, and he was very big (overweight) then. I was six years old and really skinny, so I was no match for him. Today I believe I’m the world’s best broom sweeper because that was one of his reasons. He used to justify beating me. He’d say I wasn’t doing a good enough job. He’d start pounding me if I missed something as small as a crumb on the floor, so today my eyes are like magnifying glasses; I don’t miss anything. On one aspect the beatings turned out to help give me good work habits. This torture went on even after I got a little older from time to time. He’d let me know who was, still the boss by a punch or two every now and then.

Now this treatment wasn’t exclusive to just me. Iris and Ivy got it for a short while until they were about nine or ten. That day they double-teamed him and kicked his a——. They told me if I didn’t help, he would continue to beat me. I was too afraid of him. He had broken me, and he had made me fear him due to those beatings.

Yet I do remember after I turned twelve, he came at me one time, and I told him, I’m not a little boy anymore. If you hit me, I’m going to hit you back, and we will see what’s what, so he stopped. After I saw that I made him back down, I told him, When I get older, I’m going to kick you’re a——. I’m going to get you for all those beatings.

He told me, And I’ll shoot you too. I saw his gun collection. He did own quite a few, but speaking up to him helped us reached an understanding, that he’d better keep his hands to himself.

When I was eight, a lot was happening in my life, including one more major historical event. That not only changed my life but the country as well and perhaps the world. It was the day President Kennedy was assassinated. I remember I was out in the hallway returning from the restroom. As I was walking back to class, this tall, slender lady was running through the hall crying, then others came out and joined her. I remember a lot of adults were in the hall and classrooms crying or trying to console each other. When I got back to my classroom, my teacher was in tears as well. Finally, someone burst out and said, President Kennedy had been shot. It wasn’t known at that moment if he was alive or dead because it had just happened. He was shot at 12:30 p.m., central time, and it took place in Dallas, Texas. He died at 1:00 p.m. November 22, 1963.

The news also saddened me as well. Even though I was only eight, I also paid close attention to what was happening around me. That was ironic since I didn’t realize there was a power struggle happening right in this country between black and white people, which was known as the civil rights movement. I was not sure why this very important thing that was occurring wasn’t talked about at my house. Also, I didn’t understand why it wasn’t really discussed in my school. For my family not caring, I suppose it was because we had our own struggles happening within our household. The outside world wasn’t that important to them. I, on the other hand, wanted to know things. I’ve always strived to know more.

My school grades wouldn’t reflect it, though, because I was the class clown, that’s how my teacher described me. She was right, and for my parents to make me pay attention in school wasn’t on their priority list. This was a factor for many reasons but mainly because of the household struggles.

Time moved on, and so did we as a family. We moved a lot because my father didn’t just neglect us by not feeding us, he also neglected to pay his bills, rent, utility bills, or water. That’s what caused us to move so much. Since we did, we gave ourselves a nickname that we stole from a television show. We called ourselves the Moving Apple Bees, after the name of the movie. One thing I learned from watching my father not paying his bills was to do just the opposite, to always pay mine on time. It was a hard lesson, but all lessons aren’t classroom pretty. I believe even in the dark, there is some light because my father not paying his bills taught me to be financially responsible.

Since I was eight, and I considered myself to be grown because I had been through some grown stuff. And I was thinking about the fact that I wasn’t a virgin anymore. I’d had two sexual encounters, so now I was working on my third. There was this girl in my third-grade class that I liked, and the feeling was mutual. Therefore, she invited me over to her house on a Saturday morning, but I had to test the water first. I got up, washed myself, got dressed, and went over to my school’s playground; the school was Joseph Campau Elementary. It was right across Forest Avenue, which was a busy street that I needed to cross. We lived on Joseph Campau Street two houses from the corner of Forest. I went up and down the fire escape attached to the school; it was like a big slide. I did it for a while, then I went back home. Now my brother was up and saw me coming in. He ran and woke my mother and told her that I had been outside without asking (so now he cares, right). My mother said, It was all right, he’s growing up.

Hearing that, I said to myself, Well then, I can go see my girlfriend, so I did, but before I go on, this is my disclaimer. This is not a Christian story, but a story about a reluctant Christian. Even though I’m opening my life on these pages, as I’m coming to the end of the Living Word, the Holy Bible, I’m about to finish reading it entirely, I wanted to share my story.

Now that my mother had given me her permission, I felt grown, so I was off to see my girlfriend. She lived about four blocks away. When I got there, she was waiting for me. Everybody in her house was still asleep. This was awesome now we could have our private time, that’s all I’m going to say on that, but I did spend a lot of time with her that morning. Let’s call her Alice. She was very pretty, and she liked me for some reason.

I’ve never had a problem being able to talk to girls, and there were plenty of them, yet I couldn’t rap. Back in the ’60s, rapping meant being able to just walk up to the opposite sex and get them to go for you or like what you are saying. I wasn’t cool like that. I didn’t have enough game for that, to get girls to like what I was saying, me starting the conversation. But I really didn’t need to. The ladies gave me much of their attention without me uttering a word. Most of the time, that was for the best. Remember, I couldn’t rap.

Now it was time for me to go home. This I will always remember. As soon as I walked through the downstairs door and looked up, there was my mother standing there waiting at the top of the stairs with a belt, the thick black kind. When I got to the top, she commenced to giving it to me, everywhere. While I was trying to explain that she said I was growing up, that’s why I went over to my girlfriend’s house, I told the truth. That still didn’t stop her. She kept on striking me, saying, You ain’t that damn grown yet. I understood later after my wound healed, but I knew my brother and the twins were getting a big kick out of the event. I know it seems that I was always getting into trouble, but there are some good things that happened to me. I’m just not there yet.

Thinking of the amazement of the Lord and what he was doing the whole time, he was carrying me. Remembering all the things that had happened to this point, and I was only eight years old. The things that had happened; some people go their whole lives