On Christmas night, I found peace in my mother’s rendition of a Jody Watley song. Only inches from the speakers, Mama sat cross-legged on the living room floor in a
I can name every note of the sweet pea’s scent. Like most girls, from a young age, the delicate beauty
Auntie Cee was a real boss, a Human Resources specialist with swag back when Black women were ghosts in corporate
“Here I come, slowpoke!” Even though she was behind me, I could tell Tonya was
It’s April, and around this time I usually get a visit from an old friend–grief.
I never saw Nanny cry. Not even when her humble, eat-off-the-floor-clean basement apartment flooded repeatedly.
when i was just a little girl… …my paternal grandma taught me to cook what
For as long as I can remember, my great-grandmother never let a night go by
It was a terribly hot September. Though it drizzled now and then, the thick stagnant
What did it mean for a black woman to be an artist in our grandmothers’
Visiting my grandfather in North Carolina was nothing short of a civic wonderland. Before my
It wasn’t easy growing up so far away from close family. All of my mother’s
The VCR The day has come. Mama and Papa brung the box in the house.
“You were ashes.” As I stood in the doorway of my sister Everette’s bedroom just
Thousand Oaks, California I flew from coast to coast when I was nine years old.
Grandmothers Some little girls, with plaits and blemishes, cook rice and jerk chicken as the
I grew up in the heart of the Midwest during the 1970s, the era of
It was cold on the way to Grandma’s house. Mom had plucked Tye and Jordan
