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TO DANCE WITH UGLY PEOPLE

Excerpt

Chapter One

VULANI RINGI RING - Children Circle Dance - Celebration of youth.

 

To Whom It May Concern:

 

Even as a young girl, four years old, pain was worth something; it taught me how to dance emotionally.  The adults in the house acquiesced in my situation, failing to be observant or even interested, as we joined together every Sunday for a family gathering.

 

The large yellow stucco house where we assembled, on Boston Street, in a quiet, luxuriant, tree lined neighborhood belonged to my Big Mama.  The huge and rambling house sat on a hill in Detroit, Michigan.  The era, the mid-fifties, was a time that spawned the celebration of “Michigan Week.”  A celebration of the economic, cultural and natural resources, which made Michigan great.  I imagined my great grandmother, an entrepreneur, who was lucky in real estate - rare for a woman of color - had contributed to that economic growth.  She left that big old house to Big Mama.

 

The sun beat down boiling hot, as we climbed the tired, aged, cracked concrete steps that led up to its weathered front porch.  The surrounding grass baked crisp, looked like straw.  Mama mopped her forehead with a dainty white laced handkerchief, several times, along the dreaded journey.  Summer in Detroit was hot, lethal.  The winters were brutal, bitter and cold.  Mama always said, during winter ice, Big Mama was going to slip on those steps and break her neck.  Mama told Big Mama, often, that she needed to move, but Big Mama loved her house and owned it outright.  She told Mama she was crazy.

 

Big Mama liked giving me pennies and listening to me count.  I often practiced counting on those exhausted, crooked and lengthy steps.  I was silently counting on that day, too.  One…Two…Three…Sixteen steps!  That wisdom made me smile. 

 

We had dinner at Big Mama’s house, after attending church.  The dining room table, always neatly set with gold trimmed china, sparkling crystal glasses and polished silverware was inviting.  The smell of freshly baked peach cobbler overpowered the table.  A table already filled with steaming hot aromatic and delicious homemade foods.  We called “Soul Food.’  The savory smells that filled the air had us all ready to indulge.

 

I always looked angelic, in frilly dresses, with a petticoat underneath.  I wore ribbons in my hair, ruffled socks that matched my panties and white patent leather shoes.  After dinner, the adults would spend time in the front room, laughing, dancing, drinking and playing cards.  However, I was filled with sickening dread as Big Mama’s third husband placed all of his attention on me.

 

“Give me some sugar, baby girl.” He would say.    

                             

“Go ‘head baby, give Grandpa a kiss.”  Big Mama would urge me on.

 

Reluctantly, I kissed him on the cheek.  They all said I was his favorite.

 

Available at Bookstore link: http://bookstore.bookcountry.com/Products/SKU-000913315/To-Dance-Wi...

 

 

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