The Lessons She Passed Down

Mama had me when she was young; fifteen, maybe sixteen. Folks like to act shocked when they hear that, but where Mama came from, it wasn’t all that uncommon. She grew up in one of those strict Baptist households where children were meant to be seen, not heard, and definitely not felt. As Mama likes to say, “Granny didn’t play. You get your ass beat with a switch for lookin’ wrong.”

Mama tells stories like they funny, but they never sound funny to me. Like the one about Uncle James, how he talked out the side of his mouth to Granny one day, and she got in her car and tried to run him over. Only reason he’s still alive is ’cause he jumped the gate. Mama laughs every time she tells it, but all I hear is fear. Fear that shaped her. Fear she learned to pass down.

Growing up like that, I understand why Mama repeats what she learned: toughness, obedience, and “no excuses.” Mama doesn’t do feelings or maybe she just doesn’t understand them. Vulnerability feels dangerous to her. She especially hates the idea of being wrong, especially when it comes to her kids.

People sometimes mistake her attitude toward me as resentment. I don’t think Mama resents me. I think she resents the life she didn’t get to live. Her own mama probably told her, “You grown now. Handle it.” And Mama did. She handled everything alone. Grandpa threw her and me out the house as soon as she turned eighteen, so she had no choice but to grow up fast.

And because she had to grow up early without help, she unconsciously does the same thing to me.

When it comes to mental health ADHD, anxiety, anything like that Mama thinks it’s “white folks’ diagnoses” or excuses for being lazy. If I say I’m having a hard time focusing, Mama swears it’s because I’m not trying hard enough. She believes prayer, hard work, and “getting your act together” fix everything.

Because I understand Mama’s background, I try to be patient. She had no help with me when she had me. My daddy was in and out of our lives until I was four, then he moved out of Texas and cut off all contact. Last I heard, he was somewhere in Georgia with a new family. His people never believed I was his, so they didn’t help Mama either.

Mama was dating Miracle’s daddy around that time, and she ended up pregnant with Miracle. Her daddy, Eric, is a good man. He accepted me as his stepdaughter right away. I won’t lie; I miss having him around. Eric and Mama stayed together almost five years before she got with Sariya’s daddy. Eric was a straight‑up girl dad. He listened when I felt overwhelmed or couldn’t concentrate. He wanted to follow the doctors’ advice and get me the ADHD medicine.

They argued about it so much that Mama finally had enough and broke things off with him.

Even after the breakup, Eric still provided for me and Miracle. He took us school shopping every Tax Free Weekend. When Mama had Sariya, he did the same for her. Miracle spends every weekend with him and goes on family trips during the summer. Eric always offered to take me and Sariya too, but Mama told him no. I think it was part stubbornness, part shame for breaking up with him only to end up with Sariya’s daddy right after.

There aren’t enough words to describe that man other than “a bum.”

Since Mama’s relationships didn’t work out, she started relying on me more and more. I think she forgets I’m only sixteen because she’s been leaning on me since I was old enough to help. I wonder if Mama assumes I know I’m appreciated, even though she never says it.

She’s a lot more lenient with Miracle and Sariya because they’re “the babies,” so she doesn’t expect as much from them. She snaps at them, sure, but she hugs them more than she hugs me. She tells them “I love you” more than she tells me.

I’ve learned not to get upset over it.

It’s just the way Mama is shaped by the life she had, the pain she never healed, and the love she doesn’t know how to show.