My mother was this Apostolic/Pentecostal girl being brought up in Far Rockaway, New York.
She was the youngest of 4 siblings.
Her Mamma was this petite Gospel singing West Virginian, red headed Black/Native American/Ethiopian woman as elegant as could be.
She wore her dresses so gracefully. She raised her kids with the utmost respect. Church and family were the epitome of her life.
My mom’s father, was this tall full blooded Mojave Native American man…a playboy if I may. Black slick hair like Ricky Ricardo.
He loved the idea of family. Worked hard for his family…but could not keep his eyes from wandering.
My grandparents were a combination of hoison sauce and chili peppers…sweet, sour, and spicy. My Grandmother was sweet and my Grandfather had always been that bite In your mouth, often ensuing in sour situations.
This resulted in the strangest sort of children between the two of them. My mother was an introverted emo, with a love for art. She had the cliché “Hard” New York exterior…for good reason.
She was not permitted to cut her hair because of her Christian beliefs. Her mane went past her derriere. She was often picked on and could not find solace with the Black kids…so she hung out with the Puerto Ricans.
Her mom was strict, which made my mom clever. She was not allowed to wear make-up…but being a rebellious teen, she snuck it. She would meet up with her best friend Josey (her Puerto Rican sister), and they would drink Bustelo café con leche before heading off to school; “Beach Channel”.
“We skipped class and sold cigarettes to earn money for sub sandwiches!”
Mom returned home from school and her Momma was right there waiting for her……she forgot to wipe her face off. Clever! 😀