Month: November 2022

By Jerome Pearson

January 2020

What if all this is happening while you are only in the first grade, and only 3 weeks after celebrating your seventh birthday?

What if one Friday morning before school your mother helps you pull a sweater over your head and then adjusts the sleeves of your shirt for the very last time?

What if on that Friday you return from school and you notice your mother eating rice, which is something you have never seen her do? You find it remarkable because she has always hated rice!

What if you would later go to bed that night not knowing that it would be the last night you would share with your mother?

What if you wake up the next morning not knowing that all future mornings will be drastically different from those you are now experiencing? The very next morning will be the saddest morning of your short life!

What if your mother goes into town shopping on that Saturday morning and you don’t realize that again this is the last time, she will go shopping?

What if your mother returned from shopping on Saturday and you notice that she is not feeling well? What if you dismiss this “not feeling well” as just a passing thing; not knowing that this “not feeling well” is about to lead to the most shocking thing you might ever experience in your life?

What if you observed later that afternoon that your mother is being taken to the hospital? You can see her being taken to the car. But even then, you would have no reason to think that it would be the last time you would see your mother alive.

What if you can remember the men who took her to the car? What if you can remember the color and model of the car she is being driven in? What if the car is a black and white 1961 Ford Fairlane? What if the Car is being driven by a man name Talmage Nelson? What if his friend, also in the car, is a man named Willie (WM) Pearson? What if the lady sitting in the car with your mother is her sister, Rebecca? Could you have known then that from that day onward your mother would now be your mother’s sister?

What if you awoke around 9:30 pm on that same Saturday night with news so shocking that you would forever be immune to being shocked again? No matter what happens to you in the future, nothing could ever replace that shock. All other shocks would be secondary! You have now become vaccinated against shocks.

What if during those short seven years of living you just assumed that your mother would always be there? You never anticipated that your life could be turned upside down so drastically and quickly.

What if the reality you thought existed is no longer real? All the dreams you were able to accumulate during those short seven years are now clouded by another reality.

What if your mother would be eulogized the following Thursday at New Light Baptist Church? What if she would later be buried at St. Matthews Cemetery? What if there is a ritual where all her kids are passed over her grave? Each small kid is lifted on one side of the grave and handed to another person on the opposite side of the grave.

What if over the next several months all your siblings split up and lived in other homes? Only you would be living with your mother’s sister.

What if you had to continue to live your own life? You would have to figure out a way to negotiate your way through future trials and tribulations; continue to do well in school; show the world that those A’s you received during the first half of your first school year were no fluke; that the smile your mother showed when she saw your first report card would be a smile that she would continue to have from above and that perhaps one day, you would be able to do things, travel to places, and have experiences that neither you nor your mother could ever have imagined!

What if after so many years you have never forgotten your mother; there are so many things you wish you could have done with your mother; so many conversations you wished you could have had; so many questions you wish could have been answered, yet in some strange way you have always communicated with her; there is an internal and spiritual dialogue between you and your mother that no one else is privy to.

What if someone were to ask you what is your greatest gift?

What if you replied that “it is my memory!”

What if they asked, “why your memory?”

What if it has been your memory that has afforded you the ability to make seven years last forever?

What if your memory has been your greatest blessing?

What if you never forget?

Ethel Pearson Roberts, May 1936- Jan 16, 1965

Your forever-loving son, Jerome!

By Jerome Pearson

Ethel Mae Pearson Roberts

May 1936 – January 16, 1965

Dear Mommy,

I so deeply wish I had gotten the opportunity to know you better. When you were living, I thought that I would have an entire life with you. But God had other plans! Plans that neither you nor I were aware of when you were living. What kid expects to lose his mother shortly after turning seven years old? And what mother expects to leave this world when her kids are so young, one a little more than a year old?

I am the youngest of your children to remember you. Perhaps in some ways, I should count that as my blessing. My blessing is only that I can recall some bits and pieces of our time together. It is much more than my younger siblings have. I have, however, enjoyed sharing with them my memories of you. I remember a younger brother once telling me he remembers you taking him to school. Unfortunately, I had to burst his bubble because you had never taken him to school. Even though I was only in the first grade, and there was no kindergarten during those days, I politely told him he was mistaken. And there is no doubt in my mind about that!

I remember telling my youngest sister (your baby girl) that I can remember the day she was born. I can remember that day even though I was still incredibly young myself. I told her that she was born on a Friday afternoon. It was a slightly cloudy afternoon. I remember it because your sister was at our house on that day. Yes, your sister who would soon become my mother. Perhaps she was there because you were expecting my younger sister. But I remember my aunt coming onto the porch and telling the older kids to run to Mr. Jimmy Carter’s house so that he could then drive to notify the midwife. No one had a telephone and she needed someone who could drive to her house.

You may recall that I attempted to follow the older children to wherever they were running to. The three of them were running down a dirt road; I tried following them, but they were leaving me far behind. Your sister stood on the porch and yelled for me to return home. I did as I was told, and as I was walking back up the steps she said, “where did you think you were going? You know you cannot keep up with them!” She was right; I could not keep up, but a few hours later, you allowed me to enter your bedroom to see the new baby. I then realized what all the commotion had been about.

As you know so well, there were no hospital births in our community during those days. For the most part, we were all born at home. I would later realize that the midwife, Ms. Catherine House, was the first Medical Professional who would have any contact with us. I find it funny that when I was in elementary school a teacher asked the class in what hospital we were born. Like everyone in the classroom, I lied and said, “Clarendon Memorial Hospital!” I knew we were all lying, but it was a gentle lie. In other words, it was a lie that caused no harm. I almost said I was born on Christmas Eve in a Manager. I was born on Christmas eve, perhaps not in a manger, however! I would like to think that I was your Christmas gift for that year! Ha, ha!

I remember that I could not start school the year you wanted me to. That was because I would not be turning six until December of that year, and the teachers said I was not old enough. You thought that I was ready; otherwise, you would not have sent me. I came to school but was told I could not enroll.

It was not solely that was not old enough because some kids were allowed to start early. It was also because I looked like a baby. But you knew I was not a baby. I will admit that as a child I always looked much younger than my actual age. Years after you left, when I was in 7th grade, we were looking at some old school records from our first grade. In my records, there was a first-grade picture of me, and I indeed looked like I was two. The girls in my class were like, “look at that cute baby!”

But not starting school earlier allowed me to have an extra year with you! I would be the oldest kid at home during those days, and when you needed to have a conversation, you would talk to me. You would send me to the store alone to buy things you needed, and I always came back with exactly what you asked for. When various vendors came to our house to collect payments, you had no reservations about giving me the money to go outside to pay the bill. You would say, “don’t forget the receipt, Jerome!” After I handed them the money, I would always say, “may I have a receipt please?” They would say, “boy who taught you how to talk like that?” With a chuckle!

On the bright side of things, I would not have had that extra year with you if I were in school. I recall asking you lots of questions because I was curious about everything. However, I always thought there would be plenty of time for me to ask many more questions, but there was not.

I would like to think you thought that I was unusually bright! I say this because one day after returning from the store with the washing powder and bleach that you needed, I came onto the porch where you were washing clothes. You said to me, “how is my big little boy?” I was not big, but you were implying that I could do big things. I was so little, but you could talk to me, and you could trust me with certain tasks that someone my age might not have been given. As an example, when President John F Kennedy was assassinated, you came onto the porch and told me about it. You heard it on the news, and it was so shocking that you needed to discuss it with someone. And the oldest kid at home was me. It was only then that I even became aware of such a thing as a President!

I can remember you telling me one day that a car that had been driven by our home was Klansmen. I did not know what a Klansman was, but from the impression, you gave they were scary people. When we would go to the local stores in Davis Station, I tried to figure out who were the Klansmen and who were not. As an example, I thought that Mr. McFadden was Ok because he also had a rolling store and would sometime drive by our house with items to sell. But there was a family of Hortons in Davis Station who were suspects! I assumed that JFK was not a Klansman because you seemed so hurt by his death. However, I did think that all police officers were Klansmen because whenever they showed up it was bad news.

I recall that you could be emotional. I remember one Sunday night we were riding in a car to visit your sister. This would have been a few months before you left. As we drove through Davis Station on our way to Jordan Road, we saw a car in a ditch. There had been an accident! The driver in our car said, “isn’t that Dixie?” You immediately started screaming. Dixie was not your brother, but he lived with us as if he was your brother. When you realized that Dixie was in an accident, and not knowing if he was injured, all you could do was scream. Hearing your scream, Dixie, realizing you were in the car, came running to reassure you that he was ok. He came running to the car saying, “I am ok big sister I am ok!” He hugged you like a brother would hug his sister, trying to reassure you. Only then did you calm down. I was relieved too, not only for myself but mostly for you. You cared so much for your family and friends. Your last days were filled with various emotions. I could sense it!

My last day with you was Saturday, January 16, 1965. It is a day that I can never erase from my mind.

The day following your transition, I was disturbed. I spent most of that morning in the closet trying to find my suit. I knew that there would be a funeral at some point and that I would have to wear a suit. I knew that from experience with my grandmother (your mother) a few years earlier. I remember your oldest daughter (my sister) asking me to get out of that closet. I remember telling her that I was trying to find my suit. My sister insisted that I did not need to find it because clothes would be bought for me. I recall getting out of the closet, but within a short time, I was back in there again. I did not trust that my sister was correct. I thought from that day onward, I would have to fend for myself, and in so many ways, I always have.

But I will say this mommy! Things have worked out fine for me. Of course, they would have been better with you, but sometimes we have to make do with what we have. Your sister did an excellent job with me, and you are probably hugging her right now. I have come a long way from that Saturday many years ago. I have had experiences and traveled to places that neither of us could ever have imagined back then.

But there is one thing I will always miss which is something I can never have. And that is the opportunity to talk to you more, and to get to know you better, and in that way, I could know myself better.

As a substitute, I would often have these internal conversations with you. I would ask a question and then answer it as if I were both you and me.

My blessing is that after so many years, I have been able to retain the essence of you, however fleeting. In this way, I can imagine that you never left because you and I are both the same.

Wherever I am, so too are you!

Your big little boy!

Jerome

By Jerome Pearson

November 20, 2022

Thanksgiving 1982 -40 years ago

Where did I spend it and what did I do? Let me think about that for a few minutes. Oh yes, I remember now. I remember it as if it were only yesterday. Ha, ha!

In 1982 I was stationed in Wiesbaden, Germany.  Thanksgiving of that year would be the 3^rd and last Thanksgiving I spent in Germany. But it would be the first time I would spend thanksgiving with friends from my High School in Summerton, South Carolina.

My friends John and Janie Green had recently moved from the city of Bremerhaven in Northern Germany to the city of Pirmasens in Southern Germany. Now they were within a 2-hour driving distance from me as opposed to the 8 hours they were before. Pirmasens is also only 7 miles from the French border.

Another classmate, Wayne (Norman) Billie, was stationed in the town of Baumholder. Baumholder was approximately midway between Wiesbaden and Pirmasens.

John and Janie invited both Norman and me to spend Thanksgiving and the weekend with them. Janie was also from our high school, but two classes behind us. But what was important was that were all from Scott’s Branch High, SBS.

I showed up the day before in my Mercedes and Norman arrived that same evening driving a sports car, British Triumph. At the time we had all been in Germany for several years and it was so wonderful spending thanksgiving with people with whom we could reminisce about our younger days and about home in general. There is no place like home. Janie could fit right in because she knew the same people, and I had known Janie before I knew either John or Norman. Janie and I also attended the same elementary school and her sister, Bertha, was in every class with me from first grade through 7^th.  I was also the best man at their wedding only months before we all left for Germany. Their oldest son had just been born nearly 15 months earlier in Bremerhaven.

And of course, Janie did all the cooking because she insisted on it. I think John might have helped a bit. I volunteered to help but we all knew that was probably not the best idea. We spent Thanksgiving morning reminiscing and watching movies. I recall us watching two movies. It might have been more, but I remember two. We watched the movie “I spit on your grave” wish was a gruesome yet revengeful movie about a young lady getting retribution for what violently happened to her. And then we watched one of my favorite James Bond movies, “For Your Eyes Only!” Throughout each movie, we were talking our heads off, mostly about home.

The dinner was excellent, and we ate as southerners eat. In addition to Turkey and Ham, we probably had at least 5 starches.  We did not care if the food was good for us. We only cared that it was good.

The next day, John had to work. For some reason, unlike Norman and me, John did not have off that day even though we were all in the army. While John was working, Norman invited me to ride with him back to his base back in Baumholder. I had been to Baumholder only once previously. It was about an hour both ways. What I recall about that trip is Norman’s driving. As mentioned earlier, Norman was driving a British sports car, and he was hitting those steep curves, going up and down hills, and only gearing down at the last minute. Once negotiating each curve, he was speeding off again until we hit another curve, as we made our way up the mountains to Baumholder. Not only were driving up a mountain, but we were also coming close to side rails, where the slope downward was absolutely scary. My heart was dropping to my stomach each time we came to a curve. I never told Norman how freighted I was until many years later.

There was a large PX on base and wanted to do some shopping. The word PX stands for Post Exchange. The PXs are usually on-base American stores that are used by American Military personnel and their families. They sell food and household items below what you pay if you shopped off-base. You can also shop at German stores, but the price would be higher.

Norman and I returned to Pirmasens later that afternoon and the driving was no less scary. John had returned from work by the time we got back. We then continued with festivities, eating leftovers, shooting the breeze, and just simply being so happy to share this experience together while being away from home.

Thanksgiving is always in the heart, and you can celebrate it anywhere your heart chooses to go.

And if you are like me, and never forget the details, you can then celebrate it forever.

Jerome Pearson

Sunday, November 20, 2022

UP Hill

I just finished reading Jemele Hill’s brutally honest and unusually revealing memoir. Jemele Hill is a former Sports Journalist who worked for ESPN, various News Papers, and Sports talk shows. She spoke her mind but also knew her sports as well as many other culturally relevant things.  She was suspended from ESPN several times, most notably for expressing her opinions about former President Trump, particularly following his halfhearted and insincere condemnation of the incidents in Charlottesville, VA in 2017. She now writes for one of my favorite magazines (I have an online subscription) “The Atlantic”, which is known for current topics and foreign affairs.

Her book is titled UP Hill: A Memoir.  It details her life as a kid from the inner city of Detroit and at times in Houston, Texas. She has a very unique family with a well-read Grandmother who graduated from college and a mother who was addicted to drugs and at times a prostitute. She was raised by her single mother, but both of her parents were at various times addicted to drugs. Although her mother was addicted to crack, she did everything to make sure her daughter would not do the same. Her mother showed her what crack looked like, and said, “Do not do this ever!”

There is one section in the book where she speaks about keeping a journal. In that journal, she would write down some secret thoughts about her mother, and some of it was not very good. While in the 8^th grade and being tired of her mother coming home high and many other things, she wrote in her Diary something to the effect, “She better be happy she is bigger than me, or else I would drop-kick her ass!”

She came home one day and saw her mother sitting with the journal in her hand. As soon as her mother saw her, she started pummeling her and at one point grabbed a fake fire log about to hit her with it. Jemele was able to escape but her mother came after her but did not catch up. At one point Jemele returned to the house and saw a black trash bag filled with her clothes. Her mother was kicking her out, or at the very least taking her to her father who had no place to keep her. They eventually reconciled of course and continued with their many battles.

Jemele opening speaks about her relationships and was very open about an abortion she had herself. She also writes about why she came to that decision. In today’s climate it is risking revealing such a thing, but Jemele is just being brutally honest. She also speaks about her various boyfriends and finally about her current husband. One comes away with fact that Jemele is real and is speaking about real things.

Jemele was gifted in high school and a go-getter. She took advantage of many after-hours and summer programs, particularly in the field of Journalism, and eventually won a Scholarship at Michigan State.

At current times, Jemele and her mother seem to have reconciled and recently appeared on the Jada Pinkett-Smith show sharing their story.

As stated earlier, this story is brutally honest, but I highly recommend it because it is also inspirational. It shows how a young kid from her background would one day work at ESPN, Sports Journalism, Esteemed Magazine, but most importantly become a voice for the unspoken, so much so that she would earn the ire of a sitting President, who saw her as treat to his hidden lack of esteem.

She sometimes wore her emotions on her sleeves, but she never backed down!

Reading this book was educational and well worth my time.

Jerome Pearson.