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