The older that I get, the more I look back on my life and appreciate my childhood. When I was a teenager, I absolutely hated my childhood; I thought that my parents were too overbearing. As I approach another birthday in the coming days, I realize that those “awkward” years of 15, 16, and 17 were misguided ones as well. When I look back now, I appreciate those days. When I came home from school, there was usually food in the house, I could put my book-bag down, turn on the TV or radio and chill out for a few hours before my parents got off of work. Usually, someone cooked or treated to dinner. There were no bills…no responsibility…no pressure. Now, when I go home, I am leaving from a job; there are bills to pay, adult stressors…I care about the economy now and I’d rather go to work than stay at home due to a snow storm, because I am not beat for doing all of the shoveling. Yes people, I have become an adult and it sucks as much as it is fun. If I could choose a time in my life when life was perfect, it would be when I was 17… I had a car, it was senior year; I was going to college the next year…no job, no bills, no problem. I was spoiled, I had my family, my friends and life was indeed easy. Now, I look forward to going to sleep at night in a soft bed after a hot shower. This is not to say that my life now sucks complete, because it doesn’t. It’s just that these days, filled with responsibility and independence, help me appreciate those childhood years. And for me, many of the more special memories of my youth contain one of most influential people on my life, my grandmother, Rubie Lee Miller.
Whenever people say that they have the best mom, dad or whoever in the world, truly, we understand that these people are biased when they say these things. You can never really take them seriously. And so, I will join absurd tradition of saying these things of someone that you may be fond of. I had, the greatest two grandmothers any kid could ever have. One of those women was my Grandmom Rubie. When I was in grade school, she’d pick me up every day and take me to her house, where there was cooked food waiting for me as I entered the door. I would change my clothes after I ate and get a fruit snack, take my book-bag downstairs and do my homework in the basement…Once she realized that I wasn’t getting any work done, she made me do it at the dining room table. 2819 Thompson Street in East Camden…that’s was the classroom – where I learned how to play basketball on the street with the crate nailed to the telephone poll with a small ball…its where I fell in love with two hand touch…That’s where I first met the hood…It’s where I learned about who I was…Her house is still a monument to me. When I make Kool-Aid, I mix the flavors…Grandmom Rubie would take Kool-Aid and mix it with Sunny Delight and it was the best juice ever…she’d let me mix it with Dr. Pepper or RC Cola…ugh…that was good right there. At the age of 10, I would listen to KYW news radio 1060…Grandmom Rubie would have the old radio turned onto KYW in the kitchen and listen true to the slogan says, “2, 3, or 4 times a day.” She is why I listen to KYW to this day.
In the summers, it wasn’t until early adolescence that I started going to summer camp. Before that, I’d be at Grandmom Rubie’s every day. She would go outside and sweep the driveway, and I would pick a broom and go right out there and help. She’d pull up the weeds out side and plant her flowers and I’d ask her why. We would sit at the kitchen table and talk about the weather and how she didn’t want to go out because of her arthritis and I would talk the same way; I was only 9. I remember when my dad beat my ass for having a temper tantrum over there with my Grandmom…I remember watching the OJ trial with her…And I remember when my cousins would come up from Tallahassee to visit in the summer…and it was the 3 of us with Grandmom…ah the memories. When I got older and I started driving, whenever my mom was too tired to cook, Grandmom always had something cooking…chicken or fish…something. And she could cook. She was from Down South…Georgia – Attapulgus or Bainbridge I am not sure, but one of the two. Ima say Attapulgus because that is where her mother lived before she moved up to Jersey to live with Grandmom.
I remember when her mother, my great grandmother died in 1993. We traveled to Georgia for the funeral. It was my first trip. I loved it. And I loved it because Grandmom Rubie always talked about “Down South” like it was a magical place. My mom said to me that Attapulgus looked like a scene from Roots, but to my 10 year old mind, it was awesome. I know my family history and origins dating back to the Civil War thanks to my Grandmom. Most Black folks can’t go back that far in their family history. I can rattle off names that most in my family cannot, thanks to her. Our history is rich and I am thankful to her that I can tell my kids the stories of their people. She use to not only cook, but she’d bake as well. She use to make cakes and such for my Grandpop but she had to stop because he had diabetes. When he died, she started making little cakes for my Uncle and my cousins and I remember asking her why hadn’t she made such things before? After a while, she’d bake and I was the only one eating. She then said to me, “I’ve got something special for you.” And that is when I was introduced to the sweetest thing that I have ever had in my entire life…Jelly Cake. She would make a 2 layer 8 inch round Jelly Cake only a few times a year…birthdays, summers or for the fall…and every time she did, I destroyed the cake. It tasted just divine. I use to share it…then I stopped sharing and got selfish; I would eat it in like 3 days. She’d be so tickled when I told her.
Every guy has that one girl that turns them out…Whipped is the term most fellas use to describe it. Well, when I was 19, I was indeed that. My ex-girlfriend had a hold on me for like a year and a half. Well, it was so bad that I was beefing with my parents and so I “moved out.” I really just left for a week. And I was over my ex’s house and I remember that my cousin was telling me that Grandmom was sick and that I ought to try and work things out with my parents because she was worried. My cousin told me that she had cancer. I called Grandmom and she told me about it but she reassured me that they caught it and she would be fine; out of sight, out of mind for me. I worked things out with my parents and ate the humble pie and I “moved” back in, but Grandmom got progressively worse as time went on. I watched her have good days and bad ones, but we were all optimistic, at least I was. I would always try to visit Grandmom as frequent as possible when she was healthy. We talk about school, life, family Down South – Cousin John, Grandmom Lottie…we’d talk about the weather, and anything else going on – Cousin Theo and his crazy situations, the kids in the neighborhood…we talked about it all. As she got worse, those visits dramatically increased. They got longer too. Sometimes we’d talk, other times we’d watch an oldie on TV Land and we’d laugh.
Sometimes in life, we foresee things and I foresaw that we wouldn’t have Grandmom around much longer, so I pretended to have an assignment for my African American Culture class, which was compiling family history as far back as we could. I did that so that I could ask my grandmother to tell me the entire family lineage without having to seem like I was doing with her death in mind. She obliged. We were in her bedroom and she sat up, and went to work…Cancer never took her mind. She was still as sharp as ever.
Seven years ago, January 10, 2003, I turned 20. I woke up from sleep and I saw my birthday card and a note on my bed from my mom. I remember the sticky note, it said, “Happy birthday, although I know it’s not a happy one.” That day is still vivid to me still. It was a Friday. Grandmom had came home from Cooper Hospital on Thursday. My Aunt came up the Saturday before to stay with my Grandmom. That Sunday night, Grandmom was rushed to the hospital. It didn’t look good at all. I remember visiting her on Tuesday. I went into her room and said my usual, “hey Grandmom” to her while trying to stay strong and she couldn’t talk; she had stuff in her mouth, but she mumble as best as she could, “hey Keem” and she smiled at me and lifted her hand. I felt so horrible. I was glad to see that she was awake and aware, but I hated to see her like that. That evening, after spending the day with her and my Aunt, Grandmom slipped into a coma I believe. That Tuesday was the last day I ever spoke to her and that she spoke to me. Back to Thursday and Friday, the whole family was at the house for those two days. Despite the circumstances, it was nice to be with family, as crazy as some of them were. I remember Friday; I was sitting in my Grandmom’s bedroom. I was at her bedside as she transitioned from this life to eternity. The hospice nurse told my aunt earlier in the day that she would pass later in the day. She cunningly said it so I wouldn’t hear although I was in the room. With a family friend and many female members of the family, we sat there to watch her last breath. Grandmom Rubie went home to be with the Lord at 7:47pm, January 10, 2003. Like we did with my Grandpop, we had two funerals for Grandmom: one in Camden and one Down South. My father and his siblings took the death hard, although they tried to front. Me, well, it hadn’t sunk in yet. Everything was still somewhat tangible; her home, her items, the scent of her bedroom, her kitchen, her car was still outside. It wasn’t until shortly after her Georgia funeral when I came face to face with the understanding that my Grandmom was gone.
It was the day of the NFC Championship – Eagles v. Buccaneers – That was the infamous game where Ja Rule and Ashanti were booed at halftime for that sorry excuse for music that could only be quantified as noise, but I digress. I was a bit annoyed because I was missing the game. I was trying to find a seat back at somebody’s house…we were back and forth between 3 houses that day…Negroes everywhere. Anyway, I went to my Aunt Eula’s house to get something to eat. All that moving and walking made me hungry. After I ate, I saw some Jelly Cake. For the first time that day, I smiled. I reasoned that this would cheer me up. I was wrong. I sat down with my piece and awaited the magic to follow. I ate the cake, and it was good, but it was not my Jelly Cake from Grandmom Rubie. It was at that moment that I knew that she was gone. I smiled and wiped the tears from my eyes. I put the cake down and walked away.
Some people thought that it was sad that my grandmother died on my birthday. I didn’t. I was honored that her last day on this side was on my day. My Grandmother represents the very best of what humanity can be. She was sweet, kind, giving, loving and she didn’t take and shit from anyone. She was a woman of faith and quiet strength. So much of me is because of her. Much of the very best of me is because of her. I wish that she was still here. I think of her often. And as I tear up while writing this, I reflect and I thank God for choosing me to be a grandchild to such a wonderful woman. I love her dearly. I miss her terribly. As I grow another year older, I think of her on our day; the day I entered this world and the day she departed from it. And sometimes, I let myself go back to 2819 Thompson Street, share a laugh and a conversation with her spirit; as I hope to continue to do so, until I join her on the other side.