Tuesday, April 04, 2006
posted by SistaGirl at 11:12 PM | Permalink
The Fighter
I was born in Connecticut, not the pretty part either. It was real life going on in Bridgeport CT. Everybody I knew lived on one street. My mothers mom lived in the building furthest up the hill, my fathers mom lived in a building somewhere in the middle next door to my aunts building and my mom and I lived in the building the furthest down the street. we called it The Terrace. I remember looking down the terrace and thinking ‘this is it’ this is as big as the world gets, I got everything I need right here’. Its funny in my young years everyone I loved and knew lived right on this street and later everyone on this street would desert me.

Bernie was always the life of the party, she could drink with the guys, talk with the girls and entertain everyone. She was known and loved by all. I always thought I had it good, no one had a mom like me Bernie was it, she sounded like Stephanie Mills, and was just as short; she was a dark skinned curvaceous woman full of confidence and grace. I wanted to be just like her, I would look in the mirror every day brushing my hair telling myself ‘girl you look just like your momma, honestly this was the best compliment I could ever get, and to this day when people see me and say just that I beem with joy on the inside, hell my momma was pretty. She didn’t have much patience though and this let to a lot of problems; with women, with guys, hell with women about their guys and Bernie didn’t take no shit from anybody. One of her fights was in the laundry room of our apartment building. My moms friend Vett was down there.

“OOO Bernie you sure did sing your ass off last night”

Bernie in her raspy voice “You think so girl? I couldn’t even tell I was dancing my ass off"

Yeah you didn’t see Al out there checking you out” I didn’t like Al, he was creepy.

“You didn’t see everyone checking me out? I even think I saw your man battin his eyes at me”

Vette “ Girl you crazy”

“alright Vette well I gotta go check on my food upstairs, don’t let nobody look in these washers and take my shit”. Yes my momma cussed in front of me, maybe that’s why I cuss like a sailor.

When we get outside the laundry room Bernie says “ alright baby, you stay here with momma’s clothes and don’t let that heffa steal my shit" I didn’t want to stay behind in that nasty laundry room with Vette, she smoked but instead of talking back and getting popped in the mouth for doing so I just said “ yes maam”

Vette was a hefty woman,a scary woman, I mean Oprah in Color Purple scary, you told harpo to beat me scary. She had bout 6 kids and them was some crazy ass nuccas, if you saw one of Vettes kids coming down the stairs you ran the other way cause they was either hungry or stank and neither of those was good. Anyway Vette heard the Ice cream truck outside and she told me to get her one of those strawberry shortcakes. Now I can remember my mothers voice saying “ alright baby, you stay here with momma’s clothes and don’t let that heffa steal my shit” but I also saw Vettes big ass telling me to get my chocolate self outside and get that ice cream and I wasn’t trying to fuck with Oprah, I mean Vette.

So I’m sittin in the laundry room with Vette, I just finished eating my Strawberry Shortcake Icecream and I’m trying to get a pebble out of my jellyshoe. Bernie comes downstairs and looks straight in the washer.

“Baby where’s my dress?”

me “huh”

“ my dress, my black strapless dress with the sparkles”

“I swear momma I don’t know”.
Just then Vette walks in and checks her dryer.

“Vette, where u been?”

“Oh I had to go upstairs and check on the kids”. She lying she don’t never see ‘bout them kids.

“Vette where the fuck is my dress”

“I don’t know what you talking bout Bernie, you losing it again”

“imma lose it upside your fuckin head Vette, what the fuck you gonna do sell it? your ass too big to get up in it”

“Bernie you trippin, you don’t need that hooker dress no how, your man ain’t even looking your way no more”


ooo why she say that. The next thing I know Bernie took the removable piece out the washer and knocked Vette upside the head, but she didn’t stop there. She started kicking Vette and talking bout how if she ever mentioned “her man” again she would get her cutting knife out and cut the pussy out of that heffer. My mom was kicking and beating on Vette so bad somehow the legs of the chairs that were chained to the floor were wrapped around Vette’s body and she was laying under the blue and red seats. In the middle of the fight my mom got Vette’s keys. While Vette was trying to put her bra back on and find her wig, Bernie was upstairs looking for her dress.

“ I got the dress Vette, you might want to find you ass another building to stay in, don’t let me see your thieving ass around here no more”. I think Vette moved, or at least she kept quiet for a while. Later I told my mom about Vette making me go get the icecream, Bernie said it was no big deal she said

“Vette was taking advantage of you being little baby, but now you know that little people get taken advantage of so you gotta be smarter than that ok”

“yes maam”

When I was little I wanted to be just like my mom, I wanted her looks, her fiestyness, and her confidence. Lately I’ve been noticing other things I’ve inherited from my mom; her lack of patience and her fight but I don’t mind being a fighter.

SistaGirl says
it's ok to be the fighter sometimes
 



10 Comments:


At 4:40 AM, Blogger nikki

being a fighter's gonna save your ass more than it jeopardizes it, fo sho.

 

At 6:30 AM, Blogger T. Cas

damn, SistaGirl, yo mama was a G. You should write more about her. It sounds like she holds an important place in your life.

 

At 9:03 AM, Blogger Carmell

i'm not a fighter...i wish i was...put i will if i have too. your mom sounds cool!

 

At 9:22 AM, Blogger Miz JJ

Your mom sounds like she doesn't take no mess. At least you learned from an early age to stand up for yourself.

 

At 10:21 AM, Blogger Bklyn Diva

damn if yo momma don't sound like mine before she found Jesus as an adult.. ;) cept my momma can't sang.. but she can HUMM THE SHYT OUTTA A TUNE :)

sup ma.. ;)

 

At 3:30 PM, Blogger chele

I grew up in Connecticut too. Also, not the pretty part ... New London -- blink and you'll miss it.

Your mom sounds off the hook. I'm not a fighter ... some say it's because I look so mean and no one wanted to mess with me. Possibly. Thanks for stopping by my spot.

 

At 4:22 PM, Blogger SistaGirl

~Nikki..being a fighter is saving my ass right now.

~t.cas..Bernie was a G for real, where you think I get it from LOL

~Koolbreeze..we dont all have to be fighters I'm sure you got that friend that will step up when needed

~miz jj..thanks for stopping by, I think seeing my mom so strong at a young age definitely impacted me. but I'll step to anyone.

~BK Diva..I'm still waiting on my mom to find Jesus

~Chele..I really like your site, always something insightful. New London isn't too far from Bridgeport, about 3 years ago I went back to CT after being gone for about 18 years and it was unbelieveable. Thanks for stopping by, I'll definitely be back to your spot.

 

At 6:56 AM, Anonymous Chelle

You need that fight in you to make it these days. One thing I've learned as an adult, is that if you don't stand up and fight for yourself no one else will.

Keep fighting! and sooner rather than later your trials will only be a memory.

I like your site...It's real and you're not afraid to tell the truth!

 

At 3:31 PM, Blogger Paula D.

Ain't nothing wrong with being a fighter! Whew, your mama don't play!

 

At 4:15 PM, Blogger BBB_0202020

Dag girl your mama is a o.g.. I lke her already!! Old school ddn't play when it came to ther men, WHEW!!!