Return to Your First Love - Chapter 1

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Chapter 1 Origin of Love Born in Chicago, Illinois on January 19, 1966, I was the second of five children and the eldest daughter. When my parents brought me home from the hospital, I didn't have a first name for two full weeks after I was born. To this day, my birth certificate does not have my first name on it. People warned me to have this bureaucratic glitch corrected to avoid problems when I become a senior citizen. I must admit this has not been high on my list of priorities. My family is large, and plenty of people in this world can vouch for who I am. Besides, my husband has a bigger problem; the first name on his birth certificate is Alexandria! My mother told me how her sisters debated among themselves about what to name me. My Aunt Lynn wanted my name to be Venus. My understanding is, Aunt Lynn didnt just want to name me, but also offered to adopt me. She already had a son, but I guess she still wanted a daughter (but maybe wasn't willing to go through the motions). Aunt Shelly wanted to name me Jennifer. In the end, after consulting with his sisters, my dad had the final verdict; my name would be Teresa. After hearing this story, I couldnt help but think, Is Teresa the best they could come up with? I vowed never to name a daughter of mine Teresa. My siblings would often tease me about my name, implying that it lacked luster and prestige. You have the worst name of the group! they would often exclaim. Ironically, I was the only child my father named. Later in life, I discovered my name literally means, Reaper in Greek and Generous Giver in Italian. According to the book, Whats in a Name? the character quality or Godly characteristic meaning is Industrious, with my suggested lifetime scripture verse being Psalm 18:32, The God who girds me with strength and makes my way perfect. Perhaps my dad was onto something after all. I grew up on the South side of Chicago in the Woodlawn neighborhood with my parents and siblings. Those that are familiar with the Chicago area consider Woodlawn to be on the low end, at least it was during the time I grew up there. Today, Woodlawn is slowly but surely making a comeback and like most US inner-city areas, Woodlawn has seen the worst of days and is going through a massive phase of reconstruction. Formerly, rundown apartments are now newly remodeled condominiums. I have ambivalent feelings toward all of this. On one hand, I welcome the aesthetic view of new and clean properties with manicured lawns in contrast to old dilapidated buildings layered with graffiti and streets blanketed with trash and broken glass. On the other hand, I regret that I won't be able to show my children how I grew up, especially since my husband, and I value the importance of remembering our humble beginnings.

Father My father JT was born and raised in Midway, Alabama. One of 14 children, he had three brothers and ten sisters. My father had a strong sense of responsibility at an early age. When he was twelve years old, my grandfather took him out of school to handle the family's business affairs, such as paying bills and trading crops raised on his familys farm. I recall Dad telling me how he would hook a horse up to a wagon filled with goods for bartering so that he could purchase items needed at home. He would travel across several miles away from home at the tender age of 12. I could not imagine. My dad grew up in a very strict environment, which didnt sound nurturing. He and his siblings did what they were told and didn't dare to ask questions or even sigh because the consequences were detrimental. My father told me that his father would use a piece of leather about two inches wide and two inches thick to beat him with for discipline. One day Dad mustered up the courage to challenge my grandfather when he was in the process of beating my father, he grabbed the strapped and told my grandfather never to beat him again. My grandfather didnt beat him after that, but he had other methods of punishment. Growing up, my Dad was had a great love for dogs. My grandfather shot my dads dog because it killed one of the chickens. I am certain my father was heartbroken. Knowing my dad, he probably held it in. Dad always said he didnt want his children to have bad feelings toward him, the way he felt about his father. My dad never punished us in the extreme manner that he received. In fact, I cant recall ever receiving a beating from my dad (I was the only child that didnt). We seldom saw a compassionate side of my father, unless he had been drinking, which became a way of life for him. My dad rarely showed affection. Surprisingly, he did have a sense of humor and would occasionally joke with us. He usually kept a stern front, not letting anyone see what was going on inside. This is a trait he would bestow to his children. I was 25 years old before I ever saw him cry. Most of what I have learned about my fathers past has come from information provided by other relatives. I was 17 before I knew my father's real name because my relatives always called him JL. When I was a child, it never dawned on me to ask why, but one of my aunts informed my sisters and me that they called my dad J. L. because his name is Johnny Lee. She was surprised that we didn't know of the mistake on his birth certificate. I recall overhearing my aunts making the comment, Who does he think he is some kind of VIP or something? Although I was always very inquisitive, I never asked him why he never shared that with us because as far as I was concerned, no excuse would suffice. This might seem strange to most, but if you are from the South, or familiar know the ways of the South, you also know there is an unspoken code of silence. Maybe he disliked his name as much as I disliked mine. My grandfather didnt beat my father anymore, but my grandmother gave him his last beating when he was 22. We never found out why, but that same year he left home and went to Rochester, New York with only 10 cents in his pocket, which he used to call a cousin to come get him from the bus station. The escalators fascinated him, since he had never seen them in rural Alabama, so for sport he rode up and down a few times. Dad was under the impression that everyone that lived in the city wore suits to work every day. He figured he would also get a job that required a suit. However, he would find himself picking apples for a living. He didnt stay in Rochester long before migrating to Chicago. His father had left Alabama for a while to make more money in Chicago and Dad figured my grandfather could put a good word in for him to get hired, since was already settled and established in Chicago, but this never happened. My father never shared the reason with us. Southerners had many subjects that were taboo. While in Chicago, my father attended his cousins wedding, there, he met my mother who was the maid of honor in her sister Lynns wedding. One of my relatives mentioned that my father thought my mother was one of the prettiest women he had ever seen. Shortly after, there were arrangements made for them to meet at my Aunt Lynn's house and the rest is history.

Mother My mother Alice was born and raised in Gallion, Alabama about 120 miles from Birmingham. She was one of nine children, with five brothers, and three sisters. Its my understanding that my mother has been quiet and reserved all of her life, and she is even less affectionate than my dad. In our home, the love was just understood. My mother is withdrawn and its almost impossible to strike up a conversation with her. I really dont recall her socializing much with others outside of her family, and she really didnt have any friends except for a few she grew up with in Alabama. For some reason, she is very distrustful of people; a trait passed on to all of her children in varying degrees. Like my father, she grew up in a rural area, on a farm, where the family grew most of their food, and raised cotton for a living. My mother picked more cotton than any of her sisters, either because she worked harder, or because she was not likely to complain. My mother never makes a big deal out of material possessions, and she is not hard to please. She appreciates everything that people do for her, and she has always been a very generous person, in spite of her financial condition. She is one of the few people in the world that would literally give you the shirt off her back if she believed you needed it. The downside to being this way is that some people will try to take advantage of you. It took a lot for her to be pushed too far, strike back or vent, except when it came down to her children; especially me. My mother never asked much from life, and life didnt offer her much either. Perhaps that was just my take on her situation because the Word of God tells us a tree is known by the fruit it bears. From that respect, looking from the outside in, most people would consider my parents rich. Unlike my father's upbringing, mother was required to at least graduate high school. She mentioned how her father wanted all of his daughters to attend college, but could only afford to send my Aunt Lynn, who was then able to put her youngest sister, Aunt Maria through college. At age 19, Mom left Gallion to reside in Birmingham briefly before moving to Chicago. She lived there with relatives and worked as a maid, which was common for a black woman at that time. Shortly after turning 20, she met my father and they married in August 1961. JT The oldest of the five of us is my brother JT. Mother chose to name him after our father. As I study the Bible, in particular the Old Testament, it resonates with me that the people during that time gave careful attention to naming their children. Names often reflect the character of an individual. With that said, from a spiritual perspective I cant help feeling there is something wrong with using initials to name someone; a name gives us our identity. While looking through old photos of JT, he was one of the most beautiful babies Ive ever seen, with a glow that caused you to zoom in on him, no matter who else was in the picture. Growing up, JT was very timid when it came to dealing with his peers, but was very mean to his brothers and sisters. He tried to push me down a flight of stairs when I was a baby in my stroller. My grandmother said once when I was two, she was in another room and suddenly heard me scream, when she asked my brother what happened, he replied, JT slapped her! When my mother would take us all to the grocery store, JT always chose Honeycomb, which was his favorite and none of us dared to challenge him. He also claimed an old lounge chair in the living room as his chair, and we immediately gave up the chair when he said, Move! My younger brother had the guts to challenge him sometimes but JT would turn the chair over to throw him out. Unfortunately, JT would not take charge of his life outside of the home as he would with us. Years later, this would be to his detriment.

David My brother David was the third born child. The literal meaning for David is Beloved and our whole family loves David dearly, but I feel some members are overly concerned about receiving his love and approval. I have noticed in families with an odd number of children the middle sibling tends to be an interesting character and my family is no exception to this. The best way to describe my brother would be, thorn in my side. It wasn't always this way between us; we were like peas in a pod. We shared more childhood experiences together than with the other siblings and attended elementary and high school together because we are close in age. Our relatives said that when we were small children, I watched over David like a hen watching over her little chicks. I recall functioning in a dual role as big sister and junior mom to all of my younger siblings. When I was four and David was two, we lived with my maternal grandparents for seven months in Alabama. Unlike my brother JT, David and I would get tired of the bullies picking on us and decided to fight back together. I recall a letter that David wrote to me while he was in the service, telling me how he considered me both his big sister and big brother while we were growing up. One time he and I fought four boys together. We didn't win, but we didn't lose either. We actually held our own. For the most part, David and I were inseparable. People still say, including David and my husband, that we are very much alike in many ways. I wonder where we went wrong.

Leslie My sister Leslie was the fourth child born. The literal meaning of Leslies name is Consecrated One. Leslie is the one that all my siblings have set apart. I was four when she was born and still remember the day my parents brought her home from the hospital. She was a very fussy baby that day and my brothers and I stood around her crib trying to console her. However, the beginning of her life would not be a reflection of her latent personality growing up. She was a warm individual and like David, I took Leslie under my wing too. The first time she went outside to play, I escorted her. I was responsible for taking her to and from school. I provided most, if not all, the assistance in helping her plan for the major events in her life, such as the prom, wedding day, and her first baby shower. You see, my mother was very reserved and didn't get excited about these special occasions in a womans life, so I took charge. I considered Leslie the peacemaker in the family because she was always the go-to-person, the arbitrator when there was discord. I was never able to confide in, or reveal my deepest thoughts to any of my immediate family members (due to the risk of being put down or ridiculed), but I could find an occasional safe haven for my concerns with Leslie. I am sure this feeling was mutual among all of my siblings. I saw Leslie as the calm in the midst of our storms. Over the years, this view of Leslie has changed, and I feel she has now conformed to the status quo. Where I used to be able to identify her by those special characteristics and qualities that she brought to us, she has turned into a foreigner that landed in our family. Most of the time it feels as if I don't know who she is anymore.

Tiffany My youngest sister, Tiffany, was the last child, born when I was eight going on nine. When my mother went into labor, we spent one night with each of my aunts while she was in the hospital. Its funny how a song has a way of transporting you back in time. When Will I See You Again? by Diana Ross, was playing on Dads car radio when he picked us up from my aunts house to welcome our new little sister into the world. This song always reminds me of the day she was born. We call her Tiff for short and the literal meaning for Tiffany is perfection. Thinking of Tiffany and her life makes me realize that she has lived up to her name. She was always the best dancer with me ranking next to last in this category among my siblings. Growing up, she probably had the most normal childhood experiences of us all. She excelled in high school and actively participated in extracurricular activities. She dressed well, and was popular and was even allowed to have a boyfriend. Imagine that! When she graduated from college, she earned herself a spot in the Who's Who of College Graduates, and went on to obtain her Masters degree. Just like my other younger siblings, she once occupied a spot under my wing, I used to take her everywhere with me. One Christmas Eve, I took her to work with me for the office Christmas party and later went to another party, and we had a great time that day. She taught everyone the latest dance called the Freddie Kruger. Tiffany was only nine going on ten and my father got very angry with me for keeping her out so late, especially on Christmas Eve. Sometimes Tiffany makes choices for herself that are less than perfect to say the least and my concern is that if she doesn't turn her weaknesses around, she will cancel out all the years of good accomplishments she worked so hard for. She once told me that she was not going to mess up her life the way I did, but Sometimes, I fear she is on a collision course toward something worse.

My Relationship with My Family You may have gathered by now that I don't have the best relationships with my family members. My family could be used as a dictionary reference for the definition of a dysfunctional family. But then again, I personally don't know anyone with a normal family. If I have a special bond with any of my family members, that would be with Dad. Close family and friends would describe me as Daddy's girl, but even that relationship has hit a few speed bumps here and there. To this day, I don't feel at liberty to reveal my deepest thoughts and dreams, and have always had to vent outside of my family. I know they love me, but they did not offer me emotional support, and I learned early to be independent financially, emotionally and spiritually. In many ways, I merely existed physically in my family.

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