But God...

My Beginnings I can remember growing up in the Lincoln Projects in Harlem in New York City. My mother was a diabetic and remained at home. My father worked as a longshoreman on the docks in Brooklyn, New York. I was the middle child. My sister, who had a different father, is fifteen months older than I; my brother, with whom I share the same father, is three years younger. My parents belonged to a holiness church. I went to church on Tuesday evening for Bible study, Thursday evening for missionary service, Friday evening for youth service, and all day Sunday for Sunday school at 10:00 a.m., morning worship at 11:00 a.m., and Sunday evening service at 7:00 p.m. I believed that everything was a sin. I was not allowed to wear pants, makeup, or jewelry. When I turned eleven years old, my mother looked at me in my short pants and said, “You are getting to old to be wearing pants.” That was the last time I wore pants, until I became an adult and left home. School Days I can remember my first day in Kindergarten. My teacher’s name was Mrs. Stevens. I was five years old and had never been separated from my mother. Kindergarten was only for half a day. The first day, I cried incessantly and refused to associate with the other students. Mrs. Stevens gave me a lollipop and said I could spend the day with her. After several days, I soon became acclimated and interacted with the other students. Mrs. Stevens discovered that I knew how to read. I was placed in a first grade classroom. I enjoyed my time with the other first graders. Even though I spent many months of my Kindergarten period in a first grade class, I still was promoted and had to spend another year in the first grade. During my second grade year, my teacher and I got into an altercation. She was Caucasian and often not very kind to me. I can only remember my mother writing a letter and gave it to me in a sealed envelope to give to my teacher. After reading the note my mother wrote, my teacher was furious and sent me to the principal’s office. I saw the assistant principal; she asked me which first grade class I would like to be in. I responded, “I am in the second grade and would like to remain in my class.” The assistant principal granted my desire and said I was not to ever bring in a note like that again. Until this day, I have no knowledge of what was written in that note. I know my mom made comments that my teacher often came to work drunk. I was just happy not to be put back into a grade I already passed. When I was in the fifth grade, I was placed in a special class along with several other students who were very bright. I can remember my teacher’s face; her name was Mrs. Richardson. She was very stern. She always used to say, “If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.” This saying has resonated within me, I often find myself saying the same thing. I went to an all girls junior high school. I joined the glee club. I can remember one of the participants in our group being thrown off the stage during a performance. I don’t remember what Penny did, but I can remember the director, Mr. Scott, yelling at her, “Get off; get off now!” I thought it was pretty embarrassing. I attended Julia Richmond High School my ninth grade year. My music teacher believed I had a nice voice and encouraged me to try out for the High School of Music and Art. She taught me an Italian song, Caro Mio Bien. I was accepted and spent the next three years in Music and Art High School. I was told that Diahann Carroll was the first African American to attend this school. This was the first time I made a white friend. Her name is Frances. She even spent the night at my home. My family and I were then living in the Polo Grounds. This was a new project at the time. I saw Willie Mays in person when he came for the dedication of the new buildings. Frances’ parents even visited our church when my mom invited them. That was the first time we had white folks in our church. I visited her home in Riverdale. It was like a project building, but the apartment was much larger than mine.