Mom's Birthday Cake 2008

Today is my Mother’s birthday.

Just typing that makes me want to cry. I want to share some things about her (you, Mommy), if you all don’t mind…

I know it’s cliche’ to talk about your Mother and to say how special she is; but I really don’t know a more beautiful person than my Mother. She just exudes beauty and I honestly don’t know how I will ever be able to measure up to her radiant light, her open heart, her forgiving spirit, deep compassion and active, unconditional love.

Ms. Freda in the Hill by Erin Perry (photographer)

Allow me to share a few examples.

You see, my Mother is not like Janie’s grandmother in Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God. She has never, ever pulled my horizon in. She never specifically told me to “jump at de sun” (like Zora’s Mom did) either but every decision she has ever made regarding my life has been undergirded by that philosophy. I cannot think of one dream I have ever shared with her after which she said “no” or tried to convince me to dream a different dream.

My mother is the only one of six children who went to college. I have never been able to fully accept her explanation that she got through Fordham University by rewashing one set of pantyhose; but I don’t hold it against her. I don’t know what (other than a burning desire to learn about the world) would have given her the drive to get to New York City from Pittsburgh and to live her dream of higher education. My grandmother, her mother, had a fifth grade education and she worked as a janitor down at the City County building. She certainly valued education and she was quick-witted and street smart; but she was also very poor and, somehow, managed to raise six children. I can’t…

My mother let me choose which high school I wanted to attend. She allowed me to visit the schools I was interested in and to make my choice. When I chose an all-girls, private, Catholic School (mostly because some of my closest girlfriends were in attendance there and the public school I thought I wanted to attend scared the crap out of me upon seeing students smoking weed in the locker room and the big fight that occurred outside that day), I watched my Mother produce deep sighs as she signed those quarterly checks to keep me in school. I repaid her by getting good grades and becoming a revolutionary. High school was challenging, frustrating, depressing and exciting. But I went to one of the best colleges in the country and barely paid for it, so the hopes and dreams encompassed in those sighs were, at least, realized. I’m still way too comfortable wearing the same clothes week after week but that’s another story for another day. Damn, you, Catholic school uniform! Damn you!

As supportive as my Mother has been throughout my life, I was still a bit nervous when I called her up one day and said, “Um, Mom… I only applied for a few jobs this year because I don’t want to live in the boonies anymore… and, um, I was thinking that if I don’t get any of those jobs, you know I’ve been working on this show and, I don’t know, Mom, something is just telling me to take a chance and, well, do you think I could move back home so I can save money and just try it out?”

Without hesitation, she said, “Oh, okay, Honey, yes…”

Mind you, I have a Ph.D. at this point and I’ve made more money in my yearly salary than she ever had. Why would she let me commit class suicide like that and let me go for broke?

Because my Mother is great, that’s why.

And she puts the “S” in Supportive and the “T” in Team. When I needed help organizing my display table, she was there. When I needed someone to come shopping with me to figure out office supplies and concessions, she was there. When I needed her to pick up costume supplies or go to the cleaners, she was there. She was the one who came early with me and stayed late. She helped me pack my tiny Honda with my theatrical necessities and helped clean up after the shows. She called up family members and reminded them that they needed to buy tickets (or just show up, especially after the time I foolishly booked shows on Easter Weekend and, literally, no one showed up). She was there for me, as a supportive team member and as audience development. Curiously enough, she was there for me as she was there for her brother when she gave him the $20.00 to purchase his first typewriter and he became a world famous playwright.

The Fam at the Opening of August Wilson's final play, "Radio Golf" on Broadway

That’s just who she is. She is your number one cheerleader and will dream for you, sometimes larger than you can dream for yourself.

My Mom (in the red, to the right of the podium) at the Pgh Obama Rally, 2008. She's an Obam Stan and it's really embarrassing...but also kinda cute. Kinda.

I’ve had other jobs since I first moved back home (and brought all of my junk with me) but the year I decided to strike out on my own as “Dr. Goddess”, to learn how to be an entrepreneur and jump off the academic hamster wheel called “Publish or Perish,” remains one of the best years of my life. I wish I had known it would take five more years (at least) to realize the full potential of starting my own company, etc., but it is now six years later and I don’t regret a thing.

Even in 2009, which I (perhaps mistakenly) call “My Year of Epic Failure”, my mother was there for me after every big gamble, every major mistake, every embarrassing moment and every time I could not come up with the cash to pay one bill or another. I owe her so much…

No, really. I owe her so much. But I intend to pay her back as well. I just know 2011 is the year for me to fully realize everything I have been working on.

But being my loan shark is just one of my mother’s great talents, which brings me to “Ms. Freedom”. I have a niece whom, at 2.5 years old, misheard the phrase, “Say hello to Ms. Freda” and said, “Hi Ms. Freedom!” We thought it was the cutest thing ever, especially since my niece is a beautiful, blossoming revolutionary herself, so it became a family joke to keep calling my Mother, “Ms. Freedom.” My niece is now 15 years old.

But I’m sure one of the reasons why the name stuck is because she IS Ms. Freedom! I can’t think of anyone else who seems so pleased to see other people happy and achieving their goals. My Mom has been an English teacher; but she also taught at Computer Tech, a company no longer extant, for over a decade. As a child slave, I used to come down to her job after school where she secured a job for me stuffing envelopes. I remember how excited I was when I earned my first $100. I can also still remember the taste of glue; but then again, nobody told me to stop using the wet sponge.

When Computer Tech went bust, she started teaching at Community College of Allegheny County. Lawd, she taught all over that college; but I remember her teaching at the Downtown Campus the most. Typing, Word Processing, Data Entry, Intro to Computers, you name it, my mother taught it. And out of the sheer and complete boredom of hearing her repeat, “F-G-F space, J-H-J space,” I decided to actually learn how to type instead of sputtering my fingers across the keyboard, trying to mimic the sound of 40 words per minute. I was so young, first learning how to type. I wasn’t even out of the eighth grade; but Typing Class was the only class in high school where I received a score of “100″. Who gets an absolute perfect grade in high school? I Do! And why? Because I have a perfect Mom!

Further, I can remember the flurry of cards, letters and pictures flooding our mailbox with, “I just wanted to say ‘Thank You’” from hundreds, if not thousands of students whom had learned how to type, how to interview, how to secure that job, how to get that promotion, how to enjoy that raise. Everywhere I go, all over the city, everybody (and I do mean everybody) asks me about my Mom—and with joy in their hearts and the twinkle of fond memories in their eyes. She is the real celebrity. And I want her to know how much I am aware of that important fact. Treating other people well and respecting human dignity is the greatest source of wealth and well-being, above all. She teaches me that. I aspire to it; but she succeeds, effortlessly.

My mother is my best friend. Over the years, I’ve been blessed with alot of GREAT, fantastic and wonderful friends. They are my BFFs for life, my sisters in spirit and in struggle. But there are none greater than my mother. It’s ironic, too, because my mother is really not the type of Mother with all the answers. Indeed, she’s lived such a hard life and had so few role models or persons to lean upon, much of her life has been trial and error. She’s really not good at giving me advice about men or money or mothering, even. She doesn’t reflect back on her life and say, “Now, when you become a mother, be sure to…” She doesn’t pressure me to find a man. She doesn’t pressure me to get married. She doesn’t make me feel inadequate or give me the side eye and question my sexuality. She just sort of walks with me through life and keeps one arm around me as I navigate my way in the world and forge my own path.

My mother inspired me to travel. She navigated her way through the big apple from a small city like Pittsburgh. She traveled on a Eurail pass with my father before they got married and before they had children. She encouraged me to do the same. She used to take my brother and I to museums and shops, to amusement parks and plays, to Niagara Falls and back and forth to New York City when we were children. I love to travel because she constantly expanded my world. And every time I announce that I’m taking a new trip somewhere, be it hopping on a bus to a conference or jet setting on another adventure, she gets excited for me and wishes me well. I have taken my Mom to Ghana with me and I had to force her to let a job go in order for her to come. I reminded her, “this may very well be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” especially since I had a job and could afford to pay her way—and was elated to do it. On the day we were leaving Ghana, she hugged me, cried on my shoulder and thanked me for convincing her that a job was not worth missing a chance to travel to Ghana (which is in West Africa, good people).

And when it was time to go to China, she was my first choice. It would have been great to have others along but she was the necessary choice. We giggled together as I had her videotape me walking through The Forbidden City when I became the tourist attraction in China. I guess they had never seen the likes of me and, as I walked through the crowds, it was like parting the Red Sea. Ms. Freedom held her composure long enough to watch her daughter cause an uproar in Asia.

I’m in therapy (again) because I’m having a really hard time accepting that my mother is aging. We are a small family and the pressure to succeed, the pressure to help take care of her, to forge a protective shell around her so that her kindness and generosity are not taken for granted—is exhausting and scary.

I'm wrong for this. We were in a "big box" store and I was in a hurry, so I put my Mom in a wheelchair and whipped her around so I could shop faster. SHE insisted I take this picture. Just the fact that she would be willing to do this is just... LOL!

Like so many women, especially Black women, my mother takes care of herself last and I just don’t like that. I’ve actually been filled with rage and resentment over it. We have had many conflicts over the years that might have someone question everything positive I have said above. But rest assured, the errors have been mine, not hers.

The World of Serenity Day Spa Package was her Christmas Gift this year. She said, 'I'm a New Woman" afterwards!

My therapist shared with me that I have been mourning my Mother. I see her getting older, I see her getting a bit weaker (just a little). Every time she limps, it strikes more fear in my heart that she won’t be able to continue living her dreams. Her persistent cough scares me. I’ve noticed she doesn’t always hear me as clearly as she used to. I know I’m just being selfish but it’s hard for me to accept that my Mother is, actually, a senior citizen. I feel as if there is so much I owe her, so much I want to show her, so much I want to share with her, there are so many places we still need to go and I don’t even have any children yet! How can I rob any future children I may have of having the absolute, best grandmother in the world??!!

Mom and Me at the Umoja African Arts Fest 2010. We travel around as SisterFriends...

I wish I could have shared these thoughts with her in a much clearer manner a while back than I’m doing now because many of my concerns were expressed in a much more whiny, annoyed and even rage-filled manner (i.e. “For God’s sakes, what do I need to do to get you to the doctors??!! Why won’t you attend to your knee? Why can’t we get a second opinion???!! You can’t hear me??! Why can’t you hear what I’m saying??!!” It’s caused some major conflict between us and despite how close we are (I do and have told my Mother everything), I have disrespected her—and I am ashamed of that fact.

Yeah…

I’ve come to accept the fact that I’m probably a bad daughter and, in some ways, I’m probably a bad person. We’re supposed to honor our Mothers and our Fathers. But I am human and I just can’t stand the thought of being in the world without my Mother. In her infinite beauty, she has forgiven me every time and she continues to see me for the totality of who I am and to offer unconditional love. I am not worthy. So, instead of arguing with her, I went to therapy to try to find better ways of communicating and get to the bottom of what I have been feeling. That’s when I learned that I was mourning my mother because she is aging but then, as usual, my therapist brought it home…

Because, the fact of the matter is, she’s here. She’s right here. She’s with me. Still. Everyday. And I can choose to embrace that time or live in fear of the moment when she will be gone from this plane.

I keep that in mind these days. I made a joke out of pestering her over her doctor’s appointments and I work on approaching problem-solving with her the way I would another senior citizen in my community. I don’t want to be one of those persons who keeps hurting the ones they love, so it felt good to walk her through her online bank account, through her health records online and help draft the letter to her doctor. A part of it read something akin to, “I would like to live a quality life and grow old gracefully. I would like to continue dancing, being active and traveling with my daughter…”

Dancing with The Legacy Arts Project 2007. She takes every movement so seriously. LOL!

I get so much joy out of watching her perform African dance. She loves it!

She liked it. And I like her. We should all grow old gracefully, doing what we love to do…

Me, Mom and Mickey at the Black Theatre Network Conference at Disney World August 2008

I’m cherishing the time I have with my Mother; and I am being more proactive in helping her age gracefully and continuing to live her active, robust lifestyle. After all, she has a better social calendar than I do! I am not allowed to share her age but just know that “Good Black Don’t Crack.” She is gorgeous and she always has been, always will be. She is also very much a child at heart, as am I.

I brought in New Years, 2008, with my Mom. It was one of my best years, too. I also miss that red purse.

My Mother is a woman who dreamed a dream for herself and she’s been living it. She’s had a full life herself, had a husband, became a widow, became a do-it-yourself handyma’am who built up a house within which to raise her two children as a single parent (indeed, “She Put a Hammer in My Hand” is the name of my next play and it’s based on her life), each of whom became a doctor and a lawyer. She continues to travel, be it across the city or across the globe; and, most importantly, she continues to find joy in the little things in life and lights up the hearts and minds of anyone who crosses her path.

Today is my Mother’s birthday and I simply could not be more grateful or proud to have such a woman in my life as her.

Happy Birthday, Mommy.

Thank You so much for loving me.

Thank You for being who you are.

I look forward to sharing so much more time with you everyday, every month and every year.

I Love You.

Your Daughter,

Kimberly

Mom and Me at the Booksigning