1965. It’s easy, innocent what happened. “Grandmother has her ways. It’s best to do as she says. In her home, do what she says.” My mother told me.
That morning I was up want to go out and check out the library, play with friends- anything as long as I was out of grandma’s place. That day felt different. I wasn’t 11 yet but still there was an awkward feel that day. I decided I wanted to eat toast, jam, grits, scrambled eggs and tea with honey, which tasted better than sugar. When grandmother asked what I wanted I told her, and she said,
“You’re having oatmeal or cereal with milk.”
“But Mother I don’t want that. I want…”
“Phyllis, is this how you raise your children?”
Grandma said to my mother.
“He doesn’t like it, he won’t eat it.”
“He’ll eat what’s set before him.”
I know I should’ve just eaten it like I always did, but for reasons I still don’t fully understand I refused again. “Mother (Grandmother) I don’t like…”
The hand was swift. SWOOOOH, TWAP. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, but before I felt tears well up I damned them up literally and forced them back under my eye lids breathing as my mother (Phyllis) looked away.
Oh, I ate huge globs of ‘Cream of Wheat’ a box with the black man on it. For a moment I hated him, my mother, my grandma even my little brother because he’s wasn’t old enough to eat the white, sugar-buttered stuff. I didn’t hate all cereal; not Yellow Cornmeal or Quaker Oats but cream of wheat and shredded wheat.
I excuse myself and went to the bathroom, locked the door, spit out the vile stuff, washed my mouth. Then returned to eat the tiny last bit of it. Then I thanked my grandmother and kissed her.
“Wasn’t that a good breakfast?” Grandmother asked.
“Yes, motherrr, (meaning my Grandmother) it was good.”
I was fuming but kept control to escape from the place so I could spend all day and some of the night away from grandma’s.
From then on I woke up early to leave grandma’s house. I was hungry sometimes. There were free box lunches for me and other kids and when there wasn’t, better to go hungry than eat what I couldn’t stand.