Life Unfiltered - Birmingham, Alabama

I cried, laughed, and smiled while writing this one.

We all have that one family member — or two, or three — who is the real deal. No jokes. No filter. No pretending. The one in this blog was one of a kind, y’all. She loved all of us in her own way, and if you knew her, you knew she was going to be herself no matter who liked it.

I have been to Birmingham, Alabama, a few times growing up. That is where my mother, Ms. Juanita, was born and raised. My very first trip there, I remember someone drove us all the way from New York. I can still remember that trip because it was one of the first times I saw my mother’s heart break.

Somewhere along the drive, somebody had to use the bathroom. I can’t remember who it was, but I do remember we pulled over on the side of the road. When we finally made it to my aunt’s house, we all jumped out of the car, excited, ready to run around and see everybody.

Then it hit.

My mother started yelling and screaming. My uncle, whom we called Big Man, came outside to see what was going on. He was my aunt’s husband, and my aunt had already passed on by then. My mama yelled, “My got damn purse is gone!”

All the money she had saved for that trip was in that purse. It must have fallen out of the car when we stopped on the side of the road. We never found it.

But you know what? It did not even matter in the end. Our family in Birmingham took care of us like we were home. That is what family did back then. You showed up, and somebody made sure you ate, slept, laughed, and felt loved.

Now, I was probably the only one struggling down there. Between that heat and those bugs, I was losing my mind. That trip happened, and years later, another Birmingham trip came.

This time, we had already left New York and were living in Seattle, Washington. We flew what felt like forever to get to Birmingham, Alabama. I was older by then, so I thought I was ready.

Nope.

The heat was still there. The bugs were still there. And it did not help that I kept putting on scented lotion like I was going somewhere fancy. I blamed my mama for that. She taught us to take care of our skin, and that is exactly what I was doing.

Finally, somebody told me, “The mosquitoes are biting you because you smell sweet.”

This city girl was confused, but I said, “Alright,” and went dry like everybody else. By then, it was too late. I was already covered in bumps from itching like a crazy girl in my sleep.

But even with the heat, the bugs, and me fighting for my life against mosquitoes, Birmingham gave me freedom.

Just like in New York, I was able to run wild and free. My cousins were so much fun to hang with. One day, they took me to a store a few houses down from my aunt’s house. When we got there, I was confused because I did not see a corner store anywhere.

They said, “Come on.”

I said, “But this is somebody’s house!”

And guess what? The store was somebody’s house.

A little old lady named Ms. Romay had a store right inside her house. I am not sure if that is how she spelled her name, but that is how I am spelling it. We went in, and baby, as a child running wild, I was in sugar heaven.

Ms. Romay had everything.

Chips. Soda. Candy. All kinds of snacks. And that is where I fell in love with Moon Pies. Those marshmallow pies tasted so good sitting outside in the sun without a care in the world.

I know for sure that was the summer I ate a few bugs. We would sit outside laughing, playing, and running around on a sugar high all day long. Mouths wide open, laughing hard, yelling loud — yup, little city girl me ate some bugs.

That was also the summer I was introduced to Ms. Betty Wright.

Music was playing from inside my aunt’s house, and when I ran in to see who was singing, I saw my big cousin putting on a whole one-woman show. She was singing “After the Pain” word for word.

I stood there watching her, bobbing my head and rocking side to side while she sang. I don’t know if my cousin was hurt, sad, going through something, or just feeling that song deep in her soul, but she sang it like she meant every word.

Then she waved me over to dance with her.

That is when my curiosity kicked in.

Who was this Betty Wright?

From there, my cousin let me hear all the greats. I sat and listened to song after song on the jukebox. I even started remembering the lyrics. Some of those songs almost got my butt whipped too — especially “No Pain, No Gain” and “Tonight Is the Night.” That last one almost got me in real trouble when I called myself singing along.

My cousin, whom I will call by her forever name, STUFF, helped make that one of the best summers I ever had in Birmingham, Alabama, along with my other cousins. I dedicate this one to her and thank her for the music. I know she is looking down on me at times and shaking her head, saying her famous line to me. "Boo, you crazy as Hell." Yup, I always will be.

She was carefree. She spoke her mind. She did not care who understood her and who didn’t. She was going to be herself all day long.

And honestly, cussing folks out must have been in my mama’s family bloodline. They would cuss you out one minute and be laughing with you the next, like nothing ever happened. Love and cussing lived in the same room with them.

This makes me think about one night when one of my older brothers bumped into my mama’s china cabinet and broke one of her knick-knacks.

Now, my mama did not play about her knick-knacks.

The room got silent. We already knew all hell was about to break loose. My brother started crying because he knew he had messed up.

But that night, my mama surprised all of us.

She yelled, “What the hell are you crying for?”

My brother sobbed, “Because I broke your stuff.”

My mama said, “Boy, shut hell up and stop crying.”

The silence broke, and we all busted out laughing.

My mama finished getting dressed, and they all went out to party. Looking back, I think her mind was already on going out. She was feeling good, and that probably saved my brother from getting his butt kicked that night.

But that was my family. They could cuss you out and love on you right after. That was just how they were built.

As they left that night, my mama was yelling something about spending her last two dollars. She loved her some Johnnie Taylor, and she still does.

So, I will end this one with his song, “Last Two Dollars.” 

Stay tuned for my next blog.

Let’s see where my memories take me next.