P.S. Be Eleven by Rita Williams-Garcia
“Pa,” I said.
My father had shoveled in a mouthful of rice and gravy. He looked at me, his eyebrows arched, urging me to go on.
“I got into trouble at school today.”
Vonetta and Fern “oohed.” This would be the place where Uncle D was supposed to say something funny to keep Pa from getting mad, but Uncle D just sniffled. And Pa didn’t seem too mad.
“Delphine, what did I tell you about fighting with boys? You’re too old for that.” He turned to Miss Hendrix and said, “Boys at school always teasing her.”
“Th’ain’t the problem,” Big Ma said. “Problem’s what they’re teaching at that school.”
Vonetta and Fern sang another chorus of “ooh.”
I spoke up. “I was arguing with Danny the—Danny McClaren.”
“About what?” Pa asked.
I couldn’t say the Dozens part. Not at the table. I said, “Our social studies group needed a subject, and Rukia said women running for president of the United States and Danny said—”
“Something dumb,” Vonetta chirped.
While I was busy glaring at Vonetta for interrupting me, Miss Marva Hendrix clapped her hands together and said, “That’s a marvelous subject for social studies. Right on!”
Vonetta and Fern had to say it too. “Right on!” And Big Ma scolded them for talking ghetto at the dinner table, half blessed as it was.
“Now, now, sweetie,” Pa said to Miss Hendrix, the same way he told Fern, “Now, now baby girl. Ain’t no bogeyman in the radiator pipe.”
Miss Marva Hendrix didn’t hear him “now-nowing” her. She said, “Stick to your guns, Delphine. Women belong in politics just like men.”
Big Ma said, “Women belong in their homes taking care of their families, and schools shouldn’t be teaching them any different. Who’ll take care of everything if young women are running around trying to be dog catcher and councilman?”
“You, Big Ma!” Fern said.
Everyone laughed. Uncle Darnell smiled a little.
But Miss Marva Hendrix thought she was having a discussion. She said, “There’s no better way to look out for families than to make sure the government remembers the needs of children, women, and poor people. Who better to speak for children than women?”
“The men who take care of them,” Pa said without hesitation. “The men who put a roof over their heads. Food in their mouths.” He stuck his fork in his potatoes.
“I know, I know, honey,” she said.
Sweetie. Honey.
“But sometimes men forget these things,” she said. “They think about getting more, making their empires bigger, war.”
“Tell it,” Uncle Darnell said.
But Pa said, “Some things gotta be.”
“Some things gotta change,” she said back.
They were talking to one another and not us.
“If you ask me,” Big Ma said, “they ought to stick to teaching arithmetic in schools. Arithmetic. Home economics. Reading and history. Not all this jaw-jerking about women running for president. A woman running for president. When pigs fly over Alabama.”
“Pigs in the air!” Fern said as if she could see them.
Uncle Darnell smiled. His eyes were closed.
“There are a lot of women making noise in politics,” Miss Hendrix said.
“Noise, for sure,” Pa said. But Miss Hendrix ignored him.
“There’s a lawyer named Bella Abzug. She has a good head on her shoulders and a loud mouth—and I mean that in a good way.” Her eyes twinkled at Pa.
I’d never seen a lady lawyer, but I knew what she meant about having a loud mouth. Like Angela Davis had a loud mouth. And Kathleen Cleaver had a loud mouth. She was talking about people who weren’t afraid to say things.
“Only thing Bella Abzug’s good for,” Big Ma said, “are her big old hats. Hmph. Quiet as it’s kept, she’s only wearing those hats to catch the eye of a husband.”
Miss Marva Hendrix laughed politely. She could have let Big Ma have her say or changed the subject. Instead, she said, “I’m working on the campaign to elect Shirley Chisholm to be the first black congresswoman.”
I thought, Congresswoman? Was that a real word? But I didn’t want to accuse Pa’s fiancée of making up words. Instead, I said, “You work for Shirley Chisholm?” I knew her name and saw her on the local news. But I didn’t think her campaign was for real. I didn’t think any men would vote for her. I knew my Pa wouldn’t.
“I volunteer,” she said.
Big Ma said to Pa, “Do you hear that, son? Are your ears and eyes open? Teaching foolishness in school, and bringing it home to this half-blessed table.”
It was funny. I felt one way when I sat down at the table and a different way before we had dessert. I couldn’t make up my mind about women with big mouths running for president or about Miss Marva Hendrix. I certainly didn’t know what to think about my father.
True-Blue
I shouldn’t have been surprised by the angry words that came from our kitchen. Pa and Big Ma argued a lot lately. This time, Pa’s voice was firmer. Although I couldn’t hear all of the words, I could hear what Sister Mukumbu called an “ultimatum.” Once you give an ultimatum, you have to mean it. You can’t pull back. Sometimes your “or else” is all the power you have and you can’t be afraid to do what you threaten to do.
Pa said, “He better find work,” and Big Ma said, “He’s sick.” Pa said something like, “The house is too tight,” then Big Ma said, “You can’t” and “He’s your brother.” Then I heard Pa say that having Darnell around the girls—us—wasn’t good. That was when he gave Big Ma his ultimatum: “If Darnell don’t get cleaned up, he’s got to go.”
Then Pa walked out into the dining room in time to catch me. “Delphine, that wasn’t for your ears. Go on and do your homework.”
“I did my homework, Pa,” I said, careful how I spoke up. “Big Ma told me to come peel potatoes.”
“Go on and do what your grandma asked.”
I “yessed” him and went into the kitchen. Big Ma was wiping her face with her apron.
“What you want?” she asked.
“Peel potatoes,” I said.
She’d forgotten. She had Uncle Darnell on her mind. And Pa.
“Wash your hands,” she said like she was still arguing with Pa. I didn’t tell her I had already washed them in the bathroom. I squeezed some Ivory dishwashing liquid on my palms and turned on the kitchen sink.
Having Uncle Darnell home was supposed to make us all happy. My sisters and I prayed to keep him safe when he was in Vietnam. Big Ma got on her knees every morning and prayed for an hour. Most of her praying was for Uncle Darnell.
The only thing I knew for sure was that Pa didn’t want his own brother in the house.
I knew that Uncle Darnell wasn’t himself, but was that a reason to stop loving him? Was it all right to stop loving someone you’re supposed to always love?
I didn’t know if Cecile loved us when we were born. She let Vonetta cry and cry in her crib. She left Fern before she could know Fern. She still left me even when she let me be with her while she wrote poems. And Pa. She left Pa.
All I knew about my parents was that Pa took Cecile in when she was sleeping on a park bench. They had us, and Pa painted the walls every time Cecile wrote on them. Then she left us after Fern was born. Pa wore his long face every day after that for seven years.
I think love wears out, and Papa’s love for his brother had worn out now that Uncle Darnell rattled and hollered in the night like a ghost. His bones stayed cold and his nose stayed runny. He didn’t wolf down his food or dance lame old dances like he used to. Maybe because Uncle Darnell wasn’t his whole self but was like a ghost. Maybe that’s why Pa couldn’t love him like he used to.
Vonetta didn’t notice, or she pretended she didn’t notice, but Fern had stopped clinging to Uncle D. Fern heard him hollering at night like the boogeyman howling and rattling in the radiator pipes. She was af
One day Uncle D was sort of fine and the next day he wasn’t, even though he said, “Everything is everything.” But he didn’t sing “everything is everything” like it was a Stevie Wonder tune. I think Pa knew his brother was being changed by the war when I showed him that letter back then. I think Pa didn’t want me to be afraid of my uncle or his letters. I think Papa loved him then, when he was in Vietnam, but he didn’t seem to love him anymore.
Big Ma was different. Her love was like her hate. It was true-blue. Big Ma would never love my mother. Even though my sisters and I came from Cecile and looked like her in different ways. Big Ma would not love Cecile, but she would love us, even when she was whipping us. Even when she was calling us a bunch of untrained chimps.
Big Ma would love Uncle Darnell even when he was rattling around like a ghost on her couch. Even when Papa couldn’t love him, Big Ma would. Big Ma’s love would stay true.
Change of Seasons
I felt it in my fingertips while we walked to school that morning. This November promised to be chillier than past Novembers. Leaves had already turned yellow and had fallen everywhere. Soon our classes would all file into the auditorium while we waited for our teachers to come and collect us. For now, we ran around on the playground until the lineup bell rang and our teachers stood at the head of our lines.
I couldn’t help but notice a change in more than the seasons. The clusters of girlfriend groups where I would have fallen in with Frieda, Lucy, and whoever they stood with were dotted with the Jameses. Two Michaels. Enrique. Upton. Anthony, but not Ant. I couldn’t believe it. The boys weren’t tagging girls on the back and running off, but talking with them. It felt like it was happening behind my back. Suddenly the boys were acting human and were able to be around girls without clowning or starting trouble. Not with me. Or Rukia. But they were all talking to each other. Or maybe because I noticed two or three boys talking to two or three girls, it seemed like the whole world had changed in an instant and I was on the outside watching it change. Not that I had anything to say to the boys in my class. And I had no intention of standing near Danny the K or Ellis. They kept their distance from me, which was fine by me. The way Danny the K glared at me, I could only guess his mama had given him the whipping of his lifetime the other day.
Lucy turned and saw me. She grabbed Frieda’s hand, came running over, and did a less goosey version of her Lucy-goosey dance. Frieda rolled her eyes. Then Lucy waved a card in her hand to the beat of her dance and shoved it in my face. She sang, “I got it, I got it, I got it, OW!” She was a female James Brown screaming and sliding back and forth.
There, before my eyes, was a real Madison Square Garden ticket with THE JACKSON FIVE IN CONCERT printed on it. I was both excited and turning green inside and out. All I could do was look.
“Mine is on my dresser,” Frieda said. “At home where the wind can’t blow it away.”
Lucy kept dancing and showing off her ticket. “You’ve got yours, right, Delphine?”
“Not yet,” I said, “but almost.”
“Almost? Almost?” Lucy went on as if I had said I almost had polio. “There’s no such thing as almost. Not with the Jackson Five! Girl, are you crazy?”
I didn’t see what the problem was. December was still a few weeks away. “We have half the money,” I told them.
“You better get a whole ticket,” Lucy said.
“Yeah, Delphine. They’re going to be sold out.” Frieda was almost as dramatic as Lucy, except she really cared and wasn’t showing off. “Mom made John-Isaac get my ticket. And he’s taking me.”
“And we’re sitting together,” Lucy said. But Frieda shot her a look, like she didn’t want me to know that. Lucy didn’t care.
“I have mine,” Evelyn said.
“Me too,” Monique said. Theresa and Carmen also chimed in.
Rukia said she wasn’t going. Then Lucy said no one had asked her, so I said, “It’s a free country. She can say what she wants to say.” Frieda said nothing.
I was glad we didn’t have group discussion, but instead worked silently on writing our presentations. The boys stayed on their side of the classroom—except for Ellis—and we stayed on our side. The next day we continued our work on the presidential election project. Thanks to Miss Marva Hendrix, I brought in a Shirley Chisholm button along with her leaflet. Even though Miss Shirley Chisholm wasn’t running for president, she was running for a seat in Congress. That was enough to show that a woman could hold a high office in politics. If enough men and women voted for her to be elected as our congressman, then who knew? Pigs might be flying over Alabama.
When I practiced my points and conclusion for Big Ma and Pa that night, Big Ma said she couldn’t believe they handed out grades for that. Pa said I spoke well. But neither of them said my points made sense. For the first time in a while, Big Ma and Pa seemed to be on the same side.
I showed my materials to my group. I was glad I at least had something to contribute. Rukia had so much information on the first woman governor and senators from the encyclopedia, she couldn’t stop talking. She said her mother had helped her. Mrs. Marshall was a principal at a different school. No wonder Rukia believed women could be president. Her mother ran an entire school.
Ellis had a piece of paper that he’d written his points on, but he kept it crumpled.
Danny the K had his big mouth open. “It will never happen,” he said.
The more he spoke, the more I thought, Yes it will. I wasn’t sure if I believed a woman could be president, but if Danny the K said it would never happen, I had to believe the opposite.
Danny the K didn’t dampen Rukia Marshall’s far-out thinking one iota. Rukia said, “Since you guys don’t believe a woman can run and we do, why don’t we do our presentation like a debate?”
“That’s dumb,” the K said.
Ellis shrugged.
I said, “That’s a smart idea.”
“Shut up, Stretch,” the K said.
“You shut up,” Rukia said.
Then Ellis said, “Debate. You mean us two against you two?”
It wasn’t that I didn’t think a woman could run the country. I didn’t think enough people would vote for her. There were more people out there like Big Ma, Pa, and Danny the K than there were people like Rukia and Miss Marva Hendrix.
I knew what would happen with Miss Shirley Chisholm on election night. She would run. Some people would vote for her and then she’d lose. Folks would say, “Nice try for a woman,” and “Nice try for a black woman.” Then we’d get a man for our congressman. A white man.
“We’ll slaughter them,” the K said.
“We’re prepared,” I said. “We’ll debate you under the table.”
Ellis Carter uncrumpled his loose-leaf sheet. To my surprise, he had a lot written on it.
Another Drumroll
We all gathered in Vonetta and Fern’s room as we had been doing since Pa insisted we save our money to earn our way to the concert.
“Drumroll, please,” Vonetta said.
Instead of a drumroll, Vonetta handed Fern the Jackson Five concert jar, and Fern shook it round and round so the quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies made a metal whirling against the glass, softened by a few bills. We probably wouldn’t have the best seats in the Garden, since we’d have to buy our tickets late, but at least we’d be there. So what if Lucy, Frieda, and John-Isaac bought their tickets early and had seats closer to the stage? Close enough that Jackie Jackson could spin around, stop, pose, and then point dead at them and be looking in their eyes while I’d be just another girl screaming from way, way back. Way, way high. I could still say I saw the Jackson Five live, at Madison Square Garden.
Vonetta added up our deposits on her savings chart and signaled for Fern to stop shaking the jar. “According to my tally, we’ve saved a grand total of . . .”
That was Fern’s cue to give the mummy jar another drumroll.
“Ten dollars and seventy-three cents,??
“One dollar—”
“No, Delphine! I got it. I got it,” Vonetta said. She closed her eyes to do the subtraction. “The zero becomes a ten . . . minus three, equals seven . . . and the other zero becomes a nine, minus seven . . . so it’s one dollar and twenty-seven cents!”
We cheered and jumped and sang “I’m Going Back to Indiana,” messing up the song lyrics to announce that we were going to New York City to see the Jackson Five at Madison Square Garden. We couldn’t make those words fit no matter how hard we tried, but that didn’t stop us from squeezing, dropping, and rhyming the words.
We danced until Big Ma told us to stop that noise-making “like a herd of stampeding hippos.” That we should use that energy for praising the Lord. And that was enough to start the other two praising Jesus for helping us to save and I fell in with them, praising and stomping. Then Big Ma said, “That’s not the meaning of ‘Jesus saves.’” But it was too late. “Jesus saves for the Jackson Five” was the only praising going on in our room. Even Big Ma had to laugh.
We had soon worn ourselves out and I heard the rumble of the Wildcat. It needed a new muffler that Pa said he didn’t have money to fix. I think Pa just liked the way the Wildcat growled and rumbled like a crouching animal about to strike. I think Pa liked his Wildcat just fine.
I looked out the window. Pa and Miss Marva Hendrix were coming up the steps. He carried a large suitcase and she carried a smaller one. Their hands were joined.
When I opened the door, they stood there smooching on the porch. I was flustered and went to close the door, but they broke apart and Pa said, “No need for that.” He was smiling and I felt stupid. “Go on to the car and grab a box from the backseat.”
I didn’t run to the car like he told me. I just stood there. Miss Marva Hendrix kissed me on the cheek, then followed Pa.