No ways tired

Man. Ol negro spiritual church used to be sooo depressing to me. I don't know why, but I feel like sharing with y'all. So shut up and listen, LMAO. Naw, not for real. Anyways, when I was little, my folks and I went to this church called Friendship Primitive Baptist Church. It had been around for an eternity, and my granny was one of the ol' school founding members (or whatever they were back in the 1930's), so naturally we were there too. Moms went there, Pops went, we all went. Hot as hell, stuck there until about 2:30, only for it to be a 3:00 service afterwards. Not fun for an 8, 7, and 5 year old. The only fun I'd have was listening to the old ladies hum. I'd sit behind the Mother Board row ('cause my granny was on it and I wanted to sit by her), and wait for the preaching to get good. Soon them old ladies would be tapping their heels on the floor like some kinda pew-tap-dance chorus line. Then they'd get to fanning with those mortuary fans. Then there'd be the first "Well". Only it didn't sound like "Well." More like "Whaaallll....hmmmm...yeaaahs Lawd!" All that meant, "yeah, I dig what you're yelling, Elder Mathis." Anyway, that was my only entertainment when I was 8. Each old lady had their own hum too. I can't mimic it in words, you had to be there. I had my granny's down cold. I'd wait for her to fan herself all frantic, smack my sister (to let her know it was goin down), and I'd do it right on cue. "Hmmmm, mmmmm.... Yaaahhhhs, Lawd, mmm-mmmm-mmmm... Yaaaaaa-hhhs Yaaahs. Hmmm-mm-mmmmm." And I'd have a fan, and I'd be cutting up. Needless to say, I got smacked up a lot before I passed the torch to Nisha and Jr, who also found the old lady chorus as hilarious as I did. Good times. Little did I know that things like that would be the only stuff to get me through some days. See, them old ladies had a faith that could shake the foundations of Heaven. Whether serving us bad asses some hot dogs, teaching Sunday school, shooting the "evil eye", or beating us down, they did it for the Lord. The hilarity of it has ironically become obsolete, as I hear the voices of my granny and her homegirls praising God like some runaway slaves. At 8 years old I didn't understand how hard their lives were, how they looked forward to being at church all day (and I mean ALL DAY) because that was their sanctuary from the opression that still existed for Black women, the fact that a lot of the Mother Board had played (and some still were at the time) nannies, live in maids, beat-down housewives (some of them ol' Brothas were INSANE), and all other "Mammie-ish" roles daily to get by. They'd show up First Sunday in all that white, and get down for the Lord. That was what they had. That got them through. Twenty some years later, after many of them have passed, I've declared myself a non-denominational Christian. I haven't been to Friendship since the scandals started. Mom's had had enough at that point and so had granny. But all this time later, I still remember. And it still gets me by. I'm nobody's Mammie. I don't scrub shit that I don't want to, aside from the rims on my car. I don't sit in the back of the bus... Hell, I ain't seen the inside of a bus in years. I can stay home sick from work and still have a job. I don't iron with starch, and I wont get beaten if the creases ain't sharp. I don't have 7 kids on a $25 grocery budget in Watts, CA circa 1960. But they did. They did so I (and my spoiled ass contemporary counterparts) wouldn't have to. I don't think I could ever explain how much those old women mean to me now, what they did for me just by humming and singing with such zeal on Sundays. At 25, I can feel their determination, their passion that someday things would be better. Now, when I need that same determination, I have it. It is thanks to them. My granny will never really know, no matter how I try to explain to her. She just smiles and says, "Well Marie, thats how Jesus wanted it." I hear them singing, "I don't feel no-ways tired, come too far from where I started from. Nobody told me, the road would be easy. I don't believe He's brought me this far, to leave me." As tired, lazy, over-worked, and sick as I feel, it ain't shit compared to what those women endured. When I compare their lives to mine, you're damn right I'm gonna go to work sick. Hell yeah I'm gonna pay those college loans and try to do better for myself. I owe it to them. I owe it to Mother McQuein, Mother Beatrice, and the other ladies whose names I've forgotten. I owe it to my Granny to make something of myself. They did it with so much less, I have no excuse. Nobody said it would be easy.