Wisdom Seeds by Patrice Johnson Page A

Mom swore she didn’t need any help with Thanksgiving dinner, I was looking forward to helping her.
    She was sitting at the table writing a grocery list when I came into the kitchen with Joshua on my hip.
    â€œWho’s Grandma’s baby?” She stopped writing and extended her arms to Josh. He reached for her. Sometimes I felt like he loved her more.
    â€œHave you heard from any graduate programs yet?” Mom asked as she sat Josh on her lap.
    â€œNo, not yet.”
    â€œHave you mentioned leaving to your dad?”
    She knew I was consciously waiting to get accepted and make final plans before telling him anything. I shook my head no. The anticipation of being on my own with a new baby was overwhelming by itself; I didn’t need any daily reminders from my dad that I brought this on myself because of my sin. “I don’t think he’ll take it too hard.” I put Josh in his high chair and began to feed him.
    â€œHe’s going to miss you and Joshua.”
    I never responded or looked at her.
    â€œHe really loves you Dani, he just wants you to have the best.”
    â€œAnd to be a good little preacher’s daughter.”
    â€œNo, to be a good Christian woman and mother.”
    â€œAnd somebody’s wife.”
    â€œAnd somebody’s wife. Joshua needs a family.”
    â€œI am his family. I’m all he has and all he needs.”
    â€œYou’re his mother. He has us, too, but he needs a father.”
    Mom was right, Joshua needed a father. Who would want me? A spoiled woman. My dad always said that women with kids, like Tashika, get knuckleheads, like Noah. No knuckleheads and no more Gregory’s. If necessary, I would do this alone.
    Joey and Stormy arrived the Wednesday evening before Thanksgiving. Mom opened the door and hugged Joey as if she never wanted to let him go. He was her baby boy who used to play her favorite hymns while she sang.
    â€œAnd how is Grandma’s princess?” Mom hugged Stormy.
    â€œFine,” she smiled taking off her coat. “My mother said to tell you and Pap Pap Happy Thanksgiving.”
    She had grown up so much since the last time I saw her. Stormy had Joey’s smile, mannerisms and engaging personality. Her hair ballies were coordinated with her red corduroy jumper and her peppermint stripped Peter Pan shirt. The white tights clung to her skinny legs and her black patent leather Mary Jane’s looked liked they had been shined with Vaseline. For seven years old, she was quite a young lady.
    â€œAunt Dee Dee,” she said hugging me, “where’s the baby? Daddy said you have a baby!”
    â€œHe’s sleeping right now, but you can come upstairs and see him.”
    â€œCan I hold him, please? I know how.”
    â€œWhen he gets up,” I promised her.
    Joey smiled as he watched us. “Looking good, baby sis.” Joey hugged me for the first time in years. “Congratulations and all that.”
    Holding back tears, I said, “Thanks.”
    Joey seemed taller than I remembered. His perfectlymaintained Afro was now gone. He looked like my dad in his tapered haircut. Just as I remembered, he wore khaki pants with loafers. He always liked the preppie look, even before it became fashionable. It was good seeing Joey and I hoped he had felt the same anticipation about seeing me, too.
    My relationship with my brothers had, for the most part, been superficial while we were growing up. Both of them left the house before my sixteenth birthday. Joey moved to California after he graduated from high school and when his money ran out, he went to New York. He was in search of fame and ended up being a favorite at the small clubs in Harlem. He attempted college but said it wasn’t him – so he quit. He has been the director of the Community Youth Center in Brooklyn for three years and loves his job.
    Joseph also collected girlfriends. He had at least twenty that I knew of and has lived