Growing up , food used to be considered , what Grandma would always say: “ the key to someone’s soul” and then my auntie Toni would throw in with a hysterical laugh , “and if you want to keep a man you have to learn , to cook.” I remember when I was younger thinking how funny that was coming from her because my uncle ( her husband) always cooks for her.
One thing that Grandma and Aunt Toni had in common was that , they both were aware that food had a lot to do with our family culture . Even if you couldn’t make it to the family’s gatherings and you ended up having to call Grandma and tell her response was always the same , “You better bring a plate or send a plate!” she’ll scream through the telephone .
As I retrace my thoughts growing up at every family gathering, I remember my Grandma’s table being filled with all types of food partially because my family was filled with so many different ethnicities from Nigerians, Jamaicans, and Haitians. We had and still do have a lot of different backgrounds in my family. Sometimes the table would overcrowd, so my Uncle Carlos would say, to the kids running in and out, “Move out the way babe!” so that he could push a second table over.
Around the table would sit the following: My Grandma ( mother’s mother),Grandma Bee(grandma‘s mother), my aunts, my mom and some of their friends. The Kitchen was called,
“The Grown folks Area,” this meaning no younger kids allowed. You had to have experienced nearly as much as they had throughout their lives, to be considered to be grown . You had to have your own apartment, pay your own bills, have a wedding ring on your finger , and you have to had carried a child for at least 9 months .
Sometimes, my cousin and I would sneak in and crawl under the tables trying our best to eavesdrop on their conversations. Most of the time the conversations was either about someone famous, mostly Oprah or of course Denzel Washington or about someone in the family that wasn’t doing so well. I remember hearing, them talk about my oldest sister La’tasha because she was pregnant and everyone was curious as to how she planned on succeeding in school , with a baby on the way.
It wasn’t soon before my Grandma Bee, would kick my cousin and me while we were under the table and threaten to beat us with a belt or a whip . We would crawl out laughing but running for our lives.
Grandma Bae’may, wouldn’t let anyone eat until she was sure that at least everyone was there. Sometimes the house would be overcrowded with nearly thirty people or more, who probably just wanted to get their plate and get the hell out of my Grandma’s apartment. But Grandma would sit and guard the food and she’ll just say, “Ain’t nobody eating till’ my baby gets here!” She referred to everyone in the family as her baby so we never knew specifically who we were waiting on.
One night everyone waited until midnight to eat what had been cooked for nearly over eight hours. My Uncle grabbed a plate and headed for the cornbread, Grandma Bae’may dashed out in front of him like a jack rabbit and threw her arm in front of the cornbread.
Everyone looked up just scared to imagine what was next. Maybe Grandma would tell my uncle to go outside and grab a whip like she told me and my cousins , even though he was in his late thirties.
My uncle looked dumbfounded , as he stared at the cornbread that smelled of fresh wheat and said , “ Ma , I am starving , would you please? …”
Grandma looked at him and said, “ No one eats until my baby gets here!”
“ Who, are we waiting for, everyone’s here!” yelled Uncle Bruno looking around the room.
A little bit after his bold statement to grandma , the doorbell ranged and Uncle Bush all the way from Atlanta walked in, no one had seen him and years sense he had went to jail back home in Mississippi.
Grandma moved away from the cornbread and gave a smirk and whispered, “Now everyone can eat.”
Everyone rushed for the tables that looked like something from a harvest feast with; Greens, Alligator , Catfish, Lobster, All sorts of Gumbo, Coconut Shrimp, Sweet Potato Pie, Chitlings, Black Eye Peas, Peach Cobbler, Jell-O , and anything else you could imagine.
I loved it , I loved every moment of my life as a child because it was all about family, now that I’m older sadly to say it’s as if I don’t have much family left . Times have changed and so have the people , so I am thankful that I did have those family gatherings. It was at the family gatherings I learned what the history books didn’t teach me about my background , there’s no better way to learn who you are and where you’ve come from then to hear it from the people who actually brought you here in the first place. I learned what Martin Luther King was like as a person from my grandma, I learned about the great migration , and I learned about my Nigerian side and that I actually have cousins that’s trying their hardest to come to America to see me.
Did you hear that? To see me.
As I grew older , I started to learn more about death and accepting it because it seems if the more family members “passed on”, the less we saw of those good ole family gatherings which means the less we saw of each other. Which I always felt, should’ve been the other way around , the fact that we were loosing a lot of loves ones should’ve brought us closer together but we begin to drift apart. Suddenly I miss my Uncle’s voice, the old school music blasting in the backyard : Marvin Gaye, Al Green, The Temptations, The Supremes, and sometimes even Tupac Shakur, it depends on how Grandma Bae’may was feeling though.
The thing is I don’t think Grandma and Auntie Toni knew how much the food really mat to the family. It was way more than the key to someone’s soul and definitely not the way to keep a man but it was “us”, our food defined us and who we were, when we lost the family gatherings, we lost ourselves . Sometimes when I stop and remember Grandma’s voice and how much it mat to her that we all ate together, something tells me that deep down inside she had already knew that. Food isn’t the way to the soul, family is.
One thing that Grandma and Aunt Toni had in common was that , they both were aware that food had a lot to do with our family culture . Even if you couldn’t make it to the family’s gatherings and you ended up having to call Grandma and tell her response was always the same , “You better bring a plate or send a plate!” she’ll scream through the telephone .
As I retrace my thoughts growing up at every family gathering, I remember my Grandma’s table being filled with all types of food partially because my family was filled with so many different ethnicities from Nigerians, Jamaicans, and Haitians. We had and still do have a lot of different backgrounds in my family. Sometimes the table would overcrowd, so my Uncle Carlos would say, to the kids running in and out, “Move out the way babe!” so that he could push a second table over.
Around the table would sit the following: My Grandma ( mother’s mother),Grandma Bee(grandma‘s mother), my aunts, my mom and some of their friends. The Kitchen was called,
“The Grown folks Area,” this meaning no younger kids allowed. You had to have experienced nearly as much as they had throughout their lives, to be considered to be grown . You had to have your own apartment, pay your own bills, have a wedding ring on your finger , and you have to had carried a child for at least 9 months .
Sometimes, my cousin and I would sneak in and crawl under the tables trying our best to eavesdrop on their conversations. Most of the time the conversations was either about someone famous, mostly Oprah or of course Denzel Washington or about someone in the family that wasn’t doing so well. I remember hearing, them talk about my oldest sister La’tasha because she was pregnant and everyone was curious as to how she planned on succeeding in school , with a baby on the way.
It wasn’t soon before my Grandma Bee, would kick my cousin and me while we were under the table and threaten to beat us with a belt or a whip . We would crawl out laughing but running for our lives.
Grandma Bae’may, wouldn’t let anyone eat until she was sure that at least everyone was there. Sometimes the house would be overcrowded with nearly thirty people or more, who probably just wanted to get their plate and get the hell out of my Grandma’s apartment. But Grandma would sit and guard the food and she’ll just say, “Ain’t nobody eating till’ my baby gets here!” She referred to everyone in the family as her baby so we never knew specifically who we were waiting on.
One night everyone waited until midnight to eat what had been cooked for nearly over eight hours. My Uncle grabbed a plate and headed for the cornbread, Grandma Bae’may dashed out in front of him like a jack rabbit and threw her arm in front of the cornbread.
Everyone looked up just scared to imagine what was next. Maybe Grandma would tell my uncle to go outside and grab a whip like she told me and my cousins , even though he was in his late thirties.
My uncle looked dumbfounded , as he stared at the cornbread that smelled of fresh wheat and said , “ Ma , I am starving , would you please? …”
Grandma looked at him and said, “ No one eats until my baby gets here!”
“ Who, are we waiting for, everyone’s here!” yelled Uncle Bruno looking around the room.
A little bit after his bold statement to grandma , the doorbell ranged and Uncle Bush all the way from Atlanta walked in, no one had seen him and years sense he had went to jail back home in Mississippi.
Grandma moved away from the cornbread and gave a smirk and whispered, “Now everyone can eat.”
Everyone rushed for the tables that looked like something from a harvest feast with; Greens, Alligator , Catfish, Lobster, All sorts of Gumbo, Coconut Shrimp, Sweet Potato Pie, Chitlings, Black Eye Peas, Peach Cobbler, Jell-O , and anything else you could imagine.
I loved it , I loved every moment of my life as a child because it was all about family, now that I’m older sadly to say it’s as if I don’t have much family left . Times have changed and so have the people , so I am thankful that I did have those family gatherings. It was at the family gatherings I learned what the history books didn’t teach me about my background , there’s no better way to learn who you are and where you’ve come from then to hear it from the people who actually brought you here in the first place. I learned what Martin Luther King was like as a person from my grandma, I learned about the great migration , and I learned about my Nigerian side and that I actually have cousins that’s trying their hardest to come to America to see me.
Did you hear that? To see me.
As I grew older , I started to learn more about death and accepting it because it seems if the more family members “passed on”, the less we saw of those good ole family gatherings which means the less we saw of each other. Which I always felt, should’ve been the other way around , the fact that we were loosing a lot of loves ones should’ve brought us closer together but we begin to drift apart. Suddenly I miss my Uncle’s voice, the old school music blasting in the backyard : Marvin Gaye, Al Green, The Temptations, The Supremes, and sometimes even Tupac Shakur, it depends on how Grandma Bae’may was feeling though.
The thing is I don’t think Grandma and Auntie Toni knew how much the food really mat to the family. It was way more than the key to someone’s soul and definitely not the way to keep a man but it was “us”, our food defined us and who we were, when we lost the family gatherings, we lost ourselves . Sometimes when I stop and remember Grandma’s voice and how much it mat to her that we all ate together, something tells me that deep down inside she had already knew that. Food isn’t the way to the soul, family is.
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