Cherries for the Grandma

I have heard much debate about the poor, much of it threatening and angry. There is so much this country needs to know and to understand about poverty. I grew up poor. My mother raised me and my three brothers by herself. When my mother couldn't find work we went on welfare. When she could find work, they paid women, especially black women at that time, so little money that we couldn't tell the difference between welfare and work. Except that our mother wasn't home when she was working.
People talk about poverty and the poor like it's all so easy not to be poor. But I know a different story. It takes great sacrifice to work your way out of poverty. My mother used to make all of her own clothes. You couldn't raise four boys on her salary and afford to buy dresses for work. When we were young she used to make all of our clothes. She used to cut our hair. She used to make toys for us to play with out of cereal boxes.
All her life she sacrificed for us. She put off getting her college degree, and later, her Masters degree, until we were grown and on our own. And you know what? We hated being poor. We loved our mother, but we ruined her Christmases with our tears of disappointment at not getting what we wanted. And I couldn't help but be angry when my shoes had holes in them and we didn't have money to buy new ones. And I couldn't help but stare angrily when I needed money to go on a school trip and there was no money to be had.
And though there was much love in our family, being poor strained our loving bonds. We had to blame someone for our condition, and our mother was our only target. And here she was giving all she had for us. Going without lunch, walking ten blocks to catch the train because she didn't have an extra token for the bus. She couldn't afford to go out evenings or enjoy a movie. And she would come home to us four boys after working all day and there we would be, angry, with our hands out, angry because we wanted something, we needed something that she could not afford to give us.
There may be some in this country who think being poor is a matter of lack of values and determination. But I know it to be something different. You can work hard all of your life, have impeccable values and still be poor.
My grandfather was the pastor of a church in Harlem. My grandmother was a Christian woman. They were hard working moral people. They were poor. I lived with my grandparents during my high school years. My grandmother worked all of her life minding other people's children, selling baked goods, or Avon, or anything she could get her hands on to make enough money to support the house. She was a beautiful woman; kind and intelligent, and she was determined to save my soul. And I was a wild and reckless adolescent and I must admit, my soul was in some peril. And I fell in love with my grandmother, a deep, personal love that any of us would have if suddenly an angel came into our lives. And the more time I spent with her the more I loved her. She cooled my hot temper and anger over being poor and showed me there was dignity, even in poverty.
And all the years I knew her, she was never able to afford material things that others took for granted. She worked so hard and never could afford anything of luxury. She taught me how one could have a deep, spiritual love of life that was not tied to material things. This is a tough lesson to learn in a country that places so much value on materialism.
Each summer my grandmother and I would indulge in her one vice: Cherries. She loved cherries. Two or three times a week, when my grandfather was at work I would walk the mile to the supermarket and I would buy a half a pound of cherries. And my grandmother and I would secretly eat those cherries. Because they were so extravagantly expensive, they were all that much more delicious. And my grandfather, we knew, would have a fit if he knew that we were spending an extra dollar a week on these cherries. And my summers with my grandmother were measured by how good the cherries were that year. It was our little secret. And I was amazed at how much she loved cherries. And I was amazed at how expensive cherries were.
Later, when I went off to college, I would sit in my room and I would think about how much my mother and my grandmother had sacrificed for me to be there. And I would fantasize about how when I graduated and got a good job, the first thing I would do when I got my first check, in August, I would buy a crate of cherries. And it would have to be August, because our cherry summers taught us that the sweetest cherries were in August. And I would wrap the crate up in gift paper, and put a bow on it and present it to grandma. And many a night I would go to sleep in the cold winters of Brunswick, Maine, warmed by the vision of my grandmother's look of excitement when I brought her this small treasure.
Grandma died my sophomore year in college. I never got to give her all the cherries she could ever eat. And if you want my opinion, the summer of 1971, the last summer she was alive -- well, that was really the last great summer for cherries.
Poverty is tough on families in so many ways. It is not quite as simple to get out of poverty as people make out. We must be careful to make sure we build ladders so children and families can climb out of poverty. It's not an easy climb. You can climb all your life and never make it out.
And so, in thanking you for this honor, I want to dedicate my work to my mother who is here with us today in the audience. And I want to say to her --- thank you. I know how hard it was for you. I understand better your sacrifices. And to grandma who sacrificed so much for all of us, I just want to say that I know, in all I've been acknowledged for that I still haven't reached the level of love and compassion that you tried to teach me. I think you accomplished your goal, you saved my soul. And I hope they let us bring gifts to Heaven; you'll know what's in the box.