Tee-Wee

My dad came home from a morning hunt with the news that our former maid and nanny had passed away this morning at the age of 92. He went by her house to take her some deer meat and got the news from her foster son, Calvin.

Some of my earliest memories in life are of Tee-Wee. We moved to Russum, Mississippi when I was 3 years old, my brother 2, and my sis was still an infant. Daddy hired Tee-Wee to help my mama and to take care of us during the day. My brother would bang on the table with his fork and spoon, demanding that Tee-Wee make him "battercakes." She never failed to oblige. Those hands that could wring a chicken's neck in seconds, gently wiped away tears when we fell prey to ordinary childhood hurts. Tee-Wee could not pronounce my sister Tammy's name so she became "Tangy baby."

Like most folks around there, we struggled to make ends meet. Tee-Wee and her husband, John, gave us free rein of their fields of corn and peas. They brought us baskets of blackberries in season. In return, we took them to town to get groceries, and when boycotts threatened, we did their grocery shopping for them. In that much simpler time, despite the racism of other places, tiny Russum was an oasis. If we recognized someone, black or white, walking to town, we offered them a ride. If we had plenty, we shared. Everybody looked after everyone else's kids. Race simply was not an issue there.

Tee-Wee's passing is more than the passing of a person. It is the passing of an era.

An era that I miss.