Mothers Gardens – I am Regina Lynette

I am Regina Lynette, daughter of Donna Maria. And I have been searching for myself in my mothers’ gardens. It turns out that Mommy made me want to be a good wife, a great mother, and to homeschool my children while effectively managing my household.

Mommy was strong and independent, courageous and strategic, and determined to make her life better after every choice that she considered less than ideal. Even though she chose to marry a physically abusive man in her very early 20s, she made a better choice and left him. Even though my older siblings were latchkey kids far too young and were basically unsupervised after school because she was working several jobs to provide (food, shelter, and a Christmas performance at levels that I would never experience), she was heavily involved in my education and I was never home alone after school. I had assistance with homework and projects, and she planned out my educational path up to high school graduation with the understanding that college would follow. I had my marching orders as far as my education was concerned and I learned from her the power of demonstrating and documenting your intellect. By the way, I would never have known my older siblings didn’t have the same hands-on support from Mommy – they both exceeded my educational achievements leaving me to wonder if I would have been a disappointment to my parents.

Mommy had a natural aptitude to many things and though she dropped out of school after her first year of college, she was very intelligent. Her lack of a degree (and whatever other influences) stressed to her the importance of my educational goals, which she infused in my every thought and action from my earliest memories. She praised me and made me feel like I was the smartest person in the world with every academic or intellectual achievement no matter how small. She sent me to daycare (I didn’t do pre-school) with her own learning assignments for me – things she wanted me to already have achieved before starting kindergarten and considering I would be older than the kids in my classes (my December birthday meant I started Kindergarten at 6) she wanted me to stand out. Thankfully, the teachers and caretakers took her seriously and I was learning things no other kid my age (in my educational bubble) knew. I was reading at age three and she seemed to believe that meant I knew every word that existed. Car rides were filled with my reading every word visible – states on license plates, signs, street names, and everything in between and out. When I pronounced the ‘T’ in Chevrolet or the last “S” in Arkansas, she giggled, corrected me and we had a whole conversation about words that had silent letters – which I thought made absolutely no sense. She always tried to teach me grammar and spelling hints or rules if it applied to whatever on-the-spot learning occurred while running errands.

Me at three. God was merciful with those edges over the years.
He allowed me to keep ’em and they’re pretty strong, but they won’t lay down for all the relaxer, hot combs, and edge control in the world.

She took a great interest in my lessons and drilled me on concepts outside of the school curriculum – an expansion of the lessons. And when it was obvious that I was more advanced in some ways than my classmates in my neighborhood public school, she set about making a plan. I remember when she outlined her plan. She wasn’t talking to me directly but I was in the room and somehow I knew she was also telling me the plan and giving me directions. She was venting about my schools and how absurd the curriculum and teachers were and I felt intimidated – she thought I was the best – and I was at the top of my classes academically and physically (everyone thought I would surely be very tall but apparently I just got all my height early) – but I had doubts that I really was as smart as she thought I was and the idea of disappointing her worried me. She was upset that I wasn’t allowed to choose a book above my reading level in the school library so she took me to the public library for my reading where she approved of my books – which had to be above my current reading level. (She would have me read a couple pages and if I got through it too easily I had to find something harder.) She was utterly appalled when she found out I was allowed to administer spelling tests in second grade because I’d make perfect scores on the pre-tests (a quiz on a list we hadn’t been presented with or studied in class beforehand). My teacher didn’t know that with my parents I studied my whole spelling book in the first couple weeks of school, noting the words I didn’t already know and studying them. My teacher asked me how I managed a perfect score on words I supposedly had never seen before. She was disappointed to know I studied ahead of the current lesson at home – like I was cheating in some way. She proceeded to drill me on the hardest word in each lesson going forward until I missed a word. Then somehow she seemed both pleased that I missed a word and that I knew almost all of the words (but how could I know what she was feeling since she didn’t say and I didn’t ask).

The first three years of my public school education were spent at Fairley Elementary School.

By the time I was starting third grade Mommy used someone else’s address to get me into a school that had an Optional Program (honors classes) – something another parent she knew suggested to get my foot in the door. I was tasked with checking in with my teacher on what it would take for me to be moved to an optional class as soon as possible – because another kid we knew was moved to an optional class early in the first semester and I wasn’t when she was certain I should have been. And we wouldn’t have to use someone else’s address if I was in the Optional Program so quicker was better. Mommy wrote letters to my teacher and insisted that I beg her to move me to an optional class, press her to give me an anticipated date when I could move. She even wrote to one of the teachers in the third grade optional classrooms. My second semester of third grade I was tossed into an optional classroom and suddenly my superior academic prowess dimmed significantly. The children in that class seemed eons ahead of me and they laughed when I didn’t know something while the teacher was exasperated and had no patience for me or interest in my catching up to the rest of the class. But Mommy would not be daunted – she assured me I was both worthy and able to keep up, and I did. I did it because she believed I could. In hindsight the teachers probably were annoyed with Mommy’s persistence.

At Oakshire Elementary School, I was constantly scared of failing and of achieving at the same time. In the Spelling Bee, I purposely misspelled my word because I didn’t think I should know that word. And I also didn’t want anymore pressure – I only wanted to go sit by my mother.

By this time, Mommy had planned my grade school educational path through a number of schools rated higher than my neighborhood schools on through high school graduation – I guess she was still considering colleges at the time. The only detour I made from her plan happened after fifth grade. The school system decided to take all the schools’ individual Optional Programs out and put them in one school, grades K through Freshman level (because it was Junior High rather than Middle School back then – 9^th grade has since been moved to all high schools). I was tasked with checking in with my fifth-grade teacher regularly when Mommy found out about that school because the first class of students for each grade had to be recommended by a teacher. With all the schools in the system, this new school would only have two classrooms for each grade, limiting the number of students who could attend. After that first year, students would have to test into the school. Fortunately, this teacher believed in me very early on and worked along with Mommy to make sure my grades supported her recommendation. When Mommy had me ask her specifically and plainly to recommend me for the school, my teacher told me I was already on her list and she actually beamed at me.

I was proud to be in the first classes at John P. Freeman Elementary and Junior High School. My confidence in my intellect bloomed and crossed into arrogance. I also began noticing boys in 7th grade. I was driven to distraction by the smart ones. I guess you could say I came out as sapiosexual.

While I was at this new school, feeling especially smart, Mommy talked to her brother in California about his job path – which all I knew was that it had something to do with computers which sounded fun – and determined that I would follow his footsteps to getting a good job in a good industry. She had been watching me from younger years when I first saw a computer at her friend’s house. We called on one of her work friends in the days when I needed a sitter who just happened to have a computer at home that I spent hours exploring. When she saw I was excited about it she was certain computers would be my life and I got a computer with a programming book (because what small child interested in playing computer games doesn’t need to know computer programming).

Mommy died before I went to high school but with a sister working at Mommy’s designated high school for me and with the ability to continue in honors level courses there was no issue with my attending that high school. I was even wise enough to quiz my junior high guidance counselor on how to ensure I was able to attend the school so I’d be prepared – I had learned from Mommy how to make sure I was doing what I needed to get to the next level we wanted rather than allowing other people to decide what my next steps were.

I’m certain I would have continued to prosper academically if she had lived beyond my high school graduation. I probably would have continued to prosper academically in high school if my father hadn’t married my step-monster. But living with an abusive monster while emotionally abandoned by my father who had remarried before I could even get a grip on grieving my mother, and the deep depression that followed (undiagnosed) made all things school a struggle. I nearly wrecked my entire grade school academic career with my last semester of high school.

At Memphis Central High School I completed my grade school education and prepared for college, making progress on Mommy’s educational goals for me without her direct hand for the first time. I graduated with a major in Computer Science and a minor in Mathematics in high school.

I tried to follow the Computer Science educational path in college, but I remained drowning under water through all five years I was in undergrad, starting out on academic probation my second semester (thus five years in college rather than four). Eventually during the course of those five years I changed my major to one that my family found quite disappointing. Regardless of the academic struggles, I self-identified as smart and carried myself accordingly. When I didn’t know something, it upset me. Whoever introduced this idea that I didn’t know or understand would then be interviewed until they were exhausted so I could learn this thing I didn’t know, and I wanted them to provide resources to make sure I was learning the right thing. When someone assumed I didn’t know something I was arrogant. “The audacity, the unmitigated gall that you would assume I wasn’t as smart as you?” And I’d roll out a stream of information on whatever the topic was – even if I wasn’t sure about it or knew it wasn’t entirely accurate – and dare you to think less of me ever again. Those who were arrogant about it, clearly needing to assert themselves over me were usually dismissed. Those who continued to present ideas and concepts whetted my appetite for learning more and more about that topic.

By the time I graduated from The University of Tennessee at Knoxville I was exhausted with school and thought I was going to make a difference in some other child’s life, ensuring that they not only got a great education but that they enjoyed the process and made their own choices in guiding their path.

This brings me to the harvest I reaped from Mommy’s garden, seeds I’m not sure she knew she planted. She was home with me for at least half of my years guiding and supporting my educational path. I remember at a very young age determining that children needed their parents at home for them after school because you couldn’t trust their education to any school system. While I was in college, I dreamed of having babies (birthing or adopting or fostering) and homeschooling them. I crafted a learning path in college dedicated to equipping me to be a good wife, a good home manager, and a great mother – in addition to early childhood education and child development I chose courses in family systems, interpersonal communication, and literature for children. That desire is consistently in my heart, surfacing in various manifestations daily, always and unfortunately as a dream deferred. We’ll talk about how I feel about God’s apparent plans versus mine (and Mommy’s) another time.

I am Regina Lynette, daughter of Donna Maria, daughter of Dorothy Lee, daughter of Odetta, daughter of Peoria.

In the year 1889 in the perfect month on the perfect day, Peoria was born in Arkansas. Twenty years after her birth in 1909 in the perfect month on the perfect day, Peoria gave birth to Odetta in Arkansas. While Odetta was yet 16 years old, she gave birth to Dorothy Lee on October 31, 1925 in Memphis, Tennessee. Dorothy Lee was also 16 years old when she gave birth to her daughter, Donna Maria on September 16, 1942 in Memphis, Tennessee. And when Donna Maria was in her 33^rd year of life, she gave birth to me on December 12 in Memphis, Tennessee. I am Regina Lynette, daughter of Donna Maria, daughter of Dorothy Lee, daughter of Odetta, daughter of Peoria.

Peoria Cox {circa 1889 – December 10, 1945}; Mothers unkown

My mother told me who this was when I was a child, but I regrettably do not recall what she said. For many reasons, I have made a guess that this is Peoria. I have no way to know if that’s accurate but until I get different information, the person in this photo represents Peoria, my mother’s great grandmother.”

Peoria, who gave birth at 20 years old to Odetta, lost that girlchild a mere 31 years later to apoplexy due to interstitial nephritis. Peoria was presumably involved in her granddaughter, Dorothy Lee’s, life until her own death on December 10, 1945, of cerebral hemorrhage due to unknown causes. Peoria outlived her daughter – my mother often said that losing a child was the worst pain in the world so I declare that Peoria survived the worst pain that life could dish out. Dorothy Lee, who lost her mother at 14, gave birth 2 years later without her mother. I declare that Dorothy Lee’s losing her mother as a young teenager was something incredibly difficult because losing my own mother as a young teenager was incredibly difficult. Donna Maria was born without a grandmother. She was but 3 when her great-grandmother died – who we only presume was involved in her life. But Donna Maria outlived her mother, Dorothy, who died of cancer while Donna was 42 years old. I would not know Peoria existed until I was an adult and even then, she was only a name in a baby book and on a death certificate. I did not know that Odetta Cox existed until I was in college and at that time she was only a name in an email provided through my uncle from a distant cousin, a name in a baby book and a name on a death certificate. I knew of Dorothy Lee but never met her before her death when I was 8 years old. I lost my mother from a heart attack about 5 years later, 2 weeks after my 13^th birthday.

Odetta (Cox) Thomas {circa 1909 – March 24, 1940}; Daughter of Peoria Cox

I am not certain that this photo is my great-grandmother but based on a relatively reasonable deduction, I think this is Odetta.

My maternal ancestry can be traced back to the Bamileke (a corruption of the name) People of Cameroon and this has been guaranteed accurate from Odetta. Where did that heritage die out? Did Peoria – who is not guaranteed by our DNA testing to be from the Bamileke People of Cameroon – pass down any traditions, rituals or recipes to Odetta? Dorothy didn’t live her entire childhood with Peoria and Odetta so would she even have been passed down anything of her maternal line? Was our heritage completely wiped out by the ins and outs of slavery leaving Dorothy, her mother and her grandmother to have little to pass on? I don’t know. I’m left to put pieces together from birthdates, death certificates, and general world history. Peoria was born a free woman but her mother would have likely been born a slave and then freed by the time Odetta was born. I have no details for Peoria’s mother’s history – not even Peoria’s maiden name. I am happy to know my mothers’ names from my great-great grandmother. But I know very little about their gardens because 2 weeks after my 13^th birthday, they were all gone.

How simple a thing it seems to me that to know ourselves as we are, we must know our mothers’ names.
Alice Walker, O Magazine, May 2003

“Mama’s baby, daddy’s maybe” was not the prevalent pattern in my family. Hardy Cox was in his daughter, Odetta’s, life. Rodney Thomas cared for his daughters after Odetta’s death as well as my mother, his granddaughter, and her children. While I don’t know the story behind Warren Terry’s absence in Donna’s life beyond the time he enlisted in the army during World War II, he was married to her mother and his family is mentioned as a part of her young life. And I was Robert Walker’s Daddy’s Girl, identifying more with his side of the family than my mother’s. In fact, most of what I know to be true and passed down in my family is from the men. I’m grateful for these men because I can attribute a lot of positive things from their influence. However, I really miss not knowing my maternal tribe.

Dorothy Lee Thomas {October 31, 1925 – May 15, 1985}; daughter of Odetta (Cox) Thomas, daughter of Peoria Cox

This is a photo of Dorothy from high school. I have more recent photographs of her but she wrote notes on the backs of them stating that she looked horrible and was ill (or convalescing).

A few years ago I felt particularly lost and was looking to find myself in my family. Since I was nothing like my siblings and not a lot like my mother (other than sometimes my eyes and sometimes my smile), I looked to my father’s family. I didn’t find my face (other than my happiest smile), my body, nor my personality in any of them. Much later I caught a glimpse of myself (personality) in my mother’s brother and I realized that I hadn’t looked to find myself in my mothers’ gardens. I’ve decided to use the photos in this entry to represent these mothers in my sacred space and I constantly look for myself in their eyes and faces and hands and hair.

Our mothers are our first homes, and that’s why we’re always trying to return to them.
Michele Filgate, What My Mother and I Don’t Talk About (Simon & Schuster, 2019)

One good thing about the deceased is that the rest of the generations to come have a chance to only know the best of that person. I don’t mean that the bad goes away or that you shouldn’t know the full history of a person – generational curses, ancestral rituals, as well as their life stories. I mean that when I tell stories about my parents, I tell the hard parts through a filter of both understanding and acceptance. I’ve had to forgive them for all of their mistakes. I’d begun the forgiveness process with Daddy before he died, thankfully, but I didn’t realize I had to forgive my mother until she had been gone several years (and family secrets were revealed). I have tried to understand Dorothy as well when I hear hard things about her, often trying to guess what might have happened to her to cause poor behaviors. When my sister’s children indulge me and let me walk them around Memphis telling tales of our history, it’s “my parents met in this lobby and it was love at first sight” rather than “my Daddy was married and 24 years older than my Mommy when they started their affair”. Neither version is a secret and while both are true, one is more fun to talk about to the ones who didn’t know them.

Donna Maria (Terry/Thomas) Walker {September 16, 1942 – December 26, 1989}; daughter of Dorothy Lee, daughter of Odetta, daughter of Peoria

Mommy’s parents married a couple months after she was born and her maiden name on her birth certificate is Thomas (Dorothy’s maiden name). However, I found a doodle from either Dorothy or Mommy that had Terry (Donna’s father) as her last name – kind of the way you doodle your own name with your crush’s last name in your school notebooks.

So, while unfortunately I do not know of any remaining family who can share stories about my generations of mothers, I do get to put the pieces together guessing the best outcomes and I can channel my own femininity from common Bamileke/Cameroonian ancestral rituals and fill in the gaps with pieces of myself.

Regina Lynette Walker; daughter of Donna Maria, daughter of Dorothy Lee, daughter of Odetta, daughter of Peoria

I am Regina Lynette, daughter of Donna Maria, daughter of Dorothy Lee, daughter of Odetta, daughter of Peoria.

Tag: Mothers Gardens

Looking for Donna, I found the seeds of my life’s dream in her garden.

I am Regina Lynette, daughter of Donna Maria.