Fishin' Rods and Tea Pots*

When the picture of President Obama with his maternal grandparents reached the media, it stirred memories of my grandmother but not my grandfather. All I knew about him was his name. I began to question the reasons why there were no memories of my maternal or paternal grandfathers.


Historians agreed that an African-American man was the breadwinner of his family during the turn of the twentieth century. Most fathers worked beyond retirement age. This kept him outside the family circle, missing the best years with his children. The face of this man scored with fear and fatigue was evidence of his love. If he survives to old age, his reward was seeing his legacy through his grandchildren.

I never met Grandpa James. A picture, which hung over the doorway to the main bedroom, was the only evidence I had that he existed. My cousins told me when Grandpa James retired he was never home. However, when they did see Grandpa at home, he was always asleep. My cousins were dramatic with their depiction of our grandfather, even cruel sometimes. As grandmother explained to me, this caused my cousins to forget the kindness and compassion of the man. I imagine that for grandpa to sit around the house with the kids threatened his masculinity. To avoid this situation, I believe he retreated to the world of fellow retirees. Places where old men sat around at barbershops and courthouses talking politics most of the day. I was young when I went to live with my paternal grandmother Momee.

Grandpa James had long since died and Momee became the head of household for my cousins and me. She nurtured our souls, kindled our spirits, and from her strength we developed wisdom and perseverance. She was the glue that kept the family together and its oral history alive. As for my father Lawrence, I never saw him much. The most vivid memory I have of my father was on my 10th birthday when he joined me for a cup of tea from the tea set he had just given me. I loved my father and believed his absence was because of his work, and regrettably, his absence dominated the life he would share with me.

My father told me he knew little about his father, yet he felt an obligation to connection with me. It was from my father I learned the reason there were no stories about Grandpa James. The role of the father was to provide the food that was on the table every day, and the roof that sheltered and protected the family. He was the provider, not the nurturer; that was mother’s duty, and for the era in which my parents and grandparents lived, this made sense.

Grandparenting didn’t happen for all families in the same way. Some families struggled, as they adhered to old ways and attitudes of family life. Grandmothers became surrogate mothers to their grandchildren, and grandfathers disappeared, for whatever reason, from the family circle. As it was for my mother’s father, the male role model continued to be lacking for some families. No names, no pictures on the wall of their existence; they were a phantom of a man.

When changes in government laws began to regulate hiring practices of companies, the doors of opportunity for African-Americans opened. It was a time of growth for my people. It was a time to think beyond the cotton fields. Extended families moved away from the safety of their neighborhoods. Fathers looked for better careers and job training. Women sought professions other than cooks, laundresses, and housekeepers. It was a time when men began to show accountability in the household.

When I joined the world of married people, this family transformation was a reality. In our household, my husband Calvin and I were both breadwinners, and shared the responsibility of raising our children Keith and Britney. As my father aged, I became his caregiver and in return, my father became a grandfather to my children. Possible retirement communities and trips abroad were ideas I shared with friends during group excursions to the gym. I would settle for Daycare centers and fast food restaurants replacing me as a grandparent. Calvin, on the other hand, would spend time stringing fishing rods with Keith or passing a teapot to Britney. These priceless moments would be ideal for talking about his life and family history.

I admire Michele Obama’s mother for helping with her grandchildren. It adds stability to the family circle. She can share family stories with the girls as my grandmother did with me. However, in my case, I want to enjoy my grandchildren’s visits on the weekends and holidays, and when the gathering is over, they can go home and sleep in their own beds. Calvin, on the other hand, wants to enjoy every moment with his grandkids, but most of all Calvin enjoys being a role model for our son. I have no memories of my paternal or maternal grandfathers because they weren’t there to leave any memories. However, for my grandchildren, I’m going to make sure they know their grandfather.

*Note this piece is creative nonfiction; true with fictional highlights.