DON'T CALL ME MAMA

One night, as Mama bathed me, I asked why she didn’t paint her nails. “Who have you seen wearing nail polish?” she asked. “The blond lady Daddy takes me to see on Sundays.” After my parents were divorced, I overheard Grandma say, “Yetta, your baggage will hamper you from finding another husband.” So as Mama bathed me, she said, “Don’t call me Mama.” Hearing this was hurtful. My father hadn’t taken me with him when he left. Now, I felt Mama no longer wanted me. I was four years old. Who would take care of me? It was a desperate, sometimes devastating journey through the depths of despair I lived daily as a preschooler. Then it was a tumultuous adolescence with my malicious grandmother. How did I find the courage to survive the journey through these challenges? You will find it an exciting yet uplifting reading experience.