A Journey into the Life of a True Blackberry

A Journey into the Life of a

TRUE BLACKBERRY

Tasha Sherrod

AuthorHouse™

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© 2013 by Tasha Sherrod. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/15/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2425-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2813-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012911245

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

A PAGE FOR GOD:

PHILIPPIANS 4:13

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

This verse is for me and you, my readers who will be touched by this book.

DEDICATION

To my late grandmother, Hattie Mae Sherrod, and goddaughter, Kendra Blount

Acknowledgements

I want to first and foremost thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Lord, I want to thank you so much for not allowing fear to come into my destiny. Thank you, Lord for my many challenges, struggles, trials, and tribulations. Your guidance in each of these situations made me who I am today. I want to thank my many fans; you all gave me the inspiration to tell my stories. We all have been through something in our lives, and we can learn from each other about how to overcome obstacles. A million times over, thank you. To the people who motivate me—my family. To my mom Doris, dad Carlton, and babies Jocelyn, Brittany, Lquaan, Alexis, Samonni, and Javion, words cannot express my love for you. To my right and left hand, LC Atkinson, thank you for listening and helping me in so many ways. I remember the times when I told you that I wanted to go back to school, write a book, and start a business. I was trying to sow many seeds at one time. Then you told me to do one thing at a time, and FINISH SOMETHING!!!! My sister Beverly, big cousin Tracey, little cousins Ashley and Michael (Big Mike), cousin Jackie Cherry, my aunties Delores, Kay, and Shirley. I love you guys. Thank you for your support. I thank you, Jimmy Edwards. Thank you Portia, Kim Hart, Mrs. Vivian Atkinson, and my late great godfather LC Atkinson, Sr. To my little cousin Shakeeta Boo Bell, thank you for keeping my trademark braids tight. Thank you, Uncle Clifton Sherrod and the rest of the Sherrod Family.

To my extended sisters Dana, Keisha, Sharon (Big Head), Patricia (Puddin), Bettie Maye, Lisa Frank, Christy Frank, Latoria Willis, Gwen Williams, Lesha Maye, Virginia Wallace, Sheila, Misty, Darlene, Vergie, Nola, and Sandra, thank you all. My old Hatteras Hammock crew, you guys were there at the start of this book, and I thank you all for the support of the long-awaited book.

Thank you to my Vidant Medical and Pitt Community crew. To Bernadine Cox, owner of BVS Graphic Design and Digital Photography, thank you for the beautiful pictures you have taken of me. I cried when you showed me the book cover. You told me to stop hiding behind my glasses when you took that picture of me for this book, and I love you.

Thank you to my media marketing consultant Houston Vines, and my editor, the best in the world, LaKela Atkinson at www.fortheloveofwordsonline.com. Thank you, Patricia Rouse at Greenville Housing Authority. Thank you to my realtor, mentor, and godmother, Doris Suggs. Thank you, Brooklynn Dorcent, Demetrice Parker, Anne Glover, Delphine Barnhill, Anna West Lee, and Dietrick Purvis. A special thank you to the ladies at Women’s Power Networking of Greenville, NC. Thank you to my Facebook friends and family. To my godchildren Ty’kece and La’Quaja, I love y’all. To all, those I may have missed, I apologize. Please know that I love you and I am thankful for your presence and support in my life.

Chapter 1

I wish I was light-skinned, eight-year-old Ayden Shepard tells me, dropping down in the kitchen chair.

His big brown eyes fill with water. As one tear slowly creeps down his cheeks, he places his face in the palm of his hand.

How can you say a thing like that? I think you are a very handsome little boy. Besides, if you sit in the front of the bus unnoticed, you will be fine.

Mom, I do. I sit looking out the window. I don’t say anything to nobody. The bigger boys who sit behind me will start hitting me on the head and calling me names, like blackey. Then everyone on the bus starts laughing. I just feel so sad. He puts his face directly in his hands and starts to sob harder.

I feel a big, tight ball of pain hit the pit of my stomach. I remember that it didn’t matter how quiet or introverted I was, people always found a way to make jokes about my dark complexion. My son’s words were once my words. His thoughts of himself were the way I used to feel about myself. The past that I had tried to leave behind has finally come back. Now I feel like my life is haunting me again—this time, through my son’s eyes.

Growing up, I considered my parents, Thomas and Cora, to be good parents. They still are. My dad owned his own janitor business called Down East Cleaning, and my mom was a stay-at-home mom. My parents talked so highly of my sister, Faye and me. They taught us good morals and to respect others, as well as ourselves.

Growing up was different. A lot of things that my parents said about having love for ourselves started to change. My Aunt Karen, who was my mom’s oldest sister, was a big high-class nobody, who walked around with her nose turned up. If she didn’t like something, she would let her opinion be known. Aunt Karen always told Faye and me that we were too black to be successful; she would say that the only thing light on our bodies were the palms of our hands and the bottom of our feet. She didn’t mind calling us black, nappy-headed children. To her, if you weren’t light, you weren’t right. She always said she didn’t know why our mother went and married such a black man. According to her, Faye and I would have a life of misery because of that. When we got older, Faye decided to date and eventually marry Milton, who is white. Now, they have two children, Tracey and Milton, Jr. She says her kids will never have to endure what we’ve been through.

Mom always encouraged me with words about how pretty I was. She would say, the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.

How is that? and Why? I would ask my mom. Mom would just smile and say, To me, darling, you have an attraction that’s appealing. I look at you and see the history of what our ancestors had to go through and see the struggles black slaves faced for freedom. They went through so much and came out standing tall. Not just to help themselves, but the future of black people today, so everyone can be somebody. And no one looked at them because of the color of their skin.

How can a person like me fulfill my life’s journey to be the person who I want to be? How can I love myself and what has been instilled in me for years about being too black? How can that help me teach my son to love himself and become a better person?

Just like Ayden, my life of being taunted not only happened within my family, but also in school. I remember starting a new school called Warren Elementary. It was a nice school in the sleepy town of Greenville, North Carolina. The weather that year was warm; the sunshine was so bright, and I considered it to be a good morning. My first year of kindergarten was so exciting because my mom had bought me a new dress. It was a blue-sleeved linen dress with a plaid bow and flower front detailing. I thought it was beautiful. We walked down the long hallway until we came to my class. I was so nervous. We were late because dad had to fix a flat tire. All the students were in the line by the classroom door preparing to go to the library. My new teacher, Mrs. Miller, walked up to me and introduced herself. Then, she took my hand and said goodbye to my parents. Mrs. Miller and I walked down the line of waiting students, where she placed me near the back of the line behind a boy named Alex. He had sandy brown hair, light brown eyes, and a very bad attitude. When my arm brushed against his back, I whispered, Excuse me. He turned to me and said, Don’t rub no black on me. That made me feel so bad. I felt my heart sink. My self-esteem went to its lowest point. From then on, the taunting and name-calling became worse. I kept having bad feelings about myself and became very intimidated about being around people. The older I got, the more I hated the way I looked. I hated this black skin. I got so tired of people making fun of me, laughing, and calling me names. I was so depressed that I always walked with my head down. I wanted a way out of this world and this person I was. I didn’t want to live. I wanted to commit suicide, but I couldn’t hurt my parents.

When I started high school, things changed a little. People seemed not to focus on just me being dark-skinned. Honestly speaking, that last year of school was one of the best times in my life. I met my best friend, Eliza. She was so outgoing, concerned, and compassionate. She was a real go-getter. We would laugh at each other, and I could tell her my feelings about life without fear of being laughed at or judged. The one thing I admired about Eliza was that she was different from me. She was who I wanted to be. Eliza was about 5'9 with long, wavy, cold black hair and skin so brown that you could tell she had Indian and black roots. She came from Lumberton, North Carolina with her mom and two younger brothers. Everybody at Franklin High loved her. No matter how talkative she was, she stood out. When she gets her mind on doing something, she does it without letting anything hold her back. We were opposites, which I think is what made us so close. I talked to her about everything, especially about the way I felt about myself. Why do you call yourself ugly, Tara? She would ask me. You should be proud of the way you look, girl. You have the most beautiful dark, pimple-free skin. You remind me so much of my Grandma Ruth."

When I was with Eliza, I tried to fit in with everyone else. Whenever she wanted to go hang out with other friends, she’d ask me to come. I would graciously go. I remember when we were in nursing school at the local college and had just received our nursing assistant certificates. To us, it felt like the next level of getting closer to our registered nursing degrees. Eliza wanted to go out and celebrate at this fancy club, The Blitz, which had just opened. This was a place where the who’s who hung out. It was no surprise if a person ran across local celebrities or professional ball players who just wanted to relax and hang with friends. Our best male friend, Sean, worked in this nice, laid-back club as a bouncer. That made it easy for us to get in.

Sean stood at 6'6" and was very muscular with long, thick dreads. He, Eliza, and I were all friends in high school. He stayed about four houses down from me. He had been in and out of different foster homes, until the Spellmans, an older couple, became his permanent parents. We were so close, nothing sexual, just friends. He too was dark-skinned with a lot of anger raging inside. Because of our common bond, we shared a lot with each other. He would tell me about growing up in foster homes and how he had to be tough to make it. He always thought he would never get adopted because he was so dark. He never had a birthday party, so when he turned 18, Eliza and I decided to surprise him. He was so happy that he cried. We all cried because this was his first real birthday party. He couldn’t believe we would do something like that for him. From that point on, we were more like his sisters than his best friends.

The night we were on our way to The Blitz, Sean phoned us to make sure we were still coming. I started pacing back and forth waiting for Eliza. She was always known for been late for every event. Finally, an hour and a half later, there was a knock at the door. Tara, you ready to go? Eliza shouted, bursting in the door.

Eliza, I’m ready now more than ever, I said, grabbing my coat. We almost ran out the door.

With Eliza’s fast driving, it took us about fifteen minutes in what should’ve been a thirty-minute trip across town. We drove into the parking lot, where there must have been hundreds of people standing in line waiting with anticipation to get in. Several Benzes, BMWs, Hummers, stretch limos, and other expensive rides were lined up near the club doorway and parking spaces. We got up to the door, paid our money, and there stood Sean to guide us in. On the inside, the music was pumping, and the dance floor was full of half-drunken party goers. Drinks were passed around every corner of the room. We stood in front of a large speaker; I could feel my ears going deaf. We followed Sean up the stairway into the VIP sections where we met the owner, Rob. We sat at a table that Sean had reserved just for us. You two want anything to drink? Sean asked.

Nothing for me yet. Eliza said.

I’ll have a cola, I said.

Eliza looked at me all strange. Tara, you not at McDonald’s. Enjoy yourself, girl! Sean, bring us back two Coronas.

I’ll be back with the drinks. Sean started pushing his way through the crowd. Some of the women wore next to nothing. I was surprised at what I saw. There were men in the club surrounded by large guys who looked like bodyguards protecting the president. Some of the women threw themselves at the men, who I must say were very handsome and strong. It almost took my breath away to look at them on the dance floor.

Hey Tara, I need to go to the restroom. Could you watch my purse until I come back?

I will, I said. As Eliza got up and walked away, I leaned over the guardrail and stared at the dance floor. Mesmerized by the different dance moves and people enjoying themselves, I partly wanted to join in to get the attention. I wanted someone to notice me.

I looked in the direction of the bar and saw Eliza talking to a very tall and husky guy. He really looked like a football player. Eliza was laughing with this fine gentleman like they had known each other for years. Damn, now he was looking and pointing at me. For what? I didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me. I sat back in the chair, looked away, and then looked out the corner of my eye. I wonder what they could be saying about me.

Eliza started making her way back through the crowd. I looked at a couple fussing, probably because the guy had been trying to talk to every girl he saw.

Tara, I’m sorry it took me so long. Here’s a drink. It’s on the house.

For me? I asked excitedly. Tell Sean it took him long enough.

It didn’t come from Sean. This is from Doctor Lindsey Allen. You know him, or at least you’ve seen him at the hospital. He is the new orthopedic doctor who’s been with the hospital for the last four months. I sat and wondered if I had ever seen him around Medical East Healthcare. Eliza and I had worked there for the last two years. We had started there right before we decided to go to nursing school. I sat there with my mind in a fog trying to figure out who this man, Lindsey Allen, was.

Lindsey Allen, Lindsey Allen, I think. The one man who in the journey of my past life had changed me in so many ways. The man who moved me to look at myself and determine that I needed to make a change. But I can’t seem to find the courage to do so.

I let out a big sigh as I get through the thoughts of my past. I look across the room at my son who sits at the