Bethany Hegedus - Rise!: From Caged Bird to Poet of the People, Maya Angelou

As a young girl, my grandmother Marguerite Johnson- better known as Maya
Angelou- was raised by young parents who had difficult childhoods of their
own. Vivian Baxter and Bailey Johnson didn't really know what to do with
small children. Add to that discord a racial climate in America that found many
African Americans using desperate measures to survive. Despite a tough life,
my grandmother became courageous and compassionate, developing a great
empathy for children and their journey through childhood.
Childhood is often a time when the power in life belongs to the adults
around you. Empathizing with the innocence of children, my grandmother
believed they deserved a good start in life but also possessed the courage
to endure and thrive no matter their circumstances. The love of Grandmother
Henderson, Uncle Willie, her brother, Bailey, and Mrs. Flowers helped her
to grow in courage, while reading helped her understand the unlimited
possibilities of life. She would later write, Courage is the most important of
all the virtues because without courage you cannot practice any other virtue
consistently.
My grandmother believed that courage started with the simplicity of
realizing that there are no monsters under the bed. Or, if you do have human
monsters to overcome, courage was an inner virtue that could be developed
early. As she moved past the pains of her own childhood and managed that
pain, she came to believe: My mission in life is not merely to survive, but
to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor,
and some style.
As you read this book with your children, I hope they will ask questions and
make comments; and as you listen deeply, I hope your conversations will help
them build courage that will serve them throughout their lives.

T he train looms,
a mass of metal
and steel.
Maya and her brother, Bailey,
hold hands.
Like luggage they have been packed
and shipped off
to Stamps, Arkansas.
Their bellies rumble;
strangers feed them
cold ham and a biscuit.
Bailey, a year older, offers
Maya comfort.
His voice a lullaby,
his skin a warm blanket,
his smile rocks and reassures.
The train chugs south;
the future is yet to be.

I n Stamps,
Momma Henderson-
as tall as a Sycamore,
as dignified as a Queen-
rules the roost.
She owns the William Johnson General Store.
She owns!
And has owned for twenty- five years.
Mayas Uncle Willie-
wearing a starched shirt and shined shoes-
eagerly awaits the new arrivals.
The family store stands before Maya,
an unopened present,
the front door a ribbon
waiting to be pulled.

L ife in Stamps hums along
singing and swaying
in church.
Rustling the onions and potatoes
into bins at the store.
Minding the clucking chickens,
feeding the hungry hogs,
making the long walk to school
day in, day out.
Safety lies in the sameness
of the faces who greet
and are greeted
after laboring in the fields,
handing over their hard- earned coins
each day.

I t doesn't take long before white girls,
not much older than Maya,
enter the store, wielding their whiteness
as a weapon, a sword
meant to cut the giant Sycamore.
They call Momma Henderson Annie.
Not missus.
Not ma'am.
Just Annie.
Maya curls her hands
into fists
that stay rooted
at her sides.
She watches as Queen Henderson, proud
but not defiant,
answers.
The scales of justice
are stacked against them.
Young Maya
loves Stamps.
Young Maya
hates Stamps.
Hate and love,
love and hate:
the seesaw of the South.

M aya is six
when Mother sends for them.
Overnight, Maya and Bailey are shipped off
again.
Unlike Stamps, St. Louis is fast-
full of juke joints,
numbers runners,
and card games.
Mother Vivian is a beauty,
regal with red lips.
Maya, always told shes plain,
and not as pretty as her mother
or as handsome as Bailey,
feels discarded
amid the hustle.
Mothers attention is split even more
when Mr. Freeman, her boyfriend, comes calling.

O ne day, Maya, left alone
with Mr. Freeman,
is anything but free.
After a visit to the hospital,
Maya calls out Mr. Freemans name
as the one
who hurt her.
Mr. Freeman spends only one night
in jail.
Later, he is found crumpled
behind the slaughterhouse.
Maya falls silent,
scared her voice
struck him
dead.

M aya and Bailey are returned
to the strong limbs
of Momma Henderson.
Life in Stamps continues-
onions and potatoes,
chickens and hogs.
But for Maya there is
no laughing,
no humming,
no music.
Her heart aches to survive;
her mind whispers to itself