Kenny Leon - Take You Wherever You Go

Courtesy of the Leon family

My life is the answer to generational prayers.

Mamie Wilson was my grandmother. Her words are the words I live by.

I went to live with her when I was four years old and stayed about four years. Shed already raised thirteen kids of her own when I showed up. And shed already lived a very hard life.

Mamie isnt short for something. Its a good Southern name. It suited her, too. Simple, direct, endearing.

Grandma Mamie was about five feet six and noticeably bowlegged. And very strong. She had hazel-brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a Native American cast to her features. Her skin tone was beautiful, like coffee with cream. Her strong hands were more of a caramel color. She didnt have calluses, but her veins popped along the backs of her hands. She pulled back her grayish-silver hair so that the contours of her roundish head were visible. She was big-boned but not particularly heavy or fat. She never went around screaming or hollering at anybody. Her voice was strong but even-keeled. She liked to laugh and told her stories with enthusiasm and humor.

Mamie Roberts was born in 1905 in Tallahassee, Florida. She married twenty-five-year-old Perman Wilson in 1925 and was pregnant nearly every year until 1944. She had thirteen children and four miscarriages. Simply put, she was in a marriage in which that was what you did. The farm wasnt going to farm itself. And they couldnt afford to hire the work out.

And to be honest, she was alone in that marriage. My grandfathers main contribution to the family was, well, to make the family. He was happy to help produce the children needed to work their farm. But he wasnt attentive to home life or the raising of the family.

When I was much older, my grandma often sat me down on the porch and shared more mature and intimate details about her life. My husband used to mess around with my cousin. He treated my grandma very poorly. I heard other things, too, but thats the story.

My mother, Annie Ruth Wilson, loved her father but also saw him clearly. No bitterness was ever passed along to me. Thats just the way he was. He died before I was born so I have only their words to go on, but theyve yet to steer me wrong. The truth is powerful and you should always face it.

I can hear Grandma Mamie now.

Baby, it was rough. It was rough. I had to pull the plow.

My grandmother lived hard but without complaint. She bore those children, cleaned, cooked, and plowed the fields like an animal. I say that with love, awe, and respect. She strapped on the yoke and pulled the plow. Instead of a mule. That image has stayed with me.

Oh, you out there pulling the plow!

Every time I have a tough day at work or just get frustrated by everyday concerns, I think of my grandmothers life in those days. Its a perspective that I keep close by, and it has helped me all my life.

That farm work was backbreaking but it was all there was. Working the farm. Mamie got up and fixed breakfast and then went out and worked the fields. Then she fixed lunch and went back out to the fields. Then she fixed dinner. After a full day in the fields, she came home and fed those kids, did laundry, folded clothes, helped with homework, and gave all those good night kisses and hugs.

My grandma Mamie put in those endless days of work and effort and her kids never missed a meal. She led that life, that hard, country life, without the comfort of a partnership and some love coming back.

During all of this time, and all of her life really, there was prayer. A strong belief in God. Prayers of every kind: for happiness, health, and good weather; for her childrens well-being and safety; for a better life to come. For all who will come in the years ahead.

I pray Im the last one in this family to pull a plow.