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CHAPTER ONE PAGES 1-2
• MADEA AIN'T GOT NOTHIN' ON MY MOM
No one from the old neighborhood I was born in ever thought I’d be a model or Miss Black California. They never thought I’d be featured on television shows or major magazines, including Vogue, Essence, People and Glamour. They never thought I’d hang out with stars or senators or ambassadors or heads of state—let alone become the founder and CEO of my own company. You see, that’s not what people in my neighborhood expected out of life. I was born in one of Money magazine’s “most dangerous places to live” and “worst places to raise children” in America. But at the time, I didn’t know any different. I just knew it as home.
My mom became a single parent after my dad died of cancer. (So yes, I know who my daddy is, thank you very much.) She was left with the responsibility of raising my four older brothers—Kevin, David, Leon and Mark—and me. We didn’t grow up with a lot of material things. We were often the last kids to get anything cool. I remember when Members Only jackets were the “in” thing—I think I was one of the very last Members. If I wanted a “swish” on the side of my tennis shoes, I had to draw it on with a Sharpie ™ marker. You know you’re poor when your shoes don’t come in abox, but instead come with the shoestrings tied together in a grocery store bin. We really didn’t care. We were just grateful to get new shoes.
As far as fashion, we let our pants hang low long before it was ever popular in the hip-hop scene. We didn’t do it because it looked cool. We purposely bought our pants too big as a matter of economics so that when we grew, our pants wouldn’t flood and they would still fit. I remember that my brothers had these crazy growth spurts. One summer a couple of them grew four to six inches in just a few months. Let’s just say it’s not cool for a “brotha” to wear capris.
Besides providing for us, my mom was also responsible for protecting us. If you’ve ever seen Diary of a Mad Black Woman or Madea’s Family Reunion, then you’ll understand: Madea ain’t got nothing on my mom! Everybody on the block knew that she slept with two men every night: Smith and Wesson. Only that’s no joke! She would shoot you if you broke into her house or touched one of her kids.
I remember one time when I came home from school, Mom was busy watering the lawn and the guys across the street were playing basketball. During a conversation with the guys, she told them, “You know, boys, I keep a gun with me at all times and there are only two things I’d ever kill you over. First, if you break into my house and the second is if you touch my daughter.”
The boys didn’t hesitate to answer, “Yes, Mrs. Garth.” Consequently, our house was the only house on the block that was never broken into—and you can bet that no one ever touched her daughter.
Together my mom and dad were a force to be reckoned with. Our house definitely had some rules, boundaries and guidelines. My dad had served in the Air Force for 27 years and fought in World War II, Korea and Vietnam. He died of cancer when I was 11. They think it was from Agent Orange. While he was alive, he was a very strict disciplinarian. If Dad couldn’t bounce a quarter off your bed, he would strip it down to the mattress, and he would keep doing this for as many times as it took for you to figure out how to make your bed. It didn’t take long to learn.
Among my friends, we were often the butt of jokes—not because we didn’t wear the latest styles—but because Mom’s rules were so strict. One of my mom’s big rules was Be in the house when the streetlights come on. When those lights came on, we instantly transformed into the U.S. Olympic Track and Field Team. We’d jump over hedges, fences, puddles, trashcans and animals—whatever it took to get home. We couldn’t move faster than the speed of light, but we were close to the speed of sound, because we were in her sight and into her house before she finished her sentence.
In some neighborhoods, being outside when the streetlights come on means you might catch a cold, but in my neighborhood, it meant that you might catch a bullet. You could get involved in gang activity, drug activity and a lot of other unpleasant activities, so when my mother said be somewhere at a certain time, there were reasons why.
We might not have understood the reasons at the time, and sometimes we might not have gotten a reason even if we had asked. We were just expected to obey. Oh, for joy! Mom wasn’t trying to cut in on our fun. She used to say, “I’m not trying to be mean. I just mean what I say.” Mom gave us rules like Be in the house when the streetlights come on because she loved us, because she didn’t want us to get hurt, and because she knew and wanted something better for us.
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