Odd, the things one
thinks about on New Year’s Day.
I delivered UPS packages
for twenty years, and retired from that outfit almost twenty years hence. I can
only imagine the number of stops and packages with which I contended during the
course of those two decades.
Sometime in the mid to
late eighties, and throughout the next few years I delivered packages to
metropolitan Winter Haven; with a daily repertoire which included a roughly
equal number of businesses and residential homes.
At that time there were
six or eight formerly segregated black domiciles in the general environs of
First Street, South. I use the term “formerly,” since, as time progressed, a
large number of restaurants, car dealers and doctor’s offices “went up” in the
area.
From time to time I
pulled up to 123 Avenue A, SE, and the house of “Miss Josephine Freeman,”
stepped off the bottom step of my trusty, brown package car, (as it was known)
walked a few steps to the front door of the little lady’s humble abode, and
rang the bell. (At that time, we were required to elicit a signature, rather
than dropping the parcel by the door, as is common today).
And without fail, the
80ish Miss Freeman would quickly answer the door, greet me with that
inimitable, toothy grin I so well recall, and proceed to sign my delivery pad.
And as I turned to
leave, she would always exclaim,
“Don’t forget your old
black Mama,”
(or)
“Your old black Mama
appreciates you stopping by, son.”
(or)
“Please come back and
see your old black Mama again.”
And though our
interaction was limited to the few brief moments we shared a few times a year,
I have thought of her more in the decades which followed, than any of those
other business people and private residents to whom I delivered packages on a
more frequent basis.
Perhaps it was her
sincerity, her radiant smile, or merely the unilateral title she assigned
herself.
But strangely enough, I
miss her, and wish, somehow, I had experienced the opportunity to know and
interact with her on a more personable basis.
Of course, several
decades have now passed, and she has long since gone on to her reward.
… I miss my old black
Mama.
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 45. Copyright pending
If you wish to copy, share or 'save' please include the credit line, above
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 45. Copyright pending
If you wish to copy, share or 'save' please include the credit line, above
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