Cheryl A. Gaines

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up

1. Problem

What I want to be when I grow up is a poetry writer and living an above average lifestyle. I want to be able to give my children a chance of making it in life. I truly believe that parents are a strong role model for their children. My belief is if I am good, then they will have a shot at being better, so my good has to be above the 'below level'. My children have no idea that they are living in poverty. They know that we are not rich, and they have seen how far we have come from the inner city, but they have no idea how close we are to returning. My problem is a combination of a lot of things. I just can not state that I want to be assertive or I want to be more in control. Those things are trivia to me. I can be as assertive as I allow myself to be and more controlling of others and myself, if I need to be or simply want to be.

My problem at this particular moment…is the frustration of not being closer to my dream of doing what I really want to do in life, and that is to be a well known respected poetry writer. I really want to be better known in the black communities. I want my works to be read throughout the inner city. I want to be a household name in the schools, in homes, in the community centers, and even in the churches. The reason I say better known in the black communities is because I write more from a black than a universal perspective. My writings come from my soul and other souls that are implanted. Like my youngest daughter always says, "Honey child, my soul is black." I believe faithfully that all races, sexes, and ages can learn, be inspired, find amusement, relate, and grow from my writings.

Everyone does not have dreams of owning a white house with a white picket fence, yellow roses that trim the house, and a tire that swings from the tree that grandpa planted. I acknowledge this type of poetry, but it does not appeal to me. This is the frustration that a lot of African Americans have, especially children who are attending an all black school with white English instructors. When it comes to teaching poetry, these instructors hold intense class discussions, give assignments where the poetry has to be recited and defined, and gladly give weekly quizzes on readings that they can not visualize. It frustrates the hell out of me just to think that these children feel incapable of even learning poetry. When will instructors learn the valuable lesson that they must start on their clients' level and then slowly introduce them to variety.

I have a lot of ideas on what levels I want to take my poetry. Right now, I am with Blue Skies Publishing Company. No contracts have been drawn because this is my sister's company, Christina Crawley. My sister and a friend co-wrote, Evangelism On The Internet, What You Need To Know. This is the first book from the company. She is pretty much waiting to learn the trials and errors from their book. To be honest, I am hoping heaven sends me an excellent, reliable, and trustworthy publishing company that is a shaker, rattler, and roller because I am ready for the world to know me, and I know they are anxiously waiting to meet me. Just to note, my favorite poetry writers are Nikki Giovanni and Maya Angelou.

II. History

To better understand who I am and where my poetry originated from, I must take

you on a journey with me to visit my past. The best way to give an introduction is by addressing the question, Who was I as a child? I can be labeled as an 'oops' baby because I was an accident to them, but I firmly believe that no accident occurred. I am thirty years young today. My siblings' ages range from forty-six to fifty four. Just by the distance of our ages, it does not take a scholar to know that I grew up as an only child. In fact, I have numerous nieces and nephews, and we are more like sisters and brothers because we are so close in age. It also does not take a scholar to figure out that my mother grew more emotionally tired, especially when she found out that she had to be a mom all over again, when she was so ready to finally live for her.

Since I am a mother of three, I truly feel her agony of having to start over, but it does not serve as a blockage for the way she made me feel. Our past has kept us distant even though we talk on a daily basis. My relationship with her is having respect that she is my mother, and her relationship with me is trying to secretly take away the hurt that she feels that she indirectly placed by blaming me for my birth. I know you are probably wondering, "By George that should be the problem of her paper." I have overcome that problem by forgiving her and excepting that she is not the mother of my dreams, but she is a mother who loves me.

Growing up was very lonely for me. If it had not been for my dolls and my brother's albums he left behind, I probably would not have made it to my adulthood. My dolls kept me company both day and night. Even after a tiring day of being misunderstood by teachers who treated me as if the 'projects' was inside of me, my dolls

would be waiting with lots of love and treatment fit for a queen.

The albums and some eight-track tapes gave me the power I needed to keep my head above waters. Whenever I was feeling down, I could throw on my good friend Natalie Cole and she would agree by singing, I'm Catching Hell. Sometimes Teddy Pendergrass had to interrupt Natalie and sing, Don't Let This Cold World Get You Down. Songs were my friends and I had them to fit all occasions. If I needed a certain song, my mom made sure she took me to the music store because she knew that music was a reliable baby-sitter.

As I grew older, I knew that I needed to develop a more meaningful relationship with someone. I sensed that my mother felt that way too because she introduced me to journals. I had a complete balance of resources. My dolls and music kept me company, and my journal served as my trustworthy best friend. All I am doing is drawing a picture for you, but do not add colors to it that suggest that I was unable to tell reality from fantasy. When one is living in a world that condemns because of race, grammar, and environment, then one has to create resources to keep from becoming the script that he or she has been given. I knew that as a child, but I understand it fully as an adult. I have always been a concrete thinker. A lot of inner city children and adults are concrete thinkers more so than they are given credit for, and this is why many males and females get a natural high off of defeating the systems. In a way they are saying, "You think I am stupid or something? Watch how I handle my business! Right in your face."

I had plenty of friends and family members that I could turn too, but one thing I learned from the hood is that only the strong survive. What one did to survive came from his or her own created resources. It was an unspoken rule that made us one and that is what made our neighborhoods the hoods because we did not have to know each others' resources only respect it. This is my opinion on how the projects were titled the inner city because it was so full of inner secrets. Just like the slave's days, every thing was coded. We had our own language. We had our own way of serving God, dealing with unfair crap, singing, etc. Even then just like it is today, whatever is different for the "majority" becomes a label disability to the "minority". When one race can not identify with the customs of another, they become threatened and have to find a way to break their spirit.

My journals took the burdens off of my soul. I felt relief in truly sharing my frustrations as a child on what it feels like to be a 'nigger' in an all 'nigger' school and an all 'nigger' neighorbood. I shared my feelings of being poor, being different, being lonely, being afraid, being happy, etc. When I closed my journal, it stated to me, "Don't worry about this, these are my problems now." When I reopen it, my journal would say, "Didn't I tell you that I was going to handle it. Now tell me what happened today."

I married at the age of sweet sixteen. I can tell you there was nothing sweet about me being sixteen and my marriage did not spice it up. Of course, I now dwell on the bitter more than the sweets, but the sweets are engraved into my heart for personal enjoyments. My mother signed the permission slip giving us her blessings. I believed her reasons varied why she signed. For one, we did not get along at all. I truly believed we hated each other most of the time. It was not because we did not love each other, but because we were both so damn miserable with each other.

My mother used to clean rich white peoples' homes and get paid under the table.

I remember wishing that she would just sit at home and collect welfare. I recall our grocer day as being a nightmare to me. Instead of spending her foodstamps in our neighborhood; she would drive all the way to Kroger's on the other side of town and spend them there with coupons that she clipped. I can still hear people sighing and staring at us like a welfare case. Most of the time she did that to spite me because I wanted to live with my father. Every chance she received; she had to show the difference between our struggles and my father's lifestyle.

I was so glad that she signed those permission papers. She had other reasons for signing too. The man I was marrying, we shared a son, and I was soon to graduate two months after the wedding. Most of all she was ready to finally put her needs first. I am grateful to this day that she did because it helped me to see what I wanted in life, what I wanted in a marriage, and it gave me the gift to write poetry.

Our marriage started off as playing house. It was so fun and sweet! There came a time when I wanted to stop playing house, and he basically said, No, I like this game. I became totally unhappy. I had nowhere to turn because I did not want anyone to see the mistake that I had made by choosing to marry so young. In a strange way, he did not want that mistake to be shown because people praised us so much. I knew how to fix it, but he was so stuck in his power role that he saw change as an identity crisis. I knew that I had to fix me. I had to go to my childhood and find out who I was, and what got me through the rough periods of life.

Spirituality was one. My mother and I lived at church in the rain, sleet, snow, car, no car, city bus, taxi cab, hitch a ride, etc. She was in the choir, and I was in the choir. This means every other week we were attending choir practices, every week was bible study, once a month was business meeting, twice a month some type of selling or car washes, etc. My grandfather was a minister, so spirituality and old time dipping in the water baptisms, down wholesome feet stomping, throwing shoes and sock to the preacher and to heart felt lead singers/choir because it was an all the way live church. Automatically, this smack your mama type gospel soul was naturally in my blood. I knew that I had to return to church, sing a gospel tune in time of despair, pray when the walls felt like they were closing in on me, and read my bible to regain my strength. I did exactly that, but something was still missing.

Then I remembered my dolls, and I had to think of someone who would understand and love me unconditionally with no questions asked. I needed someone who would sit quietly and be there for me without adding more pressure. I established a closer relationship with my niece. Even today, she serves as a piece of mind to me. I still felt that something was missing. From time to time, I flipped through music to help me think and to receive suggestions and semi happiness. Then it hit me, my journals were the key, and I knew it had to be my last resource of finding me. I dug my past journals up and read them anxiously. It was simply a biography about me. It discussed all of my trials and tribulations, it showed the distances that I have traveled, and most of it showed me that I was a fighter. I felt motivated and to keep my motivation, I had to start keeping a journal again.

This time when I spoke to my journals, it spoke back to me. The words that were flowing onto my paper were not from me. Then I would read the entry over and over, and it became sweet poetry to my ears. All of my journal entries were written in poetry form and the messages were especially for me. The more I wrote, the more strength and motivation I received. I even began to look at myself as a psychologist would because the writings were so deep only someone with a Ph.D. could understand the hidden messages. Then I started sharing my poems with my niece, not for approval, but just to see if she saw the talent. Everything I wrote turned into gold for someone. For example, on birthday cards, I would write simple comments, and friends and family would be so touched and literally praise me for serving as a light to them.

After my divorce, I decided that I needed to attend school because God had a calling on my life to be a teacher. I attended TSU and pursued an education degree. I hated being there and I decided that God did not anoint that on me. I did not have the clothes, the talk, the walk, the personality, the hair, the nails, the shoes, and the money, to even be at TSU. Even though my skin color was the same as everyone else, I felt like that 'project girl' from many years ago. This time I was being treated and looked upon by my own race.

My father died in '91, my mom was my parent, and I needed her support. She did not hesitate, she came to the base and jerked up my bat and said, "You can do it!" She told me, "You are going to have to buckle down and decide that you are going to better than me because you are worthy of an education."

I entered Nashville Tech under Business Administration. I learned to type, and I met a really good friend, Dr. Dixie Lee Larson. She was my Writing Instructor, and she gave me a voice by working with me on my verbs, etc. Still today I exhibit some of my poor grammar, but she gave me my unfailing wings that keep me flying. I am so cautious when I am speaking to someone. This was part of the 'hood' education program. They did not care if we learned the correct way of speaking and writing, just as long as we could form sentences. I see this as the beginning problems of many of my old schoolmates who are either deceased, in jail, on drugs, selling drugs, or not striving to get off of welfare. We did not have a chance. Not once did anyone tell us that we were college material. If our parents did not know and the teachers did not enforce it, our simple goal was to graduate from high school and function in life. I blame the school system. Damn them!

Dr. Larson understood this and not once did she make me feel incapable of learning. She worked with me to catch me up on the level I should have been on. Then she saw talent in my writings and introduced me to poetry. In fact this is when I met Nikki Giovanni's readings. I was the only black student in the class, and the only one who understood the power of Nikki's literature. Dr. Larson saw that and made me see it, and told me that one day that I was going to be a great writer. We still keep in touch. Whenever I feel that I am failing life, I simply write to her, and she renews the worn out feathers.

I was definitely not secretarial material. I decided that I wanted to help people and it had to be done through Psychology at MTSU. I studied psychology and somehow the Lord led me into the Social Work Department. My writings were still producing, and they were becoming a really dear friend to me. I could be in the middle of a test or lecture, and I would have to tune everything out just to write what was being giving to me. Driving down the road, I would and still do have to sometimes pull over to write the words that pierce my head and heart. In my sleep, I would wake up the next morning to find a sloppy paper with word magic all over it. Writing became the essence of me. When I say that my soul is black, I am not saying it to be racist. I am simply making that statement because I feel that I carry the souls of my ancestors. For it is their words and stories that are flowing into words of wisdom, understanding, guidance, advice, eye openers, and I am just the recorder.

It was not until my first Field Placement when I realized that I could do this professionally. I hated being stuck in the office, and I hated doing home visits. I decided that I wanted to use my social work degree on a macro level, and poetry was one of the ways to reach a lot of people at once. Shortly after that my sister told me she started a publishing company, and she did it partly on my behalf. Yes, yes, yes, shot through my brain because I knew God was confirming my profession as a writer.

I sit back and wonder why have I spent ten years of my life searching for something, when I had the answer in me all the time. I know the answers to my question, but I have to ask it over and over hoping that my life has not been in vain. I knew that I had to endure to be on all levels of understandings. I had to see racism not just from other races but from my race, as well. I had to see the drive-byes, people/friends dying, police chases, and friends going to jail. I had to see police corruption, gambling, juke joints, number runners, and children suffering. I had to sit among drug dealers and gang bangers, thieves, and natural born killers. I had to be in a failing marriage, become a young mother/single mother of three, give up drinking and partying, working a third shift while attending school and doing an internship. I had to attend three different schools and take a variety of classes, do an internship working with many disabilities and mental illness people, different families and children from all over the world, and most of all witness my niece kill herself and her children. I had to endure my mother working as a slave, my father who wanted to be there and a mother who pushed him away. I had to see a family member and personal friends fall from life and lose what they love the most because of a demon called crack. I had to encounter it all, so when I write I can let my readers know or they will have a sense that I know what they are feeling. I have a general understanding of many things that are positive and negative. When I tell my readers that they can push through, they will believe that they can push through it.

III. Relevant Themes

The theme that sticks out in my mind from doing my history is knowing that I

have a purpose. This is why I believe that my life was no accident. My purpose is to be a writer. Everything that God has taken me through has prepared me for my mission in life. I do not need a college degree to be a writer. It is very much needed to help me be proud of me. It is a tool that hopefully will inspire others that they too can accomplish their dream of becoming what their heart desires. Most of all this degree is for my children. Apparently it was God's will for them to see me struggle through school, so they can be better than me. All I know is that I want God to use me, and however God chooses to do so is fine with me. I truly believe that God will send that shaker, rattler, and roller my way to get me closer to my dreams.

I believe history is a path we all should visit especially when we are trying to find answers about self. Sometimes remembering is painful even if it is filled with happiness. I can still see my mother sitting at her sewing machine as she watches me through the curtains as I play outside. Those are the times I felt mostly loved by her. God placed her at that window, so when I visit I could have that one memory of her caring for me. How can one visit his or her past without visiting the people who made a difference. Our history is a tool for our future.

IV. My Solution Part A: Strengths Orientation

One of my strengths is recognizing truth. My children are receiving a worthy

lifestyle because my best is providing stability. Being my best is teaching them to be their best because they know I am not going to let them settle for less. My overall strength is knowing that I do not have to accept poverty, and accept being another person with a dream who has turned out to be only a dreamer. I truly believe not knowing the truth is what keeps so many people trapped because sometimes the truth can show things that we chose to be blind, too. My marriage, for example, the truth is if I had stayed married, I would have become more oppressed and dependent upon him. If I had closed my eyes and ignored the truth, then I would have accepted unhappiness as my status and we would probably still be married today. The truth is knowing that I have a gift from God. The truth is also me believing, if I do not use it, then the devil will turn it into stones.

Everything I do is strictly for my kids. Just like graduation for instance, I would very much rather stay at home that day and do nothing, but my kids need to see me walk across the stage. This is only a pattern for them. This is my good so that they can be better.

Part B. Contract

I, C-Ann Gaines, hereby contract with myself, and with God, to actively proceed in making my dreams come true. I am a capable, responsible, strong, talented, a wonderful person who deserves the best, and deserves the right to give her children the best. I promise to try real hard to become successful.

Goal - I will have to do some research about how to become a published writer. I will gather e-mail and business addresses to write letters requiring information. I will silently interview people on their professions and see if I can establish contacts. I will verbalize my career goals in the given opportunity.

Possible Resistance Problems: I see no resistance to my being able to achieve the above goal. My reward would be knowing that I am trying to reach my goal.

Goal - I will continue to be an inspiration to my children, and others in my life. Most of all, I will also continue to write poetry.

Possible Resistance Problems: I see no resistance to my being able to achieve the above goal.

Signed________________________________________Date____________

My Learning Process

I am a thinker, so the learning process is not new to me, but it has given me an extra desire to achieve my career goals. I always enjoy going down memory lane because it helps me to realize the person that I have become. It also helps me to understand why I have a non-judgmental attitude about people.

Majoring in Social Work has taught me more self-awareness. When you have self-awareness, you have a deeper understanding of people. You can gently show them the way by not even signaling that you are taking them down a path of discovery. I think this is very important because some people do not even realize that they are lost and in need of help. You have some that know that they are lost and want to have help, but are just too afraid to ask for it. Then there are people who know, but simply do not care one way or the other. Well, my poetry can deal with all of these people.

Social Work, Psychology, My History, and Poetry have all helped me to develop a sixth sense. As any kind of worker, for one to be good at what he or she does, he or she must understand the procedure of how things work far and beyond. He or she must have an ability to sense things. This way, if there is a malfunctioning, one will know how to keep the system from totally becoming destroyed and failing to do its job properly. If we can not understand self, how can we help or teach someone else to understand self.

This paper is one of the coolest papers that I have written this semester. It has relieved much stress of not having to find the time to visit the library, meet with groups, do intense research on top of having an internship, and a family/personal life. This research paper was one to make you think and dig for the facts. It was time consuming, but its purpose is to and will bring awareness to self. Like my father used to tell me all the time, "Before you try to tell people how to clean their front yard, make sure your backyard is clean."

I did not speak very much of my father in my paper. He crossed over in 1991. He was my best friend, and when I lost him I lost deeply. If he was here today, I would not be worried about a lot of things. For some reason I believe this is why God took him, and my father went willingly, so I could learn to walk on my own. The one thing my father wanted the most was to see me graduate from college. My father and mother both had to limit their education to the elementary level because they had to help make ends meat at home. My father could not read or write. He could not read a simple birthday card, and he could barely write his name. Growing up my father picked up on some trades that helped him to survive.

My father was always thrilled about his dying day because he would say, "Cheryl, my girl, you and the kids will be well taken care of and you all will not have to worry about a thing." My father retired from Malones & Hydes, and he was drawing his pension. He checked the wrong box on his paperwork 'lifetime only'. I did not have the money to fight Malones & Hydes because lawyers advised me that they would keep it jammed in court for many years. A part of me is angry because Malones & Hydes' representative took pride in rubbing that into my face, and the other half of me is pist because my father and others had been advised wrongfully. I have never really been upset about not getting the money because I have always had a feeling that God is going to bless me with more. I can still see my father winking at me when I need encouragement. Frank Grimes Jr., this paper is for all that you do.

Give That Girl Her Diploma

She is now a senior

Certain family members did not believe

That she had the potential to endure and achieve

But her friends from the hood

For they always knew

That she had the strength to see her way through

Born into poverty

This is the only life she has known

Cried millions of silent tears

While walking tall and smiling with a glow

Many hardships and struggles burdened her so

But somehow she held it together and just carried the load

Frank, her father, had a limited education

Because his help was needed more at home

All his life, work was no stranger

Even in his adulthood years

He used his childhood trades to help him survive

Along with working a 9 to 5

He was an after hours salesman of sealed liquor

And a specialist in loaded dice

All he ever wanted was for his only child to have a decent life

When he died

She felt so alone

But his spirit stayed and forced her to push on

Three children to feed at times money was slim

A mother's love means having to skip a few meals

How did she do it?

It is not a mystery to me

Because that girl is straight from the hood

Can't you see!

What will she do?

She does not have a clue

But she wants to dry the tears of the inner city blues

And to let all people know that they can make it through

Give that girl her diploma

Because she has work to do