Don’t Get Above Your Raising

I sat across from her after my second novel was released. My mom was proud. She read Somewhere Between The Trees And Clouds twice before she responded to the story and gave me her thoughts. As a poet, she loved that I wrote it in verse. As an artist, she loved that I told more of my own story through a fictional character that I made up, no matter how hard it was at times. When she saw that a best selling author put her name on my book with a review, she said, “Don’t get above your raising.” 

A mother will teach you many things in life. My mom told all of her kids stories about growing up in poverty in Alabama. She was raised in a red dirt floor cabin on Burleson Mountain, Alabama. Her daddy was a sharecropper during that time, working the fields, running bootleg liquor across statelines, and picking a banjo whenever they needed to escape from the realities of poverty, as the Great Depression was starting to lift its grip from much of the country, except the south. Southern poverty is just a little more harsh than anywhere else, and the stains on her daddy’s hands proved that. 

She loved to tell the story of being pulled through the field by a cotton sack, or her daddy picking up workers to help in the fields right along with him. He was a sharecropper, a farmer, working the land, making enough for her momma to make black eyed peas and cornbread each evening, and if there was a little left over, he could buy some tobacco for his pipe. When she told these stories, she did so with both a smile and tears, happiness and pain. “We thought that was good eating,” she’d say. Then, tears would form in her eyelids and fill the blue, making them appear more clear and thoughtful, but still focused, as if she were watching a hawk fly overhead from a distance. “My daddy gave up so much for us.” There wasn’t a story told about her daddy that did not eventually bring tears to her eyes. “You’re a lot like him,” she’d say, and I’d have to take her word for it, only knowing him until I was seven, and even then I was barely in his presence. He died when I was seven, but the stories told by my mother made it feel as if he were always present, sitting next to you, pipe smoke filling the air, and banjo strings strumming in the background. It was our upbringing, our roots, being told a little at a time while sitting on a porch or at a kitchen table. If I close my eyes, I can still hear my mother’s sweet voice describing her life as a girl being raised on southern land and all the characters in it, from her daddy and momma, to her aunt Vina and Uncle Curtis. Then, there was Ma, Jimmy, and Arthur, who added a few more tears to her eyes. Sometimes she’d mention my dad’s family, who were also from Alabama, and his mother’s side, even more impoverished than her own. She’d tell us how crazy and mean my dad’s uncles were and how she was pretty sure they had killed a few men along the way. When she talked about my dad’s father, she did so with pity at times. He was a millionaire and my mother had pity for him. That’s why she always stated, “If you need help, go to the poor, they will help you faster than the rich.” 

Her stories were meant to keep us informed about the richness of Alabama culture, and even though we lived north of the Mason Dixon Line, my mom made sure we knew where we came from. There was a certain amount of southern values instilled in us, and first and foremost it was to respect your elders, and second was to never get “Too big for your britches.” 

So, when my mom said to me after my books started to get more exposure, and her son was being interviewed about his writing and stories, or standing in front of a crowd preaching about tending to your mental health, she simply stated, “Don’t get above your raising.” I heard her say this about actors, politicians, writers, and musicians who had southern backgrounds and did not grow up with means. To me, it’s about not forgetting where you came from, keeping your ego in check, and helping others that might not be as fortunate. 

My mom lived up north for a good part of her life, but she never forgot her roots. She hung onto her accent, traditions, and stories. Not to get “above your raisin,” was a lesson in humility. A reminder that everything can be taken from you in a single breath, and there are people out there struggling, making it by with less than you. For me, that was a reminder to be grateful for what I have and what I made for myself and out of myself. Yes, I wanted my life to have purpose, but I also want it to be in service to others. If that’s through sharing some stories, then they can have them. 

I remember when my mom and dad filed bankruptcy when I was nineteen. It was a result of my dad’s issues that aren’t worth putting into words here. We moved five of us to a two bedroom duplex, but the smells of southern cooking still filled our home. Nothing in this world tastes as good as my mom’s chicken and dumplings. A simple dish of chicken, broth, and dough with a side of biscuits. I would gladly take that meal one more time than any in the entire world. We were now poor but we still had that smell and taste to count on, and we had my mother’s love, so in many ways we were more rich than ever. 

It is important to remind ourselves where we come from, and if you come from means, remember there are people with stories and stained hands from red mud that helped build this country. There are farmers and builders with strong forearms and tired minds that provide your basic needs, and there are people that are content to have black eyed peas, biscuits and gravy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

My roots are instilled deep within me, so when I recently found myself on live television, talking about a book that I wrote for my mother, I did not forget where I came from. When asked, “Are you nervous?” My thought was, Not at all, I am here to talk about my momma and she’s beside me while I sit in a green room with make-up lights, getting ready to simply tell of my roots and the loss of a mother who loved me so much that she often reminded me to, “Don’t get above you raising.”