Lean on Me

From the time I could talk, my mother leaned on me for everything. I don't remember her ever acting like a parent. She wanted us to be best friends, confiding in me about things no child should hear. If I had told anyone what she shared, CPS would surely have been called. Even before the drugs, she was a mediocre parent. My father, on the other hand, was non-existent until I was about five. After that, he was in and out of my life so frequently that I didn't remember his name until I was seven. But my mother was always there, dropping us off at my grandpa's or my aunt's house for days at a time. I spent more time with my cousins and grandparents than with my own mother.

There was a time in my young life when my parents decided that I would speak to my father for the first time. I was elated. I had a daddy. I picked up the phone and we talked about all kinds of things. I wanted to know everything about him. When our conversation ended, I told my mother that I wanted to visit my dad. I thought that she would be thrilled, it was, after all her idea I talk to him. On the contrary she threw a fit worthy of a toddler. "Fine! If you want to see him you can go live with him! And you can leave every single thing that I have ever gotten you here!" She demanded this as she started to strip me out of my clothes, even my underwear had to go, she had gotten that for me also. She shoved my in my bedroom and slammed the door. As I sat naked on the floor, crying, I began to feel guilty. I did not mean to make my mommy think that I did not love her anymore. That must be what she thought. I wanted to make her happy again, I hated seeing my mother sad or angry. I contemplated how I would make her happy again. I went to my closet and picked out my most favorite, prettiest dress and I put it on. I cracked the bedroom door and peeked at her, se was watching television. I ran to her and jumped into her lap. I showered her with kisses and I apologized. I explained that I did not care about seeing my daddy, that my mommy was all that I needed to be happy. She cried, kissed me, and all was right in my world. I did not know it at the time, but that was the moment my people pleasing began. It grew from there into a huge piece of my personality.

My mother often complained to me about how the family treated her unfairly and how she was the black sheep. No one loved her as much as they loved her perfect sister, and she resented them for it. Yet, she relied on them for everything, manipulating and using every member of my family until that bridge was burned, then moving on to the next. My entire childhood was a merry-go-round of living with grandpa, grandma, and her boyfriends. We had an apartment of our own once when I was six years old, but it only lasted four months before we were back at my grandma's house. They clearly resented her, yet they let her and her two children live with them, paid for everything because she didn’t work, and took care of us when she disappeared for who knows what.

Everyone could see that my sister and I needed help, but it came a little too late. One morning before school, at the beginning of my sixth-grade year, my mother woke me up and made me come to the kitchen table. Sleepy and confused, I stumbled into my seat and wiped the sleep from my eyes. She stared at me for what seemed like hours before she said, quite plainly, "I am doing drugs. I have been smoking crack." I was shocked and confused. We had just started learning about D.A.R.E. in school, so I knew what drugs were. I tried to ask her questions, and she gave me one-word answers. She decided we were done talking and told me to get ready for school. School! I couldn’t go to school after such a life-shattering bombshell. "You have to go to school, Tia, otherwise people will know I’m doing drugs, and we have to keep it a secret." I sat, mystified. How could she expect me to act normal after this?

My entire life changed that day. Of course, I did as I was told and went to school. And, of course, I didn’t keep it a secret. I told all my friends and made them promise to keep it a secret too. In our D.A.R.E. class, I shot my hand up at every chance to ask questions about crack. I needed to know everything. I needed to know if my mother was going to die. My teacher noticed right away and came to me after class one day. She knelt to my level and took my hand. "If you need to talk about anything, I am here for you." I could see the compassion in her eyes, but I was sworn to secrecy. I couldn’t tell her anything. I had promised.

That day, my mother picked me up from school, furious. I didn’t know why, but I had seen her anger enough times to know it was serious. She started ranting about her boyfriend and what a horrible man he was for cheating on her. She was going to make him pay. We drove to his house and let ourselves in while he was at work. She immediately began tearing every photo off the wall, along with all the mirrors. She encouraged me to break the dishes in the kitchen, thrusting them into my small hands. I did as I was told, wanting to make my mother happy, no matter what. I smashed the dishes and glasses. She flipped his mattress and threw his clothes everywhere. She tossed the television on the floor and continued ransacking the house. When she was satisfied, we left.

I knew then that something had to be done. When we got home, I snuck into my bedroom at my grandma’s house and wrote a note. Just two sentences. I folded it probably eight times to make sure it was well hidden and placed it in my coat pocket. That night, I went to bed in turmoil, anxious, nervous, frightened, and on alert. The next morning, I went to school as usual. I waited until recess, staying behind in my seat. When everyone was gone, I found every ounce of courage within myself, marched up to my teacher, and handed her the crumpled piece of paper. I spun on my heel and marched out. I glanced back and saw her unfold the paper and read the words. "You asked me what is wrong. Well, I will tell you... my mom is doing drugs."