We Used To Want To Know

You just can’t let anybody come in your house.

All of the children that I knew in my Greensboro, North Carolina neighborhood were given specific instructions that no one was to come into their home if their parents were not there.

Some mother’s rule was that no one was not even allowed in the yard, if they were not there. Other mothers were okay with a child coming in the yard as long as they didn’t come in the house.

My mother’s rule was, if she had met the child or their family and had given me the okay, they could come in the yard — but, still not in her house if she wasn’t there herself.

Even when the parents were home, not just any child who came to the door could come in. If a new friend came to my house when my mother was home, my mother would meet them at the door.

My mother to the child:

“What is your name?”

“Where do you live?”

“What’s your mama’s name?”

“What’s your daddy’s name?”

“Where does your daddy work?”

“Does your mama work?”

“What kind of work does your mama do?”

“What church do y’all go to?”

“Who is the pastor over there?”

These are some of the questions parents wanted answered before they let an unknown child in their house. I remember being given the ‘third degree’ myself many times by my friend’s parents.

But that was not the end of the investigation. After a period of questioning, my mother would step aside and let my friend come in with me. However, I would often, immediately, overhear my mother on the phone with another neighbor or church member that she knew. The part of the conversation I would hear usually went something like this:

“Hey Mary! This is Eva. Ann (me) brought this girl here by the name of Cookie Jones. You ever heard of any Jones that live on Broad Avenue? She said she lives on Broad Avenue. Oh, so this is Mabel’s niece. Which Mabel? Oh, Martha’s granddaughter. Well, she said she went to Rev. Peter’s church. That’s why I called you. I know your sister attend over there. She said her mama works at the cigarette store. What is the cigarette store? Oh — Lorillard Tobacco company. Her mama works in the cafeteria. Oh, I see. Her family is from South Carolina. Well, thank you Mary. What? Oh, you sure got that right. You got to know who is coming in your house! I’m going to finish cooking my dinner now. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Now, there were times when the child in question did not pass the interview. A couple of times after my mother would finish speaking with her friends on the phone, she would pull me aside (so the child could not hear) and say. “That girl can stay and play ‘today’. But, don’t bring that child back in my house no more.” That meant that something turned up during the investigation that was troubling to my mother.

My mama would say to my brothers, sister and me, “Don’t be running in and out of everybody’s house and you got to know who you let in your house. You just can’t let anybody and everybody come in.”

In later years, boyfriends and husbands were not exempt from her investigations. And, when my children were young, I would often find my foot blocking the doorway of our apartment, looking down at a young child as these words, unconsciously, rolled out of my mouth, “Who are you? Where do you live?”

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If my mother were alive today, she’d be one of ‘those’. You know — those people — the one’s who are laughed at and called conspiracy theorist, looney or ‘birther’. Because, you see, I know that my mother would ask questions.

She would want names and dates — and to know where all the kinsfolk are — and, who the kinsfolk of the kinsfolk are and what they do for a living — and, where they go to church. She’d want to know who the classmates were and who their parents were and what they did for a living — and where and when each of them were born . . .

I imagine my mother saying, “People need to know who is in their house. Doesn’t everybody want to know?”

And, I would say, “Mama, you are so ‘old-fashioned’”.

Tagged: 1950, Autobiography, Birther, Thoughts, Wambui Bahati