Don't Let The Lipstick Fool You:. Lisa Leslie
really got into it. My cousin yelled at her, “Can’t nobody tell me what to do!”
Mom said, “You are right. Obviously, you are too grown up to live in this house and abide by the rules.”
She threw Kriscita out of the house, and Aunt Pete went packing back to Houston shortly after.
As Mom started to put things back to normal for me and Tiffany, we got more disappointing news. The people she had entrusted with paying the mortgage had done something funky with the money, and we lost our house. Mom had to file for bankruptcy, but thankfully, she was able to keep her truck. We packed up everything we owned and put it into storage. Dionne had left home to be on her own, so Mom got me and Tiffany settled in Carson, with her sister Judy Carol—my Aunt J.C.—and then she went back to trucking. This was just the move I needed.
Chapter 2
How’s the Weather Up There?
It took a little work to get settled at Aunt J.C.’s house. She was divorced from my Uncle Craig and lived with her two children, Craig II, whom we all called Craigie, and Braquel. Craigie was my only male cousin. He was eighteen, loved sports, and was creative, smart, and cool. Braquel was fifteen. She was my hero. This girl would not back down from anything or anybody. She was so brave, smart, pretty, and athletic, too. She and Craigie had it made. Aunt J.C. always provided them with the best of everything. They had Barbies, dollhouses, trains, model cars, and very expensive clothes. My cousins had so many things that Tiffany and I did not. I figured they had to be the happiest kids in the world. Oh, they were happy all right, but once we moved in with Craigie and Braquel, I found them to be unaware of just how truly blessed they were.
My cousins did not get along at all. They would really fight. I mean fight with a capital OUCH! I never saw a boy and a girl battle the way they did. He would get on her nerves, and she would kick him. He would choke her. I never knew what to do, except to get Tiffany out of the way while those two went at it. Craigie would punch Braquel. She would punch him right back. They fought like grown men would fight. It was like I had the family edition of professional wrestling going on right before my eyes, but these conflicts were real.
When Aunt J.C. caught her kids in hand-to-hand combat, she would run in, kick off her heels, and jump on Craigie’s back. If that did not break things up, she would run to the kitchen, grab a skillet, and threaten to hit him over the head with it. No kidding! It was serious. Their brawls only happened every few months, but that was more than enough for me. I hated it when my cousins fought. I cried every time. When each free-for-all finally ended, Craigie and Braquel would get a whuppin’. That scared me, too. I knew I had not done anything wrong, but I still worried that I might be next in the whuppin’ line. It would not have been the first time I got spanked for something I did not do.
Aunt J.C. had punished me before, so I was overly nervous at her place. I really felt the pressure of trying not to be a bother in a house that was not my own. I made sure that Tiffany and I did not get in the way or ruffle any feathers. We tried to use as little hot water as possible to make sure that everybody had enough, and we always kept the noise to a minimum. Tiffany and I would put out a blanket (we called it a pallet) and sleep on the floor in the living room, where there was soft carpet under us. Aunt J.C. loved Tiffany and me as if we were her own, but I still felt like we were in the way. I knew Tiffany and I were loved, but I also knew it was uncommon for people to take two kids into their home, even if they were related. One thing I can say about my mom and her sisters is that they truly believe that it takes a village to raise a child. They were always there for one another, and since my village was made up mostly of women, I had a ton of role models, Aunt J.C. chief among them.
Aunt J.C. was so glamorous and fun. In a good, interesting way, she was all the things that my mother was not. Mom was more well rounded, but she was not always glamorous. She was bigger and taller than her sister. Mom would pick and choose when she wanted to look really sexy, but she always looked like a lady. Aunt J.C., on the other hand, always seemed to be in Diana Ross mode. She had the big hair, shiny lipstick, and lots of sparkly, unique outfits that made fashion statements. Aunt J.C. always went to work wearing heels and looking sharp. To this day, I have never seen her in sneakers. She wears nylons, really pretty dresses, and blouses that are made of linen, silk, or satin. Her hair is always curled, very stylish, and, do not forget, big. Her jewelry is terribly expensive. Her perfume has a scent of class that lingers for hours. When my Aunt J.C. enters a room, people take notice. I wanted to be just like that.
But I was feeling anything but glamorous. I was an awkward, gangly twelve-year-old who stood out at six foot one. I was literally head and shoulders above everybody else. When I was at school or walking home, kids would tease me about my size. They would point and laugh and say, “Wow! You are so tall! You look like Olive Oyl.” They called me all kinds of names. Skinny Minnie. Bony. I would come home crushed! Mom would tell me to keep my head up high and understand that when people talked about me, they were only exposing their own insecurities. I tried to see it that way, but it was difficult.
Mom spoke from experience. She had been six foot three since she was nineteen years old, so she knew all about growing up tall. Plus, she wore really thick glasses as a child. Kids made fun of her and called her names, but she never let her height discourage her.
Besides fitting in at school, one of my main concerns was fitting into clothes. I did not understand that when I was growing so tall and so quickly, every pair of pants I wore would look as if they had shrunk. The cuffs would stop well above my ankles. It looked as if I had rolled them up to walk through a flood. Truth was, I constantly outgrew everything that I owned, and nothing ever fit right. Mom started shopping for me in the men’s department. I wanted to wear fashionable kids’ clothes like everybody else my age, but my days of fitting into children’s clothing were over, and it was painfully embarrassing. What twelve-year-old girl wants to dress like a man? Not me.
My feet were size 12, and I walked around wearing these leather shoes that Mom bought for me on a trip to Tijuana. I wore those shoes every day for a full year. Before long, there were holes in the bottoms of them. Rain would seep in, soak my feet, and stain the leather. One day I got on my knees and prayed, “God, when people look at my clothes, make it look like they fit right, even if they don’t. Can I please be able to get pants and jackets that are long enough?” Then I would add, “And please let people see me as beautiful.”
I prayed a lot growing up. My family was pretty religious, but Dionne in particular used to go to church every Sunday to enjoy the choir and congregate with other people. She always was a people person. When I asked if I could tag along, it was one of the few times that she agreed without getting irritated with me. Dionne and I would walk together to church each Sunday, just the two of us. This gesture is the one thing I will always be grateful to her for; I am not sure if she ever knew it, but Dionne helped bring me to Christ when I was just seven years old.
So I believed in the power of prayer from a very young age, and I have never doubted that God answers prayers. I know that He does not always answer my prayers exactly the way I ask, but He does answer me eventually. To this day, whenever I pray, I say, “May Your will be done,” because I understand that God sometimes has something else in mind for me, a different direction, a new focus, or a greater plan that is more important for me than clothes that fit or shoes without holes. But when I entered Whaley Junior High in Compton in 1984, that was exactly what I prayed for. Instead, God gave me basketball.
For years I had to put up with people saying, “You are so tall. Do you play basketball?” I got sick of hearing the question. Before I began junior high school, the game meant nothing to me. It was not even a tiny part of my life. We did not have any basketballs at my house, and I had never watched a game on television, so I had absolutely no understanding of the sport. I had seen some neighborhood kids shooting baskets down the street, but I never considered playing until junior high.
Sharon Hargrove was a very popular girl in school. We called her Shay. She came up to me and asked if I wanted to try out for the basketball team. I was hesitant. After all, I knew I was not tough or strong. My most athletic activities had been tetherball, kickball, and jumping rope. I was very good at double Dutch. Basketball, though, was something completely new and different.