Practicing What You Preach. Vanessa Davis Griggs
have their roots in the days of slavery when black folks took what was normally discarded and managed to make a meal out of it.
All Diddy-bo and I knew the very first time we smelled that so-called southern “delicacy” cooking, when we were ten and eight, respectively, was that it stank to high heaven. After we learned what it was, I fully understood the source of its smell. Mama said the only thing she didn’t like about chitterlings was cleaning them, and the way the odor got into her draperies and lingered in the house all day.
No kidding?!
Still, Mama happily and excitedly ate a plateful of chitterlings and always went back for seconds, sometimes thirds.
“Some people prefer to put mustard on theirs, but I like mine with hot sauce,” Mama said. “Diddy-bo, get me the bottle of hot sauce and bring it here.” When he did, she shook a little hot sauce on the gray matter bunched on her plate, cut it up, put a forkful in her mouth, closed her eyes as she smiled, then looked up and moaned the way I do whenever I eat a superbly made peach cobbler.
Diddy-bo is not my brother’s real name, just as Nae-nae is not my best friend’s real name nor Peaches mine. Diddy-bo’s name is Spencer after some famous actor from my Grandma’s day named Spencer Tracy. Nae-nae is actually Denita Wilson. She’s named after her daddy Dennis and her mama Anita. And me? Like Denita, I was sort of named after my father Melvin (whom most folks called Mel) and my Aunt Lisa. So I’m Melissa. Mama said I always went delightfully crazy whenever I ate peaches when I was a baby and I was as pretty as a peach. I guess Peaches just stuck.
Diddy-bo likes to tell me that I grew into my pretty.
When I think back on what a real brat I was (Diddy-bo says I still am), I can’t help but think about how special my brother truly is. He doesn’t let anyone mess with me, that’s for sure. Ask Cass. When Diddy-bo found out Cass had borrowed my two-thousand-dollar stereo system and refused to give it back after he broke up with me, Diddy-bo paid him a little visit. I don’t know what Diddy-bo said or did to him, but when Diddy-bo brought my system home to me, he asked me to say an extra prayer for him.
And people wonder why I love my brother so.
Chapter 3
While they behold your chaste conversation coupled with fear.
—1 Peter 3:2
Marcus showed up fifteen minutes early for our date. He looked amazing—different than before. When he visited my boss, he mostly wore suits and ties. For our night out, he wore a lightweight pullover sweater with a geometrical design and pecan-colored slacks. He wasn’t as lanky as I’d thought. And those nerdlike glasses he always sported? Gone.
“Why aren’t you wearing your glasses?” I asked as we rode to the church. I thought for sure that after coming to my door to get me he would have put them on to drive.
He looked at me and smiled. “Oh, so you noticed?” He glanced away from the road to look at me.
“Well, yeah. I’m pretty observant. So you must wear contacts.”
“No. I wear glasses if my eyes become strained from too much reading. And I happen to read a lot. A lot. But mostly I wear them when I want to appear more serious.”
“Glasses make you look different, that’s for sure.”
He tilted his head toward me and grinned. “Is that a good different or a bad different?”
I shrugged, trying to make him think it really wasn’t that big a deal. “Just different, that’s all.” I looked over at him. With the help of streetlights, I was able to see his eyes again, and they were just as gorgeous as I remembered. I’ve never seen eyes that sexy on a man. I turned my gaze away from him. “Me? I have to have glasses to see,” I said. “Fortunately, I’m able to wear contacts, too. But I’d love not to have to wear glasses ever.”
He didn’t respond immediately. I wanted to look back over at him, but I fought the urge and continued to focus my attention on the road ahead.
“Well, I suppose it might stem from when I was a little boy. Everybody in my family wore glasses except me. It was something I was a little envious about,” he said. And although I didn’t see it, I heard the smile in his voice. “My mother used to think I was nuts because I wanted to wear glasses when I didn’t have to.”
“Then aren’t you being a bit dishonest by wearing glasses?” I turned to him. “If you really don’t need them, aren’t you merely using them to misrepresent yourself?”
“No, I don’t think I’m misrepresenting myself. My doctor prescribed them for those times when my eyes feel strained. Do I need them to read every second of the day? No. Do I need them to drive? No. But when I work a lot or late into the night, sometimes my eyes do get tired, so I put them on. My ophthalmologist says it doesn’t hurt for me to wear them all the time. So I wear them when I want to even though I don’t really have to.”
We were getting close to the church’s exit. “Turn left at the light, then right about a half mile up, and you’ll see the church on your right,” I said.
“So, Melissa Anderson, tell me. What are your dreams? What are your goals in life?”
“Now that came completely out of the blue,” I replied, a little surprised, though I was impressed that he even cared enough to ask. I turned and looked at him.
“Oh, really now? Well, I believe you can tell a lot about a person based on their goals and dreams for life.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. And I’d like to know you better. So what are your dreams?”
“Okay, if you really want to know. I’d like to own my own business someday. A pretty big goal, since I’m not that crazy about everything I’d need to do to own a business. Let’s just say that I like the creative side of what I want to do a lot more than I do the business side. I’m not all that fond of having to do all the paperwork it requires, all the records you have to maintain. But one thing I’ve learned in life is you do what you have to do in order to do what you want to do.”
The arrowed light turned green. He started moving as the line of cars in front of us began rolling. “That’s interesting. I don’t know if I would have ever guessed that about you,” he said.
“Wouldn’t have guessed what? That somebody like me might be remotely interested in owning my own business? That I could be capable of running, let alone owning, a business? What?” I hunched my shoulders a few times. “What?”
“No,” he said with an unspoken question I felt directed at me as though he were asking where that little outburst had come from. I quickly realized how defensive I must have sounded at that moment.
“Honestly, the times I’ve seen you at work, you appear dependable and rather comfortable with handling everything,” Marcus said. “In fact, Dr. Brewer constantly comments on how he doesn’t know what he would do without you. He talks all the time about how you run his office practically single-handedly. He loves your work ethic and can’t seem to say enough great things about your organizational and administrative skills. I suppose I just never thought about you having a desire to leave his office and do something else entirely, that’s all. But you running your own business, I can absolutely see that.”
I blushed. Dr. Brewer had told him how much he appreciated me. “Thank you,” I said when I realized he was surprised that I was interested in leaving Dr. Brewer someday, and not about my being able to own my own business. “I do my best. But I do have dreams. I don’t want to work for somebody else for the rest of my life.”
“Do you have an idea of what kind of business you’d like to own?”
“Yes. I love organizing events, putting them together, watching them work. Right now I do it more as a hobby. I charge a fraction of what I could get while I’m learning and working out all the kinks. At this point, it’s a win-win for everybody.