Just Like One of the Family

By William H. Foster III
 
  It was 1973. I was sitting in a beautiful suburban home just outside the city of my birth. I had come to this place at my mother’s request. Seated by my side, she beamed happily at the opportunity to show off her well mannered, well educated son to her “other family.”
 
  I was raised in a family of nine kids. One of the strictest rules of our household was to always show appreciation. There were few sins worse than showing ingratitude. Another important lesson was never being afraid of hard work. There is no job beneath you when you have a family to support.
 
   My mom and dad both worked at a number of different jobs with no complaint, and always took extra work when they could get it.
 
   When I was in junior high Mom was hired as a maid by a Jewish family in a nearby suburb. The Steins always insisted that Mom was just like a member of their family. But no matter how many times it was said, it made me want to gag. You don’t hire a member of your family to cook and clean for you. I carried too many negative stereotypes about Black maids working for White families. Despite the level of financial comfort my Mom’s extra income afforded our family the whole situation still made my stomach churn.
 
  And there was more. The Stein family called her “GLADYS.” They addressed my mother by her first name. In my family, this was a sign of unbelievable disrespect. As kids we were always taught to address elders with the title of “Mrs.,” “Miss.,” or “Mr.” – no exceptions. To ignore this rule was a serious infraction of manners, and cause for an immediate physical reprimand. Yet these people apparently didn’t need to be respectful to my mother. It particularly stung when the Stein kids did it.
 
  I remember distinctly a phone call I took for my mom. “GLADYS is such a wonderful worker,” some strange young voice gushed on the other end of the line. “We just love GLADYS! Please let GLADYS know we need her to work this weekend.” At the time, I could barely keep from shouting into the receiver, that’s my mother you are referring to!
 
  I told myself I didn’t hate the Stein family, But I was most definitely eaten up by the naked disrespect. I hid these feelings from my mom because they were bitter, and ugly, and smacked of ingratitude. Time passed, and my Mom moved on to other jobs. It was a chapter of my life that didn’t end soon enough.
 
  When I completed high school, I won a scholarship to a prestigious state university. My acceptance to college was seen as my parents’ reward for years of struggle and sacrifice. Years later I was home on vacation break during my sophomore year in college when Mom shared some exciting news. The eldest son from the Stein family had asked her to come back to work. He was attending medical school and his wife had just given birth. Could GLADYS please come and help out? She insisted I come out to his home and have dinner. It would be a perfect occasion for her two families to finally meet. She insisted.
 
  The past washed over me in an ugly, disgusting wave. I was fresh from the college classroom, and full of righteous indignation. I had held my peace for too many years and was more than ready to be the deliverer of justice. It would be a perfect occasion alright. I would finally be to correct the sins of the past.   
 
  Yet for all the fire that burned in my chest, I stopped, and forced myself to take a deep breath. And then several more.
 
  In a rare moment of clarity I thought about my mother’s request. She asked me to spend a few hours and share a meal with her friends. She wanted to show off her son. This occasion wasn’t about me -- it was about Mom, and the people with whom she had a long, close relationship. I had to re-think my definition of what makes up a “family.” Angry or not, it was time for me to show appreciation, and gratitude. 
 
  It was raining heavily the day of the dinner and the address was in an unfamiliar neighborhood. I refused to use either as an excuse to turn around and cancel.
 
  The result? I didn’t have a bad time. They weren’t demons nor insufferable snobs. I met a friendly young couple and their beautiful newborn baby. I met the family who simply wanted to continue enjoying my mother’s love and attention. They were the people who trusted and loved GLADYS. I saw how she doted on them. There was good food, polite conversation and even laughter. Damn it.
 
My Mom had always been my source of deep abiding love and support. That day, in one small gesture, I returned some.
 
 That rainy evening she could not have been happier as she beamed at us all.