One of my earliest childhood memories of being afraid was about going to the Taco House on Detroit St as a child. I remember that it was located on one of the roughest corners in Flint. I remember being very young, before my second brother was born, so maybe 3 or 4. In our day there were winos and a few junkies…just hanging out outside the Taco House. They would bombard you at the door asking for spare change. I remember getting out the car and what felt like hundreds of people approach us all at once.

I recall saying to my mother “I’m scared”…and her words to me I’ll never forget. She said (to her 3 year old daughter) “just straighten your back, look them in the eye and look just as mean as they do". I never forgot that. 😂

Funny how memories work. There are so many things I can’t recall for the life of me, BUT whenever I feel my back is against the wall, I remember to straighten my back and look just as mean as they do.

I never appreciated the unspoken, unaccounted lessons my mother taught me. My mother was the strongest little terror I’ve ever met. I always saw it as mean or angry. She prepared me for a world that would be tough on me, without saying those words. She taught me survival skills without calling them that.

My family doesn't show love through emotional gestures. We fight for one another. We are silent assassins in that measure. We never hug, but as my grandmother once said “we know we love each other”…

And I do. I know that I was loved, because at 3 my mother taught me to deal with the cold cruel world with strength, resilient, toughness, with a little bit of fake it to scare ‘em mentality. I've never backed down from a fight. I’ve never been afraid to go toe to toe with a person. I've never been bullied…

I love her for that💜