Day 85

Growing up always included Geneva. Whether it was when I came home from school to find her wiping out the oven or first thing in the morning as she pulled her car up to the curb in front of our house, Geneva was a staple in my life. She was no ordinary woman. She taught me an important life lesson in a way I will never forget. One day I had friends over to the house after school. "This is Deid...," I said. That was our nickname for her that just stuck. I continued, "...she's our maid." Everyone said "hi" but I remember feeling something unspoken hanging in the air between Geneva and myself. After my friends left, Geneva sat me down. She was never one to hold something in that was bothering her. "I'm not your maid," she said sternly. While my memory is not clear on the exact words, I do remember her explaining to me about how she should be introduced to my friends. She made it very clear that as a black woman, she is no less of a person than anyone else and being called a maid was demeaning to her. To this day. I cringe when I hear someone say that word. Thoughts of Geneva flood my brain. It happens everytime. I wrote her a letter today that had the usual pleasantries -- Hello. How are you? -- It's the first step in reconnecting with the woman who taught me about respect.