Power of Love: Part III
“Aight so boom, picture this: the year is 2020 and Back to the Future IV begins with Doc and Marty opening the doors of a spacecraft that has been traveling around the galaxy. They came back to warn us about…”
“Stop,” Dr. Brown says, cutting off my story. “This is not Back to the Future and you are not the Black Marty McFly. Focus, we’re running out of time in your session.”
I was deflecting from what I had intended to share with him.
I scheduled time to talk to Dr. Brown about how Kobe and Gianna Bryants passing had me reminiscing about the old days when mom and I had fallen in love with winning, with basketball, and with church. I could deeply empathize with the parent-child bond that Kobe and Gianna appeared to share.
As I leaned forward in the brown wooden chair, I began to unpack my feelings as he sat across from me.
“So yeah, the Soulful Silverback was kinda birthed on that kelly-green court back in the late 90s but really that young Silverback found love through Madi, my mom,” I say. “Our relationship has always validated Harry Harlow’s psychological studies on monkeys and the importance of maternal contact. You know that study from back in the 1950s? All we Silverbacks need is a Mama’s love, ya know?”
As he writes his final notes, my mind drifts off as I gaze out of the window. He’s taking so long to jot everything down that I begin to wonder, “What if Dr. Brown really is “Doc” Brown and this is Back to The Future?”
What if investing in therapy is really like the movie itself?
What if mental healthcare is like going back into the ground of yourself to mend your roots, repair broken connections, and unleash your own potential as a human being? To really face your fears and lead a more authentic experience. To be free to be who we are.
(Silverback’s note: Greetings from Amsterdam North; I call it Castle Black now. It’s been a devastating year for so many people all over the world — our family included. Sometimes on sad days I listen to disco music. Why? Disco reminds me of my Mama’s love and the sounds are as uplifting as she is. I wanted to honor the power of her love and bring our series to a close with some imagination and creativity. Without further adieu please enjoy the finale of the Power of Love.
Read part I, here and part II, here. Remember, click on the section hyperlinks to listen to the tunes.)
I drift deeper into my imagination and envision the falcon-wing doors of our DeLorean rising up to reveal the interior of the time machine.
I punch the dates June 07, 1998 into the dashboard. That would be my little brother David’s fifth birthday.
“Why 1998, Neville?” Doc Brown asks from the passenger seat.
“I am so glad you asked, Doc. I was 12 and 1998 is the year that the Chicago Bulls were about to win their second 3-peat. Game 3 of the NBA Finals were on that night. The Chicago Bulls had just tied up the series 1-1 against the Utah Jazz. The Bulls led by Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, and Dennis Rodman were on fire!”
“Neville?” Doc Brown reprimands. “Focus, on your own story.”
“Ok, ok. While the Bulls were capping off the end of their dynasty, so were we. The starting five of my basketball team had been playing together for more than two years and were kickin’ ass all over the tri-state area. We piled up 149 wins and only 1 measly loss to Our Lady Help of Christian (vomit). I was getting really good around that time and high school coaches were beginning to scout my talent. Well, that was also the year my old buddy Nigel and I became friends at P.S. 308 where my mom was a teacher. He couldn’t guard me at basketball. I mean no one could stop my patented spin move.”
I punch in the final coordinates into our time machine.
“Yeah, let’s go back to 308 in Bed-Stuy,” I say to Doc Brown. “You know my parents met in Brooklyn similar to how Marty’s parents meet at the Enchantment Under the Sea dance in Back to the Future. Did you know that Huey Newton’s band in the 80s wrote a song called ‘Power of Love’ for the movie? Did ya know?! Didya, didya, know? It's the song that's playing during their first dance. Kinda like the power of love that brought my mom and dad together during their first dance.”
“Negro, hush.” Doc Brown quips. “You’re not going to talk my ear off this entire time machine ride.”
I press on the accelerator, as we hit 88 miles per hour it catapults us back in time to P.S. 308 in 1998.
“We didn’t know Mrs. Louison’s fat son could play ball.” Nigel jokes as I post him up inside the small gymnasium inside P.S. 308 during recess.
Watch, he can’t stop this spin move.
I knew Nigel from Brooklyn Tabernacle but I also knew Nigel from my mom’s job. Together with Shawn and Alex, they were my best friends from the Brooklyn Tabernacle. We’ve been tight ever since.
Mom was a public school teacher in the Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn. Public School 308 — or “308” as it was known colloquially — was for intellectually gifted students in this predominantly Black community. A glimmer of hope saturated in Black pride within a poverty-stricken community.
The “Best of the Brightest,” as the 308 students were called, were intellectual peers that sparked my competitive fires. It felt great to have the freedom to think outside of the white gaze and have Black educators even if it were only for a day.
Doc and I continue to look on as the young Silverback scores bucket after bucket on Nigel. Mrs. Louison enters the gym to gather her students to return to the classroom.
“TEAM!” she shouts as everyone comes to a standstill.
Damn, her voice really carries.
Mom was a riveting educator. Her passion, her energy, her voice always inspired me. The way she moved around the classroom so gracefully at her size. Teaching her students with passion and love.
Watching her move sparked ideas for the ferocious moves I wanted to make when I played ball. Witnessing mom work on her craft inspired me to be better. She inspired her students to learn.
Having the experience of being taught by Black educators was so different from the older white nuns who taught me in Catholic School.
Actually, Doc Brown and I are going to keep groovin’ to this soul music and let Mama Soulful share her passion for inspiring young minds with you.
“Dag, Leda what do you teachers do all day long on these hot summer days?” I ask inquisitively.
“Exactly what I’m doing right now - catching up on my television shows,” Leda chuckles with a smile from ear to ear.
“I’m so jealous. I’d love to be home all day long with Andy during the summer. I’d take him to the park, on vacations, and just hang out with him,” I’d retort with lament.
That conversation with my sister, Leda, along with my mom’s constant coaxing, was the catalyst for me to become a teacher. Prior to my career transition, I worked as an administrative assistant making about $17K with only one week of paid vacation per year. That meager vacation time did not afford me ample opportunities to spend with my baby boy, Andy. I smothered him with love every moment I was with him, and I was more than willing to venture into education, like my sister, even though I frankly had no interest in teaching. Ever. Yet my ravenous desire to spend more time with Andy drove me to make various phone calls to the Board of Education inquiring how I, too, could become a teacher.
My journey into education began on an ordinary Friday morning when I walked into the Board of Education to fill out what seemed like endless forms, to get fingerprinted, and take a short, simple test. The completion of this first step paved the way for me to fill a teaching vacancy immediately the following Monday — midsemester — on a cold February morning. A desperate principal just needed a body in that classroom.
I sheepishly strolled in, I was met by a group of boisterous, energetic students. Some were running around shouting at each other, while others, quite annoyed at their classmates' behavior, awaited anxiously for yours truly to stimulate their young, hungry minds. They could sniff my fears, my inexperience, and my lack of knowledge in this profession, yet they were ready to take me to task on every level of my newfound career. Although I was a novice, my mama instincts kicked in and I was able to take control of the classroom without revealing the bout of jitters I was experiencing.
In those early years, I was truly discouraged, overwhelmed, and overworked. Tiredness and regret set in. I knew that I had to overcome my discontent with being a teacher. While driving to work one morning, I had a sudden realization that my fledgling teaching career was no longer about Andy and me bonding together. It was much much bigger than us. I became fully aware that my outlook and preparation had the power to break or make the lives of many Black and Brown little children, including my own, for generations to come. This was empowering, and if not handled correctly, dangerous all at the same time. This revelation became the cornerstone of my teaching career. I became passionate and extremely determined to use this God-given gift and fire within my bosom for the good of my people.
My fervor was ignited in Afrocentric P.S./I.S. 308, Clara Cardwell School for the Gifted in Bed-Stuy. Three-oh-eight shaped the foundation of my teaching career as well as established Black pride in me and my growing family of four little children. I learned African American history to nurture and inspire my students to be the best of the brightest — to know that blood was shed so that they could read and write.
Every day, Dr. Locklear, the principal, would get on the loudspeaker to encourage and inspire the children to greatness. She would remind them that rising tides lifts all boats, that it takes a village to raise a child. We, the faculty, were all a part of that village. That became my calling: raising children within this larger community.
I took the responsibility for my students as seriously as if my next breath depended on whether or not my children would thrive to their fullest potential. Consequently, I went back to school to earn education credits, later a master's degree, and finally 30 credits above my masters in order to hone my teaching skills. I got up each day focused and with a fire within my soul to teach and motivate my students to become critical thinkers and writers. My objective was to teach in a manner that would stimulate a contagious fire for learning that was not confined to a classroom but to the world at large.
I began to see my students grow and explore their own minds in ways that they had never discovered. We read the New York Times, we read Nightjohn, we read and enacted Macbeth. It was glorious and fulfilling! And if anything or anyone got in the way of that classroom exploration, you better believe I handled it immediately.
To give you an idea of how this played out in the classroom let’s talk about Nigel. He was my brilliant 6th-grade student at 308 who, at times, tried to interrupt the learning flow in our classroom. Behind my back, he would shoot spitballs across the classroom and talk incessantly. It drove me nuts!
“Nigel, please step outside for a moment,” I said, totally frustrated with his behavior. “Stop misbehaving in class! You are such an intelligent young man, but how are you going to get ahead in life if you don’t behave and focus. You can totally do this work!”
“Yes, Ms. Louison, you’re right,” Nigel would respond timidly with his head bowed in “genuine” repentance.
“Look Nigel, if you want to mess yourself up like that, that’s your business, but I’m not gonna allow you to take any other students down that path with you. I know there is so much greatness in you, but sadly you haven’t realized that yet. Think about that for a moment. So, when we step back into the classroom you better make up your mind what you’re gonna do. The choice is yours. I’m tellin’ you nicely now, but if I have to talk to you again I’m coming back at you with fire. I ain’t gonna make it easy for you.”
(By the way, Nigel is a thriving lawyer and continues to be very much a part of my family to this day. Who knew?)
Throughout my teaching career, I have had similar conversations with countless students, and it is in these interactions that I have found my philosophy of teaching. After much soul searching, I realize that my philosophy has almost nothing to do with academia. On the contrary, my philosophy of teaching lies in the core belief that every human being desires to love and be loved. My love and passion for my students and their education came through discipline, values, and believing in their potential for greatness! As I reminisce about my teaching career, I reread the endless notes, letters, cards, book dedications my students have given me through the years; my heart is consumed with joy knowing that they loved me as well. At last, I have fought the good fight, and I have sowed many seeds that will multiply for good for generations to come. To God be the glory!
As I snap back to reality from my daydream in Dr. Brown’s office, I lean back in the therapy chair and reflect on how deep I had traveled into the layers of myself.
Once a week for six years, I invested the time into mending the hurt that was festering inside. Dr. Brown and I metaphorically traveled back in time — into my joys, into my fears, and into the woundedness that was holding me back from understanding that I needed to delve deeper into the emotions of my past traumas and reconnect to myself.
Rewarding myself with the space to explore the inner workings of my vulnerabilities had left me with a profound understanding of my mind and emotions. These invaluable connections on the human experience have empowered me to live a more robust life that is bursting with love for myself and others.
Peering up at the clock, I realized that I was going to be late to see my mom speaking at her new church in the city.
I raced from Brooklyn to Manhattan to make it just in time to hear the pastor introduce her to the congregation.
“Madi is a gangster y’all,” the pastor says from the stage to applause and laughter.
You have no idea buddy.
I had come to Liberty Church to turn the tables of support and be there to cheer on mom. She had finally mustered up the courage to share her woundedness with the church for the first time ever. She is an elder in the church now and is an integral part of the community. I felt so happy that she was finally able to share her story of tribulation and reconciliation.
We drove home together from the service, and when we returned, I talked to my dad as he was thumbing through records.
“I go play that record,” dad says in that all familiar tone. “My queen does love that record.”
The needle drops and the guitar strings remind me of the brightness of the 80s and why disco was so hot.
For mom, it’s like she’s instantaneously teleported back to the Empire Roller Skating Rink. When those congas drop, fuggedaboutit, she can't stop her hips from moving and her feet from shuffling like she's dancing on skates.
“Oh Jordache, turn that music up!” Mama says. “That’s my song, baby!”
All these years later he still knows how to make Madi move — except now he’s DJ’n with his glasses low on the bridge of his nose.
Things with her and dad have really improved. They aren't fighting and he’s really been there for my siblings and me. Watching them grow individually and as a couple in retirement together inspires me.
“Everybody,” sang Sister Sledge.
“Let me tell you about my love.” My mom chimed in and she moved her hips. “Come on Antonia!”
Titi Toni heard Sister Sledge sizzling in the living room and joined the party.
“Oh yeah, Jordache! That's the song.” My aunt bursted with joy as she gracefully slid across the wood floor.
Suddenly the living room morphs into a scene from Saturday Night Fever.
Sitting there I could see that my parents' relationship was rekindling and bringing our entire family closer. Madi’s prayers from all those years ago were being answered.
Maybe the Lord will restore the years that the locusts have eaten after all?
I understand now that divinity can be found in the abject force of maternal love. It’s this love that is the thread that connects us to harmony and wholeness on life’s journey.
A mother’s love, a partner's love, a love of music, a love of basketball but most importantly — a lifetime commitment to understanding and love.
Love and peace to you all.
