A few months ago, I was reading Phi Mu’s magazine, the Aglaia, and I found out about a book called The Help by Kathryn Stockett, a Phi Mu alumna. I got the book for Christmas, and since then, I’ve seen it everywhere. The Help is about black women who work for white families in Mississippi in the 1960s. I don’t have anything substantive to say about the book other than READ IT. But at the end, the author included a very short version of her own story about her childhood and the black lady who took care of her, so I will give you my story…
For the first ten years of my life, I was blessed to know Pauline Jones. She wasn’t exactly our maid, wasn’t exactly our nanny. My mom always told me that Pauline was her grandmother, until one day when I asked, “Mom, isn’t Pauline black?” (She was very light-skinned.) My mom laughed and told me the truth: that she wasn’t her grandmother, but my mom loved her like a grandmother, and yes, Pauline was black. Pauline was not actually my great-grandmother, but she did work for my great-grandparents, as well as my grandparents and my parents. She cooked and cleaned for our families, and took care of my brother and me when my mom had to go off. Pauline drove a car called “Green Lucy,” disliked interracial coupling, dipped peach snuff, had a cat named Tina, and was terrified of a thunderstorm. When the weather got bad, she’d say, “It’s clouding up,” and she’d go on home. I blame her for my own terrible fear of thunderstorms. Pauline was extremely kind. In sum, Pauline was a special member of our family, and I am thankful that she was part of my childhood.
