Growing up in the South definitely has its perks, but some of its traditions often come across as being extreme if you have been exposed to different ways of thinking. I have been exposed to different cultures, religions, foods, etc. Sometimes, I don’t realize how much exposure I have had until I am forced to deal with one of these Southern traditions.
I grew up in the South. I was born and raised in the heart of the Mississippi Delta. My stomach is familiar with greens, cornbread, and everything fried, smothered, or covered in butter. I played hopscotch, red light, green light, yellow light, and stop! I even made mud pies. I'm from the era where my mother worked like my father, but she managed to help my siblings and me with homework, iron clothes, and prepare a home cooked meal every day. Eating out was truly a “treat.”
The era where I spent the holidays with my maternal grandmother and grandfather’s home. The era where I had cousins within a year or two of my age. We had a village, a support system, or if you want to be extreme and say we had an alliance, that will work too.
I’m from the era where Black people stayed in church ALL day on Sunday. The era where you passed around a collection plate for tithes, offering, and a building fund. My father was a Baptist preacher the majority of my life, so I have definitely gone to my fair share of evening programs, musicals, Black history programs, and funerals, but the funerals were always interesting to me as a kid. I must say Black funerals are unlike any funeral I have ever attended. They are usually quite comical, and the attendees are most often in for a performance.
Reflecting on funerals made me think about my family. As I have mentioned on several occasions, I lost my father and two sisters within a 22-month time frame. My sisters were not members of anyone’s church when they died, and my dad had resigned from his duties as pastor three months before his death. From a logical standpoint, it would seem only befitting to have someone who knew the three of them personally to conduct the eulogy at their services. However, when it comes to tradition, logic is not always a factor. My family’s logic to not utilize a preacher, pastor, or minister to conduct the eulogy for my family’s three deceased members did not go over well in a small town known for its Southern traditions.
I did the eulogy for both of my sisters, and my brother did the eulogy for my father. My mother indicated she didn’t want a long service for either of the three, so she delegated roles of responsibility. Losing the three of them felt like someone had pulled part of my heart out while it was still beating. For the first time, my family’s chain had been broken, and all of the glue in the world couldn’t put the chain back together. We were hurting. Our bodies had been stung numerous times. There wasn’t an antiseptic available to remove our agonizing discomfort.
I remember going through photos as we sat around the kitchen table and living room. We reminisced about what the three of them did during their time in this realm. We knew secrets and stories no one else knew. We had been there when the bad was horrible. We had been there when the good was outstanding. I remember speaking with my parents after my sister Tracey died and asking them who knew Tracey better than her family. There was no preacher, deacon, elder, mother of the church, stewardess, steward, or trustee that could help my family remember the life and legacy of my dearly beloved sister. The depiction of her wit and stubbornness was not listed in Genesis, Exodus, Luke, John, or Revelation. My father’s goal to survive and provide for his family during the Civil Rights Movement while being a Black man with only a high school education couldn’t be referenced in Matthew, Ruth, or Ecclesiastes. God knows that day to day guidance on how to deal with my sister Stacey’s temperament and multiple personalities could not be found in first or second Timothy nor Romans nor first or second Corinthians.
Our consolation came from God being God and understanding that death is a mandate. You can’t get around it. I’m not saying that there is not a minister or preacher or deacon who couldn’t have provided a sound eulogy on behalf of my deceased family members; however, I am saying my personal belief is that in order to give due diligence to the deceased one must first know and understand the life of the person who is no longer able to contest your praise.
