Power in My Name

They buried my namesake today. 

When I was younger, in elementary school... I was brown and round and trying my damndest to fit in with Ashleys and Audreys and Sarah Janes at my predominantly White, very Christian private day school in Jackson, MS. For the most part I had a "normal" name- Monica. It fit the mold of the Eurocentric roll call. I knew that as long as my teacher stuck to the script all would be good. 

"Ashley- here. Audrey - here. Sarah Jane- present. Monica- here... "Oh Monica, (she would begin with the best of intentions) how do you pronounce your middle name? I mean is is Middle? It's kind of spelled like middle." 

I would respond, "It's Mi'Del pronounced like My-Dell, I'm kinda named after my great aunt Mary Dell. Yup it's different and I like it" (followed by a well practiced death stare to my classmates daring somebody to make fun of my name)

This sequence of events persisted through all levels of grade school and 4 years of undergrad. Although I was hopeful of broad acceptance and well aware of the microaggressions that followed ethnic names, I somehow was able find the pride and power in my middle name uniqueness. Those closest to me always knew my whole name and most of my friends in undergrad referred to me exclusively as Mi'Del. Until now, I've never acknowledged how surprising that was- that I could grow up the lone Mi'Del in a sea of upper middle White parochial school normality and defiantly come to love the strength, culture, and Blackness of me. (I'll unpack this at a later date). 

Memories

Please don't misunderstand, I was proud to be her great niece and after losing my maternal grandmother, her sister, when I was 12, I'd dare say that I clung to the idea of her even tighter. When I was little, i'd sit between them (BB and Mary Dell) in church. They'd trade Sunday's on who got to pinch/pop me for squirming and whose purse I got to dig through for gum or candy. On those Sunday's they were both mine and I was theirs. Sometimes I would go home with Mary Dell and play in her garden and eat Sandies cookies. She was strong, self sufficient, independent, she didn't mince words, and as strict as she could be, she also knew how to laugh. I always knew I was named for her. I always knew that she was special and therefore I was special. 

After I graduated from Vanderbilt, I began working for the Vanderbilt Alumni Relations department. We had an event in Jackson but I wasn't allowed to go. My mom is also a Vandy alum and she registered for the event and brought Mary Dell as her date. When my boss at the time returned to the office on the next Monday, she made a B-line for my desk. 

"Monica, your great aunt Mary."

      "Mary Dell"

"Right, your great aunt Mary Dell was the belle of the ball!"

       "Huh"

"All of the Jackson alums knew her and raved about her work. She was the best tailor in the south, they said. People really love her. Thank your mom again for bringing her as a guest!"

I must admit, that at this point I was a bit confused. Visions of my mom and my Mary Dell being swarmed by a gaggle of adoring old white men in suits was rather jarring. I called Mary Dell (which I didn't do nowhere near enough) to get the whole story. 

She laughed and said,"Yeah all of those folks used to come over to The Rogue (men's suit shop) to get their suits fixed. I haven't seen most of them in years. We had a good time talking. "

SHE wont be doing YOUR curtains

She went on to tell me about a time that a White man she had tailored for sent his wife in to get some curtains hemmed. Unfortunately, he had not told his wife that though my great aunt was Black (I don't remember the decade but let's be honest, this could be right now), she was not to be disrespected at The Rouge. The man's wife walked in the store (as Mary Dell described it, with her tail on her shoulders) and pointedly ignored Mary Dell's greeting. She walked right around her and directly to the White man at the counter. 

The lady said, "I want my curtains hemmed and pressed. Make sure that 'negra' (referring to Mary Dell) doesn't burn them. This is expensive fabric." 

Mary Dell said she exchanged looks with the White man at the counter and walked to the back of the store. 

She then heard the man say, "I'm sorry ma'am, we won't be able to fit these in."

The affronted lady replied, "What, you don't do curtains anymore?"

He replied, "No ma'am, we still do curtains, but SHE won't be doing YOUR curtains. Have a nice day."

The lady snatched up her "funky little curtains" and stormed out of the store in pure disbelief. Several hours later, right before the store was scheduled to close, the lady's husband walked into the store. He walked around the White man directly to Mary Dell. 

He said, "Ms. Mary Dell, I just want to apologize for how my wife treated you this morning." While he knew better than to bring back his wife's funky curtains, he did bring Mary Dell a big tip. 

Lessons in Magic

She might have been a Black woman living in Mississippi, but contrary to societal belief and hierarchy, she mattered. Her work spoke for itself. She demanded respect and she got it from the most unlikely of sources.  

As I sit back and think about her, and our far too few conversations, this theme is reoccurring. Even in thinking back to elementary school, and all of the countless times of teaching folks to pronounce my middle name, I realize that I learned to be unapologetically me because of her example. I learned that I could be strong and independent because she was strong and independent. I learned to demand the respect that I was owed, in light of the quality work I produced from her. I learned that I didn't have to perform for the world to like me. Some folks would never like me but that shouldn't affect how much I loved myself. 

She was one of my earliest examples of being magical and strong and black. I am convinced that that magic never dies but like energy is transferred. They buried my namesake today, but just like her magic, the power of her name lives on.