Family of Flowers

My grandmother knocks on the door of a property she owned in the early 1970’s in Fontana, California. When the tenant opens the door my grandmother says, “I am sorry, but we do not sell drugs in this house” as she hands them an eviction letter: 

If its true that women are the carriers of culture- my culture is unique. My maternal line is alchemy of class and boldness that only comes from coming from humble beginnings. A family of women who held and carried themselves like 1940’s movie starlets but lived in a town that increasingly became dangerous with drug and gang activity. My grandmother- refused to leave her hometown where she raised her family for many years by herself. (Another anomaly- a single mother in the early 1960’s who worked and managed to provide for her children by herself for many years). When you look at the numbers, statistically during this time a phenomena known as white flight was happening in her town. When Kaiser Steele Mill closed more people from the Inner City moved to Fontana while most white people fled the city. My grandmother- was like the old man in the movie UP. She refused to leave her home. In an act that was convincingly known in my family as her desire to have things stay the same, I can only reflect on it years later as the absolute opposite. While everyone else who looked like her sought for neighborhoods that felt familiar- she rose to the occasion of loving her town fervently and committed herself faithfully to all of its changes. 

And when it came to evicting drug dealers- did she rely on law enforcements help? No, she boldly and proudly proclaimed that it was simply not allowed. My fiancé often laughs at this story knowing that there is nothing scarier to a man than a mothers scorn. And maybe more police officers could use the help of a disappointed mother. My own mother, scoffs at this story, always proclaiming how dangerous this act was. To which I scoff knowing my mother is exactly the same. 

I always remind my own mom: Do you remember when you were working as Case Director for children with autism and you were in Adelnato California on your way to a client's house?... You saw gang members blocking the street and your ability to visit your client. So YOU rolled down your window and said “what’s up guys?” and watched them move so you could keep driving. What happened next? You went into your clients home and heard gunshots. The people you just said “Whats up” to were involved in a drive-by shooting. And you helped an autistic boy get safely back inside during the incident. 

In a culture that talks about the white Karen, I have to applaud my maternal line for being deviant of this prototype. White woman who don’t complain to the manager, because they are the boss. An authentic woman who sees humanity and decides to love unconditionally and speak gracefully. In my grandmothers words we are Magnolias. 

To explain, someone once told me that my mom carries herself like she wears designer clothes and carries expensive purses but when you look carefully, no logo is to be recognized. My mother is filled with womanly class. Her grandmother bought her etiquette classes but her father was a humble meat cutter. She lived in the polarity between worlds- the most down to earth person in the room with a spirit that exudes royalty and humility that softens the face and hearts of everyone around her. Simply put: my mother is a boss with divine grace. 

When she was met with challenges that came from having a son with special needs: she opened her own resource center to help other parents learn how to advocate for their children. I remember at one point in my life getting up at 4am and going to Sams Club with my mom before she dropped me off at school. She started a program at a charter school called “The Coffee Shack” where kids with special needs would sell smoothies and coffee before school, as a way to get experience on their resume and make them more likely to get jobs outside of school. I remember being so sleepy getting all those ingredients before school- rolling my eyes, wondering why we had to do this. And then years later being in a hometown bar, where I was often stopped and asked “are you Mrs. McMullens daughter?” And there was always a story about how my mom personally touched their lives-helped them find jobs- believed in them- ext...the dots were slowly connecting- as I saw my moms legacy unfolding. Her desire to help others was coupled with an entrepreneurship with no political gains or monetary benefits for herself: it was a selfless act. 

See to my mother, just like my grandmother, life‘s obstacles don’t need to be solved with social status or monetary gain: coming from humble beginnings they approach problems with an empathy and objectivity that is nothing short of magic. My moms advice for what to do when your AC goes out in a midsummer day in your car: get a large iced coke from 7/11 and put it in-between your legs. *a down to earth class act guide book*

There was one time I came home from college in tears for a reason I can’t remember. I was sobbing for hours and my mom held me...but she reminded me I needed to go to a local New Years party with my friends. Her remedy: she turned on Elton John in the bathroom (my dad always installed the best speakers for us in the bathroom) and insisted we do a Smokey-eye makeup look she learned from a friend in the 70’s. As I headed out the door with a beautiful glittered eye, my mom said to me, “chin up my Magnolia... and when you want to cry *blink*”. 

To my mom: life is not exhausting- no problem is one that can’t be solved. But this brain power isn’t what impresses me the most about her. It‘s more so the spirit she carries within herself through all of life’s hardships. Its the way my mom broke the news to me that she was getting serious surgery in 2016 on the Fourth of July, and as my eyes were welling with tears throughout the day, I saw my mom continue to carry on throughout the day with laughter radiating from her heart. She laid a blanket down in the grass so her grandchildren could enjoy watching the fireworks. None of them were paying attention and busy playing with friends, so my mother laid down and enjoyed the show. I remember thinking, staring at my mom laying by herself, that my mom is the first kid to enjoy this. So I laid down next to her and we watched the fireworks like the happiest pair of childhood friends. And this was a lesson I’ll never forget. There is a spirit in my mother that fights harder than an obstacle thrown at her, a light that ceases to dim. It's a spirit that carries the word, resiliency. 

A Resiliency that does not require calluses. A strength that does not require a rejection of femininity. A strength that does not require an acceptance of hate. But rather, a strength that is found in softness. A strength that is met with a fluidity that is unparalleled in any other definition of resiliency: A family of flowers. 

In one of the last conversations I had with my mom recently, we discussed life’s hardships. Health problems, a familial role that can take more than it can give, a separation of marriage... A heaviness that would break most..But I hung up, staring out the window, knowing my mom's spirit is still as soft and light as ever. To give context, I had text my mom a photo of jasmine flowers that I stopped to smell on a jog a few weeks ago. I always stop to smell jasmine flowers because my grandmother grew them in her house in Fontana and the scent is an instant memory to her life and laughter. After my grandmother's passing 16 years ago, my mom and I always tell each other when we smell it. My mom told me the day after I text her a photo of flowers, she had finally bought jasmine and planted it at her house so that her house would smell like her moms.When we were on the phone discussing the unfairness of life, my moms last remarks were “you know I can‘t smell the jasmine from my bedroom like I could growing up, so I am going to replant them in the front of the house so the fragrance seeps through my bedroom window at night”. Resiliency.

Replanting- to string a memory back to life. Resiliency, strung in a family of flowers. 

After telling a friend this new found realization of resiliency my mother has, she reminded me my mom's middle name Elaine means resilience, the middle name I just named my three-month-old daughter. A family of flowers.

I will teach my daughter by example, to live spirit-fully and gracefully, to be a magnoila.