REAL ANSWERS: HONOR YOUR PARENTS; HONOR GOD

We set aside a day in May to honor mothers, and a day in June for fathers, but they actually should be honored every day. I truly hope that those privileged to still have their parents will take advantage of that blessing.

These two are special to me; you see, I was given two wonderful mothers and fathers. As the ninth of 10 children, I am glad my birth parents didn't say, "Eight is enough." When I was three years old, and my brother, Sam was six months old, my dad, Sam Jackson died from an inoperable brain tumor. On his deathbed, he asked his brother, David and sister-in-law Bessie, to take care of his family after he was gone. They promised they would, although they had no idea what their promise would entail. My mother became very ill and died one year later.

This should have signaled the beginning of the end for 10 black Chicago kids in the early 1950s. Normally, we would have been sent, one or two at a time, to orphanages in Illinois and surrounding states. We would have had almost no chance of keeping track of our siblings. No one in their right mind would take in 10 young kids, or would they?

Although Dave and Bessie had only one daughter, they purposed to fulfill their promise. After my mother's funeral, all 10 of us moved into their home, which they renovated to accommodate their large, "instant" family.

Uncle Dave and Aunt Bessie were awesome parents who taught us integrity and honesty and gave us a spiritual foundation that we still cling to today. They kept our parents' memory alive, telling us often how deeply our mother, Riferlee (pronounced, Riff-er-Lee, which, according to my maternal grandmother, was a name with Cherokee roots) prayed for and loved each of us. My siblings and I owe much of who we are to Aunt Bessie, but she never sought or accepted the credit she so richly deserved.

Uncle Dave was a widely respected owner of a trucking company that he and his four brothers had started when they arrived in Chicago from Mississippi. He was a man of strong character and integrity, powerful (he was fighter Joe Louis' bodyguard in Europe in WWII), yet very sensitive and caring.)

Together they taught me that honesty is more worthy than success, that my word is directly related to my reputation, that signing my name is staking my reputation, not to take what doesn't belong to me, and to return anything I received that I didn't have coming. They taught me to be tactful and respectful in dealing with others. My uncle always said that the only acceptable welfare program is a job, or two if necessary.

When many blacks rejected their surnames as "slave names," choosing the letter X instead, my uncle taught me pride in my last name. It was given to me by many people who had endured and overcome so much to assure me a better life than they had. To dishonor it would dishonor them. A bad mark against it could never be completely erased.

When I was 19, and in college, my Aunt Bessie died of stomach cancer. On her deathbed, she continued to teach us life-sustaining lessons that I would pass on to my children; hard work is the righteous way to provide for one's self and family, always tell the truth and, "Shame-face the devil," etc. Her only prayer, she expressed as she went to be with the Lord, was that she had made "some kind of difference" in our lives. Did she ever!

She reminded me that God wants to answer my prayers with one of her favorite Bible passages, "Ask, and it shall be given to you, seek, and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you." (Matt. 7:7).

One year later, as my uncle lay dying from a stroke, he told me, in a lucid moment, that if he had fulfilled his promise to my brother to raise us as godly, self-sufficient adults, then he would die happy. I assured him he had. I measure every life decision by what I believe he would have done. They did fulfill their promise, and I honor both sets of parents every day. I urge anyone who is blessed to still have their parents to set aside all differences and give them a hug and show them love while you still can. I tell all four of my parents how much I love them every day, and I still feel the hugs.

"Real Answers" furnished courtesy of The Amy Foundation Internet Syndicate. To contact the author or The Amy Foundation, write or E-mail to: P. O. Box 16091, Lansing, Mich. 48901-6091; amyfoundtn@aol.com. Visit our Web site at www.amyfound.org.