thoughts at 4 am

brown paper bag

My mother sat on the window seat in the second to last row of the bus. On her lap was a brown paper bag. As she looked out the window, watching the world go by, she wondered where her life was heading. 

My mother was on her way to meet my father. On her lap was a brown paper bag.

 In that brown paper bag was me.

Shuffling off the bus, she made it to my father's residence, a dorm on campus. After finding my father, she said the words that can change your life forever. Like most men, he did not yet realize the weight of responsibility of what was to come next. He was elated as he hugged my mother's worried body.

The brown paper bag was no longer on my mother's lap. It was in my father's hand. He opened the bag carefully and reached inside. What he saw changed his life forever.

On November 22nd, 1998 a little brown girl, screamed her way into existence. Two young parents looked down in awe, disbelief, shock, but most of all love. Sitting in the mother's arms was me, their little girl, who made her way into this world a few weeks early. My parents decided on a name me; they chose Kayla Rachelle Price.

My father wanted to name me Rachelle after his close friend, but my mother changed her mind at the last minute. "Kayla" she said. "We are going to name her Kayla." My name is an amalgamation of my mother and father's name. My mother's name is Cassandre and my father's is Al. The first two letters in my name, Ka, represent the first to letters in my mother's name, Ca. Y in Spanish means 'and'. The last two letters in my name, La, represent my father's name, Al, spelled backwards. Together, my name represents my parents relationship. A relationship that created me. Little did my mother know that this relationship wouldn't last long.

To describe someone you don't really know is difficult. My father left when I was very young. He made poor choices and as a result, had to suffer the consequences of such choices. As a 20 year old man, who suddenly didn't just have to live for himself, he finally realized the weight of responsibility. Nine months late, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

My father concluded that the only way to provide for his family, was to provide for himself first. He did just that. He needed a stable source of income, even by illegal means, if necessary. Fulfilling the black male stereotype, he got himself involved in the drug distribution industry. Plainly, he sold drugs. While my father did finally have a source of income, he failed to realize he lost something that all the drug money could never buy; his family.

My mother never approved of my father's choice of employment. She even refused to accept any money that was attached to his 'business'. Eventually, she broke things off with my father. They went their separate ways; my father furthering his 'career', leaving my mother to care for a child on her own. It wasn't until a few months later, did my mother find out that my father was in prison. His poor choices had finally caught ahold of him.

I am my mother's daughter.

It is not just our physical appearance, even though some would say we mirror each other, but it's the way carry ourselves. We could be carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders, but no one would ever know it.

My mother is the strongest woman I know.

She raised three children as a single parent.

She works tirelessly, day after day, to provide for her children, accepting the leftovers.

She underwent brain surgery to remove a benign tumor. She returned a few months later, back to work, helping other people, even though she deserves a break.

I am my mother's daughter. I am here today because of my mother's strength. This ability, this kryptonite, takes amazing strength. Strength, that I hope my mother continues to impart to me. So when people say, "You look like just like your mom,'' I don't take that for granted. I cherish that statement. I always want to be my mother's daughter, through and through.

I am also my father's daughter, even though I don't like to admit it. From the pieces I've sewn together, I've realized I am like my father, in more ways than one. Maybe it's the way I smile or the way I pronounce certain words. Recently, I've learned we appreciate the same things, like outer space and poetry; things that aren't necessarily tangible, but still very real, to us, at least. Maybe it's because we are dreamers.

My father's dreamer mentality mixed with his flight response has produced, the father I have today. An absent one. My father hasn't taught me much, but his actions have spoken volumes. I've learned exactly who I don't want to be. I don't want to be a person who runs away, but I want to be a person who has the strength to bear the weight of the world, like my mother.

I will always be grateful for the life lesson my absent father unknowingly taught.

It all started with a brown paper bag.

Inside this brown paper bag was a positive pregnancy test.

Inside this brown paper bag was me.

So when people ask me where I come from, I tell them the story behind my name. It is a love story of two, that created three, but ended with just my mother and me.