Second Family
“Hey Janae, can you get me the large platter out of the cabinet up there?”
“Sure.” I skirted around the table in the small kitchen and reached up into the cabinet Mama Simmons was pointing to. She could not have been over 5’1’ and there was no way she could reach that shelf without a step-stool and then just barely.
She was not my mama but I was her youngest daughter, Veda’s friend, and a co-worker of Talya and Greg, her eldest daughter and son-in-law. By now I had been over to her house so many times that she thought that my calling her Mrs. Simmons was ridiculous.
There was a rowdy football game watch party going on in the family room of the small house. Any game in which the Washington Redskins played was an excuse for a family get-together.
There was plenty of food on the table and they would come and get what they wanted whenever. I took a plate of food and went back to watch a game I knew nothing about.
“You want a beer?” Greg asked.
I made a face. “No, I hate beer.”
“More for us.” They laughed. “Anybody else want one?”
Something happened on TV with a big man, a small ball, and what looked like a very painful collision. They all jumped and shouted.
“What happened?” I asked Veda, who was sitting next to me.
Greg’s brother Reggie took up the explanation.
Half of what he said still didn’t make sense but I nodded anyway. The point of these games for me wasn’t the game itself but the camaraderie of people getting together in one place because they wanted to. I was no longer a guest; I was family. If I wanted something from the kitchen, I went to the refrigerator and got it. If I needed to stay the night, a bed was ready.
The television blared ‘touchdown Washington.” Everybody screamed and whooped and I did too. Touchdown was the one term I did understand. The beer flowed and the food disappeared. Mama Simmons was comfortable in her recliner yelling with the best of them.
There were eight people in the room, with three of us not related to anyone except by friendship. But at that moment we were all Mama Simmons’ kids. She adopted us because we left our families to come to this city to start our careers and make our way in this world as newly minted adults. She filled the second mother role because our own mothers could not be here.
There’s a snapshot in my mind’s eye of the family room with comfortable furniture. The smell of fried chicken and warm buttery rolls from the kitchen where I had to nervously come up with a Bible verse before we all could eat. The five women and three men in chairs and on the floor with good food, cold beer, and a glass of wine for me, enjoying the game.
As I looked around the room, I heard the laughter that surrounded me. They weren’t my blood relatives, but they had accepted me as one of them. They had given me a home away from home. While my family was four hours away in another state, they gave me a place to belong when I was feeling alone.
I moved away from the area years ago to begin another journey in another state and those memories have grown fuzzy around the edges. Things have changed. My good friend who I loved and who took it upon herself to coordinate my wedding died the day before her 45th birthday from a disease that had no cure.
I don’t talk to them as much anymore, but when I do, it’s like old times. I know if I go back there and knock on their door, I’ll be greeted with open arms, lots of hugs, and plenty of laughter. My second family, the family that I made, is still there for me.
