The Mind of a Preaching Woman: This is my Story

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Prologue

Iwas born one August morning to Cephas and Helen Fleming at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland. My name is Helen Cecile Fleming. My childhood nickname was Cecil. I am the youngest of three female siblings.

My family migrated from Virginia in the early forties and my father was hired as a supervisor at Bethlehem Steel Company. My mother was an educator who was incapacitated with rheumatic heart fever for twelve years of my childhood.

We were one of three colored families living in a red brick duplex house on a small street named Ruth Avenue which is located in a quaint, Polish suburban community on the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. On the other side of the duplex lived a Polish family and we became close friends. In fact, the mother of the family was my sister's godmother.

My dad was the center of my life. On the weekends, he loved to play the guitar and we'd gather to have family sing-a-longs. I learned many Christian songs as well as fun secular songs. I will never forget the fun times I had with my dad.

My mom was the disciplinary in my life. It appeared that she had eyes behind her head sometimes. Her fame in life was to make sure that her girls did well in school. All of us had to sit by her bedside and do our homework every evening before we could go outside to play. However, there is much more to this story.

I needed to understand my family's background, because my mother, in her own way, was a bigot against her own race. She was extremely prideful and only wanted the best for her family. Therefore, we were raised with a form of classism. She wouldn't let us associate with everybody. She gave us the impression that we were better than others which built a foundation of false pride. That behavior became very dominate in my life.

I began to seek the reason for my behavior. My research began with a study of our ancestor's struggles, using our personification and our dignity as part of our human trait to reach new heights. Every effort was made by my ancestors to obtain a certain status in this new land called America. They had been downtrodden by their slave masters. However, they were not quitters.

To give me a better understanding of my behavior, I realized that this pride that I had inherited was truly false pride, because it was used as a form of reinforcement to establish a life of respect for oneself in order to survive in a world of hatred and bigotry. This pride became an epidemic to most slaves who struggled to survive in a world of degradation and disrespect of another human being.

I was a victim of a generational curse that led me to have these feelings of insecurity or a lack of true confidence, because my behavior was not rooted in truth.

My mother's family was freed from slavery before the abolition of slavery; however, my father's family did not obtain their freedom until Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves.

My great-great-grandfather was the same grandfather on my mother's side of the family. Our great-great-grandmothers were seduced by the same white slave master. The descendants on my father's side were African and on my mother's side were full-blooded Cherokee Indians. They were used by the slave master for his pleasure.

Even the aftermath of slavery was painful during my generation and it is still continuing to unveil itself even today. Today, slavery is exhibited through the act of hidden racism, superiority and greed even in different levels of our government and in our church. It is clear to me that the root of racisms stems from fear of a possible change in economic and social power.

In our native land, our tribes no longer existed as a group of people believing in each other. Our families were robbed of that union when our men became studs to produce others slaves to work in the field and our women became surrogate mothers or mistresses to their slave masters.

They didn't have an opportunity to earn a decent salary or provide adequate housing for their family. These emotions of deception set the stage for what is referred to as a crab mentality, a spirit of keeping each other down. This was a conquer and defeat method created by the white man in order to stay on top. This state of mind exposes the selfishness and greediness of our survival nature.

The colored people, as they were called during that time, had to be proud of their accomplishment, because they had been deprived or denied an education and in many situations their families were still victims of segregation. They were trying to hold on to their self-worth during a time of self-preservation.

In many areas of my life, I still have a slave mentality from our ancestors, who strived to be valued and have a sense of importance in this society. However, my ancestors survived against all odds and fought to be people of honor and so can I. These stories have been passed down from generation to generation in my family.

This has been a preview of my life story. I hope that you will join me as I walk through the complexities of my life as God continues to mold me for God's purpose. It's been a long journey and yet I know there is more to come.

Chapter One

Daddy’s Little Girl

Proverb 22:6 Message Bible: Point your kid in the right direction - when they're old they won't be lost.

When I was four years old, my dad took me to the Easter evening service at Shiloh Baptist Church where he served as a deacon. My older sister, Doris, bought me a navy blue sailor coat and dress ensemble with a bonnet trimmed in white for my Easter frock. In the African American family tradition, every child must have an Easter outfit.

As my daddy and I were seated in the congregation enjoying the Easter Service, the pastor referred to me as Little Miss Fleming and asked me to sing a selection. Dad nodded at me to go forth and I boldly proceeded to the front of the church to sing a selection for the children’s portion of the program.

My dad sat there proudly waiting for his little girl to sing a spiritual hymn to the Glory of God in her melodious child-like voice. However, much to my father's surprise, I sang a song, but it was not holy nor to the Glory of God. My selection was, Pistol Packing Mama; Lay That Pistol Down, Bang! Bang! Bang! and as if that wasn't bad enough, I dramatized the lyrics by making my hands look like a gun and I said again, Bang, Bang, Bang.

My dad was furious with me and humiliated. He fussed at me while driving home from church. When we arrived home, he said to my mother, She's your daughter; I'll never take her anywhere with me again, not ever.

As a four–year-old child, this was an earth shaking moment for me. My dad was disappointed with me and my actions caused him great pain. Later in life, I realized at that moment, my life took on a different meaning of love and my direction became crystal clear. I felt that I must always do the right thing in order for my dad or any person of authority to love and accept me. From that point on, there was a need in my life to seek the approval of others, specifically from men, in order for them to care. I also had to do the politically right thing in order to win people's respect and for them to want to be in my company. As parents, we never know how negative words and action can change the direction of a child's life.

My mom was sickly during most of my childhood. My dad was forced to take care of me. However, in time we re-established a close father and daughter relationship. My dad was my hero.

I was so excited when dad taught me how to drive at the age of seven. He also took me to all the baseball games where he served as a coach. He would make sure that the baseball players would not swear or curse around his little girl.

During that time, dad took me on our family Cabin Cruiser that was docked on the Chesapeake Bay less than a quarter mile from our home. We went crabbing and fishing regularly. Dad also taught me how to clean fish and that's why I refuse to clean fish today. However, that seed of rejection that was sown in me at the age of four was still lying dormant. It caused me much pain.

In looking back over that period of my life, I began to live in the moment, therefore, I can truly say, I enjoyed being Daddy's Little Girl. I valued the rich memories from my childhood, specifically the times spent with him.

My Early Encounter With Racism

When I was nine years old, racism was introduced to me through my sister, Delores. My sister was friends with a Polish girl who lived next door. They were best friends throughout their young years, but when her best friend became of age to date boys, she made it very clear that she did not want my sister in her house when her date arrived. From that point on, my sister was never invited over whenever her friend had white company.

This was a very painful experience for my sister, who wondered what was wrong with her or had she done something wrong? She didn't realize that it was the color of her skin. Our neighbors had always treated us as equals, so my sister did not understand this form of rejection.

When my parents saw that Delores was feeling shunned and rejected by her best friend without understanding why, my mom, the teacher, began to share the history of our ancestors with us. How they were brought in the bow of the ships from Africa and sold as slaves to the white man, who was better known as the Slave Master. They bought our ancestors from Africa to work on their plantations in the south.

We were called colored and classified as slaves and later second class citizens. Mother also educated us on God's view of us. She informed us that God made us all equal; so therefore, don't be ashamed of being a person of color. She told us about our rich heritage, how Africa was a great nation with great universities and how people from around the world would come to matriculate. She informed us of how our ancestors were architects, mathematicians, and great scholars and we realized how they played an important role in the building of America.

Mom assured us that God loved us, because God is the one who gives us life and God knew what color we would be before we were in our mother's womb. Therefore, we are to thank God for who we are and for being made in God's image.

We are a race of many colors because of slavery. There is no true blooded race in America since slavery; we are all a mixed race, because at the end of slavery, many of the slaves were able to pass as white and took advantage of the opportunity to live a life of equality.

Colored people were categorized by the law of percentage. If you had three percent of colored blood in your body, you were considered colored. The racial injustice during slavery also left a residue of fear and of not having control over their life's destiny. They were under the command of the slave master and if the slaves did not respond to the slave master's orders, there would be serious consequences, even death. They had to yield to the master's beck and call. Otherwise, they would be whipped or lynched.

One thing that the colored people managed to do regularly was finding ways to pray and praise God in order to keep a glimpse of hope alive. This is how many survived during those dark times.

As a young girl, my thoughts were, These experiences of my ancestors would never happen to me. There was a hidden feeling of rebellion in me toward all those who felt that they were superior, because of the color of my skin and it would periodically unveil itself in anger and resentment toward the white race.

However, I was raised in the church where we were taught to love all people, even our enemies. Every night I began to seek God by reading the Word of God in my children's Bible. I was drawn to the biblical story of Joseph, who was the son of Jacob. Joseph appeared to be prideful in his young age, but yet fulfilled his life purpose after great persecution, suffering and humiliation. He was used to save Egypt and his family even though his brothers sold him as a slave to another tribe.

Then, there is the book of Ruth. This is a story of a young heathen woman from the land of Moab. Ruth fell in love with her mother-in-law, Naomi, and the God that she served. Ruth was humble and obedient to God. These characteristics gave her God's favor. God allowed her to end up in the genealogy of Jesus Christ. She married the richest Jewish man in the land of Bethlehem. She overcame every obstacle through her obedience as she followed the pathway to her true destiny. Ruth lived a dedicated life because of her compassion and love for Naomi and the God of Naomi. Ruth became a blessed woman.

As I continued to read the Bible stories, they were