Reason Number One: Stevie Wonder Restored My Faith in My Mother.
When I was three
years old, I received a blue and white record player that could only play 45s
and looked like a mini-suitcase. You had to tape a coin to the top of the
needle to keep it from skipping, but in my world it was my most cherished item.
My record collection consisted of two 45s. One was The Stylistics “Tell Me Have
You Seen Her” and the other was Gladys Knight & The Pips “Midnight Train To
Georgia”. That’s all I had and as far as I was concerned, that was all I
needed.
My
record player looked something like this except this is missing the nickel
taped to the needle.
Many moons later,
my mother came home with a beautiful album in hues of brown, sienna and burnt
orange. When you opened it, it unfolded into a full piece of art that looked
like a visual echo. I thought the
best part was the book insert. It was a black and white version of the album
covered with each and every lyric written inside. I would read it over and
over, even the words I couldn’t pronounce or understand. I thought that book
insert was the best thing about the album, until my mother handed me the bonus
45. It was like the prize inside your favorite cereal box. Of course, each
morsel of the cereal was sweet and delicious, but it was the prize at the
bottom that made the whole experience memorable. Well, that was my little 45. It had two songs on it. Saturn and Ebony Eyes.
As I played the
45, listening to Ebony Eyes, my
mother came in and said “Stevie Wonder wrote that song for you.” Well, at
approximately 4 or 5 years old, my mother’s word was bond. Stevie Wonder knew me and wrote a song about me and I had a copy of it! I played that
song non-stop. Stevie knew that this little girl from Bed Stuy was “born and
raised on ghetto streets.” He knew I loved music and had “a rhythm that [was]
made of love.” And most importantly he thought this only child, this little
girl, the daughter of a teenage-aged, single, little girl was beautiful. Stevie
said I was “a devastating beauty, a pretty girl with ebony eyes”…so it had to
be true.
Ebony Eyes was attached to
me. It was mine. Just like every time Shaft entered the room, “he’s a bad
mother…shut your mouth” played in the internal radio located in my head, I
expected the world to sing, “She’s a Miss Beautiful Supreme” with each beat of
my stride. I too had a theme song,
thanks to Stevie Wonder and my mother.
I can remember
probing my mother for more information. “When did Stevie meet me?” “Can I call
him and say Thank You?” And just as vividly, I can remember my mother
dismissing me. “Girl, I’m on the
phone.” “Not now, Cazzie, I’m watching Mary
Hartman, Mary Hartman.” I didn’t really care that she didn’t answer my
questions. I had the proof that I was Stevie Wonder’s Ebony Eyes! I had the 45!
My 45! Ebony Eyes was not one of
those songs that my friends considered a household favorite like Sir Duke nor was it in heavy radio
rotation like I Wish. No one cared
that I knew every word to Ebony Eyes
or even knew what song I was singing half of the time. That was fine with me. Ebony Eyes was my gift from Stevie. I
didn’t need the world to know my special place in it. This was strictly between
Stevie and I. Aisha may have had Isn’t She Lovely, since she’s his first-born
child and everything, but I had Ebony
Eyes and it was its own separate little 45 that fitted perfectly on my blue
suitcase record player.
Well, I care not
to share how old I was when I finally realized that my mother was a liar.
Stevie Wonder never met me. Stevie Wonder didn’t write no daggone song about
me. Yeah, I was a little ghetto girl, but so was every other double-dutch
jumping, Ring Ding eating, female child in my neighborhood and neighborhoods
like mine across the county. The
45 came with everyone’s copy of Songs In
The Key of Life. It wasn’t my
special gift. It was generic and public. What a fall from grace! Oh well. It
was still a great song and I wasn’t willing to abandon the soundtrack of my
youth. But I’ll tell you this much, I vowed never to lie to my children and
create a fantasy world only to bomb it to smithereens later! As a parent, I
never allowed my children to believe in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the
Easter Bunny or that a musical genius who wrote anthems for them.
Fast forward to
January 13, 2001. At the time I lived in Atlanta and attended way too many
balls and charity events for my non-social self. My husband had tickets for us
to attend the Salute To Greatness Awards Dinner from The Martin Luther King,
Jr. Center For Nonviolent Social Change, Inc. As a woman with a degree in African American Studies,
finally he picked an event I was excited to attend. However, ol’ boy failed to
tell me who the recipients for the night were and he also knew that I wasn’t
going to ask. Believing that sometimes the devil is in the details, I tend to
skip over them. Well, to my complete surprise and joy, Stevie Wonder was the
recipient. I was in a same room, a typical Atlanta hotel ballroom, with Stevie
Wonder. Up until that point, I had seen Stevie in concert once in 1995 in
Chicago. At that time, I was a broke graduate student with nose-bleed seats located
about seven miles from the stage. But on January 13, I would get the chance to
speak to the man who wrote my personal theme song.
I approached the
dais and there he was. He held my hand and leaned forward. Well, actually, I grabbed
his hand and wouldn’t let go, but that’s neither here nor there. I said to my
idol, “Funny story. As a child my mother used to tell me that you wrote Ebony Eyes just for me and I spent many
years, probably way too many, believing her.” With perfect white teeth illuminating
his smile he said to me “But I did write it just for you, my dear.”
Yes! It was true.
I am that “girl that others wish that they could be.” Stevie said it himself.
Oh, he put the joy inside my tears! (Pun intended) It was confirmed. I AM his Ebony Eyes and my mother is not a liar.
