The Other Winfrey

The Other Winfrey: Life in the Shadow of O By Shakeeta Winfrey

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The Other Winfrey: Life in the Shadow of O Copyright © 2007 by Shakeeta Winfrey Atlanta, GA www.theotherwinfrey.com

Marketing Communications Group 4319 Covington Hwy, Suite 306A Decatur, GA 30035 404-288-8750 * 404-246-3600

ISBN: 978-1-4243-2941-0 Published by Winfrey Enterprises, Inc. 770-323-3114 Printed in the United States of America

First Printing June 2007 10 9 8 7 6 5

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Dedication Acknowledgements Introduction Chapter 1: Meet the Winfreys Chapter 2: Early Years Chapter 3: Elementary School Years Chapter 4: Ties That Bind Chapter 5: The Shadow Begins Chapter 6: It’s Showtime Chapter 7: ’Til Death Do Us Part (At Least That’s What I Thought) Chapter 8: The Long Road Home Chapter 9: Out of Africa Chapter 10: Life and Death Issues Chapter 11: Forever in my Heart Chapter 12: From the Inside Out, Yet the Drama Continues Chapter 13: The Male Perspective Chapter 14: My Personal Goals and Dreams Chapter 15: Family Tree/Memorabilia

Dedication

With a heart full of love and gratitude, I dedicate this book to my beloved grandfather, the late James Winfrey for always being there for me.

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I want to thank God. He is my salvation. He is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I have found him to be Jehovah Jireh, my provider. He is my Lord, and I entrust my life to Him. There’s no way I could publish this book without thanking my grandmother (Millie Winfrey) and grandfather (the late James Winfrey). I was born to a mother, who, because of her mental disability, was unable to take care of me. As a result, my grandmother picked me up from the hospital when I was born and welcomed me into a home that would serve as the loving environment in which I was nurtured during my childhood. The love that my grandmother and grandfather gave me created a strong foundation for my life. As youth and young adults experience various phases in life, there are times when we tend to stray and do things that are right in our own sight. That was my story for many years. In the midst of these times in my life, I was often given words of wisdom, much of which I never wanted to hear. One such wisdom-advice giver was Vernon Winfrey, Oprah’s dad, and I’d like to thank him for making a difference in not only my life, but in my family’s life in general. I thank my deceased mother, Patricia Ann Winfrey, for birthing me. Although our relationship was barely developed

while I was young, the bond that we finally created when I was older was a definite important piece of my life. I also want to thank my wonderful children, Kelando, Germell and Jada. Writing this manuscript took a lot of time and effort, and I am so grateful for the patience and encouragement that they gave me during this time. They are truly the wind beneath my wings. Noted businessman and entrepreneur George Fraser often says, “It takes teamwork to make the dream work,” and I couldn’t agree more. As such, I would like to thank the team of professionals that worked tirelessly to bring this book into full fruition. I thank Bonnie Rose-Goree for her awesome marketing, promotions and public relations expertise in helping to assure that this book flourishes. I also want to thank Alonia Jernigan for her dynamic editing skills as well as the essential ghost editors residing in Los Angeles, CA. I thank Rhonda Carter and Patrice Hairston as well for all of their support in helping to bring this book to life.

Introduction

Decisions, decisions. As I stare at the beautiful bejeweled display before me, I am mesmerized at what I see. The casing is full of unique, clear stones of every shape imaginable. There are marquis, solitaires, hearts and those shaped like pears. “Which one do I choose,” I ask myself. “There’s got to be one of these best friends that can go home with me, but which one will it be?” Well, one thing’s for sure: no matter which one I walk away with, I will be the envy of all my friends because no one has a rock anywhere near the size of this one. All of a sudden, something tells me to take a look above my head. At this subconscious urging, I finally take my eyes off the glass case long enough to glance at a sign that gives me a painful revelation. I’ve now come face to face with illusion and reality because what I thought was diamonds is really high-end cubic zirconium stones. Illusion and reality don’t just happen at the jewelry store. In fact, illusion and reality is what The Other Winfrey: Life in the Shadow of O, my life’s story, is all about. The illusion, which I sometimes fought and sometimes embraced, was that by being a Winfrey, I couldn’t have had anything but a happy upbringing, that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and that the glamorous life is and has always been all that I know. This

illusion fosters the belief that, as a Winfrey, that’s how it is. In reality, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I am Shakeeta Winfrey. And growing up in Nashville, Tennessee, I was your average, middle-class girl, yet I had a lost soul. There were times in my life that were joyful, but for the most part, I have been a desperately unhappy woman. Much of this is attributed to the fact that whenever I met new people, I was immediately perceived to be a woman of power. They made this assumption as soon as they discovered that I am a Winfrey. Consequently, the perception of power was a magnet for people to want to become my friends. Sadly, though, some people often wanted more than friendship. My life has been a proverbial journey, ever full of trials and tribulations. Most of my life’s challenges, I believe, were due to my relative, Oprah Winfrey, who is my cousin. The irony in it all is that I didn’t actually know her as I was growing up. Even to this day, we have not formally met. While I believe being related to Oprah did create a series of challenges for me (in addition to the other ones I was born into), I don’t want to place too much emphasis on the fact that her success has been detrimental to me. I will, however, share my journey of what it’s been like to live in the shadow of O. On this excursion, you’ll see the pressures of the expectations that exist(ed) because I am a Winfrey. Sometimes, the pressure was too much, and as a result, I chose to make rash decisions. My life has brought me up close and personal with a number of encounters to include

lavish living that I could not afford failed marriages, exotic dancing, and promiscuity among others. Although I had all the love and support I could possibly get from my grandparents, there was still something missing. I guess one could say that I was looking for love in all the wrong places. The best part of my life’s story is that through all that I experienced, I have finally learned to love me for me. I am finally able to accept the fact that, regardless of who other people think I am, I now know that I am a child of God. Whether my name is Winfrey or Jones, it really doesn’t matter because I don’t have to seek approval from anyone. When taking a retrospective look at my life, I am grateful that the caterpillar in me has now transformed into a butterfly. The bud is now a blossom. I’ve stepped out of the shadow, and now I can spread my wings and fly. Here’s my story.

Chapter 1

Meet the Winfreys

My name is Shakeeta Ann Winfrey. I arrived into this world July 9, 1975, under bleak conditions at Nashville General Hospital. This was not a hospital of prominence, but rather the hospital that served the poor and/or uninsured. I was born to a single woman named Patricia Ann Winfrey. Known as Pat, my mother was only 19-years-old when I was born. Sadly, no one knew that I was about to enter the world because my mother hid her pregnancy from my grandparents the entire nine months. My father, whoever he is, wasn’t there when I was born. It’s probably because he didn’t know I existed either. To this day, I’ve never seen his face. The evening I was born, my grandmother had just come back home from Wednesday choir practice at church. When she received the phone call from my mother’s attending nurse telling her about the arrival of a new baby girl, she couldn’t believe it. The nurse went on to tell my grandmother that my mother nearly died during childbirth because of her high blood pressure. Shocked, my grandmother dropped the phone and immediately told my grandfather that she needed to go to the hospital to pick me up. She felt that this was the best and only thing to do, considering the fact that my mother had a mental disability; she knew my mother wasn’t capable of caring for me. My grandparents knew that something wasn’t quite right with my mother’s mental state of being;

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they just couldn’t put their finger on what it was. Eventually, she was dually diagnosed with schizophrenia and borderline personality. I remember my grandmother telling me that she couldn’t believe my mother was pregnant with me. With no one knowing about my mother’s pregnancy, who’s to say that my mother took the proper care of herself? Just the day before I was born, she recalled that my mother had been riding a bicycle and playing basketball. Thank God she didn’t hurt herself. If she had, I could only wonder if the doctors would know how to treat her. I wondered how my grandparents would have dealt with the situation if they had to find out haphazardly. The news coming from the nurse was shocking, but I guess it could have been worse. My grandmother rushed to the hospital, and both my mother and I were released. I tried to imagine that day in my mind. I wondered how the weather must have been, the smell of the air, the traffic that was most certainly ebbing and flowing. I thought of my mother’s young face in childbirth, and the frantic sound of my grandmother’s voice when she answered the phone the day she received the news. My entrance to the world, much like my life, was tumultuous and eventful. My grandparents lived in Nashville, Tennessee and were married for over 50 years. They weathered all those years together, never once talking about divorce. They never cursed in front of the children, they never had alcohol around the children, and, to my knowledge, they never argued. Though there was a significant age difference between my grandparents and I, they reared me as best as they could. Yet, as with any family, we had our share of ups and downs. I don’t regret all the difficult times that we have had. Neither do I regret all the mistakes that 2

I continued to make over and over while I was growing up. Regardless of the foolish mistakes that I made, my grandparents would always say that they had done their best, and that is what matters. They stood firmly on their belief that they raised me the best way that they could with what they had. In retrospect, I can’t help but marvel at my grandparents. When they should have been sitting back and relaxing after raising their own five kids, they were starting all over again with me. Raising me must have been extremely hard, considering the age difference, but I never once heard them complain about doing so. My grandparents’ home has always been a place of refuge for most of the family members. For some, it was a place of residence as they worked to obtain their college degrees. For others, it was a convenient “city limits” address so family members could send their children to the school of their choice. I fondly remember that Joseph Winfrey, my grandfather’s brother, and Maggie Winfrey, my grandfather’s sister, lived with my grandparents while they each attended Tennessee State University. Although my grandparents never received college degrees, my grandmother did manage to attend business school (Draughon Business College) after her five children were born. All of my grandparents’ sisters and brothers were all more educated than they were, but it was my grandparents who paved the way for their educational successes. For them, it was a labor of love. One of the things I admired about my family was the fact that the entire family would attend church every Sunday. Vernon Winfrey, Oprah Winfrey’s father, would periodically join them for Sunday dinner. 3

Vernon is my grandfather’s first cousin. Because he would frequent our home, I saw him quite a bit as I grew up. It was through Vernon that I came to know the woman that the world has come to know as “O.”

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The Winfrey Family

My grandmother, Millie Winfrey, was born in French Camp, Mississippi on October 4, 1932. Besides God, she was, and is, the most important person in my life. She is the backbone of the Winfrey family, and I have learned so much from her. There are usually one or more persons in a family that are considered the dependable ones. In the Winfrey family, that would be Grandma Millie. Through all the ups and downs, tragedies, sicknesses, and calamities, she has always been strong and courageous. It’s incredible to me that no matter what happened, I never once saw her shed a tear. As long as I can remember, my grandmother always took good care of herself. On Fridays, she would get her nails done. Saturdays were spent in the beauty shop, and then she would take her car to get washed. Sundays, of course, were reserved for attending church, and this was Grandma’s dress-up day. She was a gifted seamstress, so it was easy for her to put on one of her self-made suits, and splash a bit of her favorite perfume (Angels from Victoria Secrets or Gucci.) To put the finishing touch on her attire, she would add fur around the collar and wrists of some of her suits. Occasionally, she’d put on a hat with matching gloves to go with her three-piece suit. Of course, she made the suit. Add the purse (Louis Vuitton or Prada) and high heels, and she was ready to go. She looked like a star driving in her Cadillac Fleetwood. Grandma was a classy and stylish lady in her hey day. I loved being around Grandma, especially 5

when she went shopping at the mall. She would spend at least $300 a week. That was a lot of money back then. You were lucky if you had anything left over after paying the mortgage and the car note. What an inspiration Grandma was (and still is.) All my life, I’ve tried to mimic her stylish ways. She was a business woman as well as a mother; she knew how to do many things well. In fact, before taking over my grandfather’s disposal company, my grandmother worked with her brother, Warren Anderson, who was a retired veteran who later owned a drycleaners. (His nickname was Sarge.) She also worked at a few department stores. Grandma has always put God first in her life. She has always been actively involved with the church and the community. Considering all the weight that was on her shoulders, most women like her would have developed a harsh outlook on life. After all, she had raised five children, worked a full-time job, took care of a stroke survivor (after my grandpa got sick), and she reared a grandchild from the time of birth. But my grandmother is not the average woman. She’s a survivor. She’s one strong woman. She’s my role model. My grandma has taught me so much about spiritual maturity, diligence and being a woman of God. Her relationship with God has been her one constant. She taught me that when and if all else fails in life, God will never fail you. For the rest of my life, I will endeavor to be like her: one who endures hardships as a good soldier and never gives up, no matter what life brings your way. I have my work cut out for me. My grandfather, James S. Winfrey (“Preacher”), was born on October 24, 1925 in Poplar Creek, Mississippi, which is now called 6

Kilmichael, Mississippi. His parents were the late Alonzo and Ida Winfrey. My grandfather attended the public schools of Poplar Creek and finished high school at Kilmichael High School. One of the greatest qualities my grandfather instilled in me was wisdom. He always had stories upon stories to share with me about how it was not easy for him growing up. As far as he was concerned, people of my generation are lazy and that lazy people needed to be tied up by their shoe strings and dragged across the corn field a couple of times. This was harsh language, but from his perspective, such treatment would bring them back to reality. For him the reality was that as long as they had health and strength, they needed to work to take care of themselves. Hard work was definitely a value he believed in. Often, my grandfather talked about working in the cotton fields and milking cows when he was young. However, not all of the children (he and his siblings) completed their tasks perfectly. He said when one of his siblings did something wrong, all of them would get a spanking. (He called them “whippings.”) My grandfather enlisted in the Army and was honorably discharged in 1946. Shortly after he was discharged, he met my grandmother, and they married in 1947. The young, happy couple moved to Nashville, Tennessee in 1949 and quickly found a church home at Roger Heights Baptist Church, under the pastorate of Reverend John Nance. Grandpa was well-respected in the community, and just like Grandma, he was actively involved in the church. He served as a deacon, and he ultimately became the chairman of the Deacon Board, a capacity in which he served for 20 years. 7

Grandpa’s first job was with Vanderbilt University in the Housekeeping Department. His second job was with Key Simmons. Grandpa later worked for Ryder Truck Company for over 31 years. While at Ryder, he started his own business, Bestway Disposal Service. It was a trash collection/disposal company. He ran this business in addition to working for Ryder. When he retired from Ryder in 1987, he devoted his time to Bestway. My grandfather was one of a kind. In addition to being a hard working man, he was a lot of fun. When I was a child, he played games with me where we would pat the top of our head and rub our belly at the same time. We would play the alligator game, where he would make a gate with his hands. I would then stick my finger in the gate, and he would use one of his fingers that you couldn’t see to squeeze my fingers. That was really a blast for me. As I grew older, I began to appreciate the fact that my grandparents parented me as I was their own. I’m especially grateful for the way my grandpa nurtured me with a loving father-daughter relationship. Even though there were times when my grandpa would tell me I needed to find out who my father was, he never once made me feel unwanted or unloved. My grandpa loved to give me advice. He would tell me that I needed to find a good man like him. He reminded me of many of his admirable qualities: he never cheated on my grandma, he never was abusive, he never used a curse word, he never smoked a cigarette, and the only alcoholic beverage he ever drank was wine, which he made at home. He would also advise me not to get connected with what he 8

considered to be thugs, and he would tell me that I needed to quit trying to look for men. I remember him telling me, “Shakeeta, if a man wants you, he will find you.” My grandpa didn’t mind saying what was on his mind. That’s why he told me not to sleep around with different men. He said that because your body is sacred, it’s not a good thing to violate it by giving it to the wrong person(s). I always listened to what my grandpa had to say, but when it came down to following his advice, I must say that I was not always obedient. I was so hardheaded and stubborn that I just had to do things my way. Nonetheless, my grandpa loved me just the same. He would make me feel so good when I would fix myself up. He’d compliment me by telling me, “Keep up the good work, ya hear?” He didn’t know how much that meant to me. When I went to college, he said, “Shakeeta, you are doing a good job now. Don’t you give up. Maybe when you graduate, you can get you a good paying job.” Later in life, after I indulged in activities that he was not so proud of, he still would encourage me. He would say, “Don’t look at your past; start from today and move forward. Everything will be alright.” My grandpa was truly a family man, and he had good things to say about all of us. He spoke well of my Aunt Dorothy, saying how she had worked at her job for over 16 years. He was proud of the fact that my Uncle Junior could use his dentistry degree to practice all over the world. My cousin JT was always a hard worker, and he boasted on that fact. He also bragged about how my cousin Teresa could really sing. He said she could use her voice as a tool to take her places in life. He would 9

call my cousin Denise “Ol’ Nickee girl.” That was her nickname, and my nickname was Skeeta. Since I was living there with my grandpa, I knew how he spoke well of the family members, and how he appreciated us. However, sometimes there would be family members who were not so convinced. The truth of the matter is that my grandpa said positive things about us all, whether we knew it or not. For example, although everyone in the family knew my Uncle Billy (Grandpa’s son) drank beer most of the time, my grandpa still praised him. He said that when he needed Uncle Billy to help on his trash route, he was always there. My grandfather would say that no matter what Billy did, he was still his son. My grandfather tried to help Uncle Billy to become more self-sufficient in life, but sometimes when you have tried all you can, there is nothing more that you can do but pray. My grandfather was a deacon, and sometimes the members of the church would complain to Reverend Williams (the pastor) that he was sleep in church. In response, Reverend Williams would say, “Shoot, I am sometimes sleeping in the pulpit, too. The church just doesn’t know it.” He said that they didn’t know how my grandpa worked so hard, yet he was still able to make it to church. He would work at the Ryder Trucking Company on a dock at night for 12 hours or more. In doing so, he would get off from work early in the morning, go home and take a nap, and then he would go right back out the door to run his disposal company the same day. This was his way of trying the best he could to take care of my grandma and the children.

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Reverend Williams said he and my grandpa were alike in so many ways. He said when Grandpa prayed over the communion on first Sundays, nobody could ever end the prayer like him: “When you are through coming, and through going, and there is nothing else left to do…” Reverend Williams said when he was growing up, Preacher consistently carried the demeanor of a preacher, and that was why they called him that name. He said that Preacher would go door to door when he first started his disposal company, trying to gain more customers by telling them that he was picking up their neighbors’ trash. He would gain their trust, thereby, attracting new customers by word of mouth. Eventually, my grandfather had so many customers that he couldn’t handle them all. My grandfather continued to run his business until his health began to fail. He initially suffered a mild heart attack, but later would later endure a series of strokes, which ultimately cost him his life. Reality finally hit home, and I began to understand the meaning of joy and pain. My grandfather passed away October 8, 2005 at 2:30 a.m. at the Bordeaux Nursing home in Nashville. That was truly one of the most painful experiences of my life. Our cousin Vernon agreed to help with the funeral expenses, and he went with my grandmother to the funeral home on the following Monday. Being Oprah’s dad, he said he had been very busy with interviews; he had just flown in from Chicago. The interviewers were interviewing him at his home in Greenhills, a prestigious community in Nashville, to get a biographical sketch on Oprah, Vernon, and his father. They were also building a center or a home in Mississippi, according to 11

my grandmother. So the fact that Vernon was there for the family at such a busy time in his own life really meant a lot. It is wonderful that Vernon agreed to assist with the financing of my grandfather’s funeral. At the same time, it is so unfortunate that the rest of our family was not financially stable enough to assist with the burial expenses or other emergency expenses. It seemed like Vernon always had to assist. Oprah, refused request to help us with the funeral so her dad, Vernon did as he always has. He was always there for us! Vernon is a former Nashville city councilman. Vernon was married to Zelma, and now he has remarried to Dr. Barbara Winfrey, a long-time educator and assistant principal at Brentwood High School. I have only met her once, and that was briefly when they attended my mother’s funeral. Vernon continues to operate his barbershop with the same old chairs and the same clients he’s had for over 30 years in Nashville. I never knew how Vernon started his barbershop, but it was located in the heart of East Nashville on a street named after him, and Cleveland Ave. East Nashville is predominantly black, and is filled with churches and liquor stores on every corner. I know that for years Vernon would come over to my grandparents’ house with other relatives when football season was in. “TSU Games” was the reason for their gathering, and they would all crowd over to our home while she would cook. Vernon has been a tremendous inspiration in my life. Although he always had negative things to say about the way I was conducting my life when I was on the wrong path, I knew that he was only trying to help me, and prevent me from heading for destruction. Sometimes when I 12

visited him, I tried to avoid going past his side of the barbershop. (One side was a barbershop, and the other side was a beauty shop.) I’d rather go to the beauty shop side where my cousin Denise, who was a hairstylist at the time, would style my hair for me. For some reason, he would make his way over to the side of the beauty shop and lecture me about the lessons of life. He said he used to tell Oprah the same thing he was telling me. On October 14th around 4:00 a.m., my husband at the time (Donnie), the kids and I proceeded to drive to Nashville for my grandfather’s funeral. At this time, I had gotten married and moved to Atlanta. I had two sons, Kelando and Germell. The drive was depressing, and I was jotting down all the things that I wanted to say about my grandfather. I wanted to make sure I included all the nice things that my grandpa said about his children and his grandchildren. I was scared I was going to break down in tears at the podium, but I said to myself, “I have to do it.” My grandfather had lived a fulfilled life, and carried the torch for the next generations to follow. As I pondered the thoughts that came to mind for my reflections on Grandpa, it was very important to me that my speech serve a purpose. Specifically, I wanted my speech to bring us together. I wanted it to iron out any hard feelings and misunderstandings amongst the children and grandchildren about my grandparents’ love for them. I felt that these points needed to be shared with the family, and my grandfather’s funeral presented the perfect opportunity to do so. I also felt that this would help to bring healing to the many unbalanced relationships within the family.

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As we arrived at my grandparents’ house, my Uncle Willie (Junior) and my Aunt Rose were already there, and we greeted them as we entered. I felt a flush feeling as I arrived at the house. The absence of my grandfather’s presence left me discombobulated. As I entered the door and gave my grandmother a hug, my grandfather’s chair sat empty, as if it was waiting on his return. The atmosphere was totally different and you could clearly feel the absence of his presence. As we sat down for a few moments and discussed the funeral plans, it was time for us to get ready because the limousines from the funeral home were on the way. Smith Brothers Funeral Directors have done all of the Winfrey family funerals that took place in Nashville. As we waited on the limos (everyone dressed in black), a few of the family members from out of town arrived to join us, as well as my Aunt Dorothy and her son Derrick. When we arrived at the church, we were chauffeured to the front entry, and we walked in side-by-side. As we walked into the church, I saw my grandfather lying peacefully in his silver casket with the United States flag carefully draped over the foot of it. I walked closer to the casket, and I saw a man that I called “my granddaddy” laying there sharply dressed in a black suit with a black and white tie. He was covered so neatly. His dark brown skin was still unblemished and perfect. When I got to the casket, I touched his face, eyebrows, and his body to feel the skin that was no longer alive. His eyebrows were tough, and his skin was cool to the touch. I stood there and looked at a person that I once talked to everyday on the phone about my personal problems.

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He lay there unscathed and unharmed. I knew that he loved the Lord, and that as he rested, he was waiting to join the Lord, our savior. I finally walked away, but not without feeling an empty place in my heart. Both of my sons were crying. This was the man that used to give them a dollar every time they tied his shoes. He couldn’t bend over and tie them himself because of his arthritis. This was the man that took turns with Germell, brushing each other’s hair with an old hair brush that he had for over 20 years. Sitting in the seats designated for the family members, we sat with tears continuously flowing, looking at a man that we all remembered so greatly. I thought to myself that my grandfather was someone that had done everything perfect in his life, yet he still seemed to suffer. I sat with a face full of tears. I watched other people’s faces as they, too, cried over him. I felt lost as others walked in and visited the body and walked to their seats. I sat and stared at his face and was trying to accept the fact that he is no longer here. As I looked at my grandmother (who sat in front of me), I felt her pain, and knew she was crying inside, although she tried to keep the tears from showing on the outside. As the visitation was nearing completion, the funeral was about to begin. The service began with a music prelude, selections, scriptures, and prayers, followed by acknowledgments from several churches, praising my grandfather for his good deeds, and sharing their condolences with us. After the acknowledgements were over, it was time for the tributes, and this is where I came in. It was now time to utilize all 15

the notes that I jotted down on the way to Nashville, and speak them out for my grandfather. I started off the speech by saying, We have lost three great and wonderful people in our family: my Uncle Alfred Winfrey, my mother Patricia Winfrey, and now my grandfather. I praised my grandfather for all the good deeds he had done, and how I would never forget them. I then added that my grandparents had a hard time raising me. I gave my grandparents plenty of trouble while I was growing up; and in high school, I made them a nervous wreck. But nevertheless, no matter what I did, my grandpa was there for me. When I had my first son out of wedlock, he disapproved of it, but he accepted it, and was like my son’s best friend. My grandfather has lived his life. He has been here for many years, and he has carried the torch for all of us to live by. When I was young, I used to be embarrassed about him picking up trash for a living. Sometimes he would take me to school, and trash would be on the truck. I would slide down in my seat so no one would see us pull up. He would always tell me that the trash truck I was embarrassed about paid the bills for the house, and that was how I ate. I remembered how, when I was in school, he used to bring me food from McDonald’s and Pizza Hut so that I wouldn’t have to eat the school’s lunch all the time. Sometimes, he would take me on the trash route with him on the weekends, and I would meet several of his customers; they were real nice to me. No matter what I did in life, he would tell me to never give up. 16

I wanted to cover everyone in the family, and let them know how much Granddaddy really cared about them. As I continued my speech, I remembered that in my last conversation with my grandfather in October of 2005, he mentioned that I should find my father, especially since my mother had passed away. He said that I needed to go on to some talk show and see if they could help me find him. He said, “You’ll always have me, but you need to close a chapter in the book and bring some closure to this part of your life.” I continued with my speech. Although my grandmother and grandfather never really knew my mom’s relationships with men, they did remember someone nicknamed Kojak that went to Fisk University about thirty years ago. His nationality is unknown, but it is assumed that he is of mixed descent. My grandmother remembered my mom bringing a tall, light skinned, very slender guy with a bald head and pretty eyes, around on several occasions to the drycleaners where she worked. But because my mother never told her she was pregnant with me, and my grandmother didn’t know until I was born, it was difficult to get any information from my mom, since the onset of her mental illness was prevalent when I was born. But, I have decided to uphold my grandfather’s wish and follow through to find my father. That was my grandfather’s dream, and that is what I have decided to do in an effort to close this chapter in my life. If I haven’t listened or done anything that my grandfather told me to do, I will grant this one request for him.

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I miss my grandfather so much; he was like my father, grandfather, brother, and best friend. As I finished my speech, I felt that my grandfather would be pleased about what I said, and would appreciate the fact that I mentioned everyone and how he loved them so. So, I continued: He loved everyone, and didn’t treat anybody differently. No matter what you might have done, he treated you as if you were still a part of him. That is what I am proud of. No matter what I have done, he told me to keep trying and I would make it. Every endeavor, adventure, or task that I may have conquered, he was right by my side rooting me on all the way. I felt by letting the church know these critical moments in my life, my heart was filled with a sense of accomplishment. After I finished my tribute, Vernon came forth with his. He thanked me for all the nice things that I said about my grandfather. I was amazed that he finally appreciated something I did. (I felt like I had done so many bad things that no one would accept any good I had done.) He told the church that I said some of the things that he wanted to say, but that I said them very well; he thanked me for it. Vernon mentioned that when football season was in how he and his brothers would come to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for dinner and watch the game. He said that my grandfather was a good man, and he had worked hard all his life. He reflected on how sometimes my grandfather would go to the barbershop, and they would talk about church and everything while Vernon would cut his hair.

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Vernon also mentioned how my grandfather loved his children, and his wife Millie. He said that my grandfather had carried the torch for us for many years, and that we, as his family, need to follow in his footsteps. As Vernon was finishing his speech, I felt a sense of connection when he looked my way. For the first time ever, I finally believed that he appreciated me. I remembered all the years of feeling ashamed from all the bad things I had done in life. In fact, I used to dodge Vernon because I was scared of what he might say. This was the first time that he thanked me for a job well done, and he said that he couldn’t have said it any better than I did. I cried because I have always thought that he had ill thoughts of me for so many years. I felt like he couldn’t forgive me for the things that I had done, which eventually gave me a bad reputation around town. He finally showed me that he thought well of me, and that made me happy. As the pastor, Reverend Williams, spoke and delivered the eulogy, he mentioned that he and my grandfather were best friends for years. He realized that they would be good friends the first time my grandparents invited him and his family over for dinner. He said he could feel the genuine love in his heart, and that he knew my grandfather would be a good friend, indeed. Reverend Williams also mentioned how my grandfather took care of his children. He said that my grandfather tried his best, and no matter what the children turned out to be, he never gave up on them. Reverend Williams further mentioned that my grandfather was always

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offering his help; he marveled at how he volunteered so much of his precious time. I will never forget my granddaddy. As far as I am concerned, he did everything right; he was one of a kind. Sitting in the funeral only sparked a lifetime of memories, and I began to daydream. I remembered when Grandpa’s trash truck would break down. Grandma and I would have to get in the car and pick him up. They didn’t have enough money to get a brand new truck, and my grandma didn’t want to take a chance because she was scared that Granddaddy would have a wreck (since he had several wrecks in the past, and totaled a new truck that she previously bought him.) So, he did what he could with the truck that he had. He would let my great uncle, which was my grandmother’s brother (Hozel), fix his trucks for him. Sometimes, Uncle Hozel wouldn’t charge him a dime for it. (Uncle Hozel had a transmission shop for years, and always fixed Grandma’s and Granddaddy’s cars for them when they would break down.) All of my memories were coming back as the service continued, and I just looked at my granddaddy and cried in disbelief that he is no longer here. I remembered the three of us (my granddaddy, my grandma and I) going to dinner when my grandfather received a plaque from the church in recognition for his years of dedicated service. They sent him to the Crown Plaza Hotel, located in downtown Nashville, where the restaurant, which spins around, is located at the top of the hotel. I’ll never forget that experience because that was the first time they had ever taken me to an expensive restaurant. The foods on the menu were so

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exquisite, but I just ordered a hamburger because I was scared to eat something that I hadn’t seen before. The funeral was nearing an end, and all my memories of my grandfather were leaving with him. As they closed the casket, the funeral directors called the pall bearers to come to the front of the church and assist with the carrying of my grandfather to the hearse. As they took him outside, we all looked as they rolled the casket down the aisle of the church. I felt that was the last time I would ever see my grandfather’s face. As the Winfrey family was led to go into the appropriate cars, I stared at my grandfather’s casket while they loaded him into the hearse. I stood there for a few seconds, wishing that he was still alive. I wondered why God didn’t take me instead of my grandfather because I felt like he didn’t deserve to leave. I said to myself, “Why is it always that the good people are the ones to go first? He suffered so much in his life, but he had never done anything wrong. Why don’t they make people like him anymore? Good men that don’t cheat on their wife; good men that raise the children, are never violent, never curse nor drink.” He was perfect, and he was truly an angel in my eyes. I still wondered, “Why couldn’t God take the bad people, and why is it that all the time good people are those who always seem to have a hard life?” My grandfather never got to see the good life. He always suffered and worked hard, but never saw the benefit of the seeds he sowed. As I stood looking at the casket where my grandfather lay, I began to regret my life here on earth. I regretted that I ever took my grandparents through so much heartache and so many problems. I 21

regretted that I led them to so much financial debt that I couldn’t repay, even if I wanted to. As I stood there looking at him, dying, very poor and a Winfrey, I felt like taking my own life. I felt that the reason why my grandparents suffered was Oprah’s fault. I felt that it was my fault too… that the children and the other grandchildren felt that they were not loved by my grandparents. So, again, I began to wonder, “Why couldn’t God take my life?” I felt like I didn’t deserve to live anymore. If I could swap places with my grandfather, I would because he didn’t deserve this at all. None of deserved to be on welfare or to live in public housing, or even receive food stamps for that matter. Where was Oprah? Did she care, did she know? Yes, she knew but did not care…… As we prepared to go to Pegram, Tennessee to the Middle Tennessee Veteran Cemetery where my grandfather would be buried, I felt lost, but I tried to hide the hurt that I felt by laughing and talking with my Aunt Dorothy and my cousin Derrick. In the back of my mind, I was in so much pain, but I covered it well. While riding to the cemetery, I looked at the city view that I remembered when I was growing up. I looked at the streets of Nashville, and I remembered my childhood. I looked at the university I used to go to, Tennessee State, and I remembered my grandma and my oldest son, Kelando, showing up at my graduation. They were the only two that were there to see me walk across the stage. My grandfather couldn’t get around well, due to his arthritis, so he stayed at home and awaited my return with my degree.

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As I arrived home after graduation and showed my degree to him, he shed a tear of joy for me. It warmed his heart to see me turn my life around and do something positive. He gave me a hug, and told me to continue doing good. He said I would receive a good paying job, and that maybe I could go to work with my great-uncle’s wife, who was the Health Administrator over the Veterans Affairs Medical Center in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. As we arrived to the burial site for my grandfather, I remembered all the motivation that he gave me on my life’s journey. As we pulled up to the location for the military burial service, we all were guided into a building where burial services for military members and veterans are held. There was a prayer service given by the Associate Pastor of our church, and two military men removed the large flag blanket from the top of the casket. They proceeded to fold it while four gunshots rang in the air. They tightly and neatly folded the flag in a triangular shape, starting from one end to the other end. As they continued to fold the flag and placed it in a carrying pouch that was given by the funeral home, they gave it to my grandmother. Then, another military personnel gave an announcement about the salute to my grandfather and his great service in the Army. Following were words of appreciation on behalf of the family by the funeral directors. As they rolled the casket of my grandfather out to the SUV for burial, I saw the flower petals that were on my grandfather’s casket fall sparingly on the floor as he was carried out through the double doors of the building.

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As they carried him, I walked behind the men who were carrying him. I stood there once again, and cried, saying my last goodbyes to my grandfather, knowing that I would never see him again in this life. I stood beside the double doors, turned myself backwards, and leaned against the wall in hurt and disbelief as they carried him to his burial site. We, the family, couldn’t go with them to the grave site because that is not allowed in a military service. Again, Oprah was no where to be found. As we drove off, I saw all the grave sites of the deceased military persons lined side-by-side with the same grave stones, and I said to myself, “My grandfather has now joined the many who have fought for our country, and now have passed on to a better place.” When we began to head back to the church, I realized that my grandfather is gone, and is not coming back again. I felt like life had nothing to offer, now that I’d lost both my mother and now my grandfather. I felt like the only person that I that I could really count on was my grandmother. What really hurt was the realization that she will someday go, too! She told me that the kids and I would have to be strong for her because we were all she had. She said she couldn’t be strong for us if we couldn’t be strong for her. After we returned to the church, we were led into the area where food was served. I realized that this would be the first time I would meet Vernon’s wife, Barbara. I spoke to her while she was getting something to eat, telling her it was a pleasure meeting her. Also, Tommy was there. (This is Vernon’s stepson and Oprah’s stepbrother.) He is a Lieutenant for the Davidson County Sheriff’s Office. I spoke to him and told him to call me whenever he got a chance. He and his wife lived in the house 24

behind my grandmother. I have talked with him on several occasions before, and he is a really nice guy. I was able to sit and talk with several of the members of the family that I hadn’t seen in so long. Among them were all of Granddaddy’s brothers and their wives. I saw one of his brothers named Woodrow. With the same blue-grey eyes and the same facial features, he is almost the spitting image of my grandfather. I also was able to see my grandmother’s sisters as they all came and hugged me and told me that I said a wonderful speech about my grandfather. They reassured me that I would be OK. Speaking of other family members, my grandmother’s sister Earlene came in from out of town to the funeral. She and my grandmother resemble so much. She came around during the wake, and told each of the children and grandchildren that my grandfather lived a good life. She said we need to carry the torch and lead the way, and she also said we need to follow in his footsteps because there is no other man like him. She finally said that we need to make him proud of us. When she said this to us, I realized that this was the same thing that Vernon mentioned in his speech. As she walked and shook hands with each one of us, she said those unforgettable words, “Carry the torch and follow in his footsteps.” She came and grabbed my chin with her left hand and softly said, “Shakeeta, it will be alright. Follow his footsteps, and you can’t go wrong.” The food at the repast was delicious. There was macaroni and cheese, green beans, grilled chicken, and so many desserts: cheese cakes, pound cakes, pineapple cakes, cup cakes, and Oreo cookie cakes. Then it 25

hit me that this was the first time that I had seen the entire family together, and some of us hadn’t seen each other in years. I saw my great Uncle Sarge who used to own the cleaners with my grandma, and I hadn’t seen him since I was ten- or eleven-years-old or younger. I was glad to know he remembered me. As I walked around and talked to the family, I ran across Reverend Williams as he was sitting in his wheelchair. He said he appreciated my speech, and he encouraged me by telling me that I will find my father. He also said, “Don’t you forget: James was your father and played a role in your life for many years. He stepped in just as if he was your biological father. One day, you will find your real father, but if you don’t find him, don’t worry. Just know that GOD Almighty Jesus is your father, and you can depend on him for all your needs. You won’t need anybody else because he will supply all of your needs and wants.”

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Chapter 2

Early Years

I am the only child my mother birthed, but it’s no surprise because I don’t think she was mentally capable of going through childbirth again. I believe the process of childbirth, along with her alarmingly high blood pressure only furthered my mother’s mental disability. I think about this from time to time and I wonder if my conception determined the course of my mother’s life because it seems as if after I was born, everything seemed to go downhill for her. I imagine that God had a purpose for me, and of course, a reason for the events of my life. Yet, sometimes I just don’t know. My journey began at the age of two when my mom’s illness got much worse. During the day, she would allow me to go outside and play in the neighbor’s yard, but she wouldn’t supervise me. This was only the start of strange happenings. My mother began to take me out with her at night to places no child should be without an adult’s supervision: hotels, motels, and houses where prostitutes and pimps would frequent. My grandparents would get up in the middle of the night to look for us, only to find us gone. Sometimes, they found us at the Super 8 Motel on Murfreesboro Road in Nashville, an unsafe place. One time I remember my mom telling me that she took me to New Orleans for two weeks and that we stayed with different men she was dating. I was too young to remember much about my mother’s times of irrational behavior. I do, however, know she married an African man; 27

my grandparents couldn’t even recall his name. Supposedly, he only married my mother in order to get his green card. After he got it, he divorced my mom, leaving her in a worse mental state than when he first met her. He didn’t want kids, and I’ll never forget how this man used to try to get my mom to leave me in the park. I was around five at the time. Everyone wondered what exactly went wrong with my mom. We were from a wonderful, established neighborhood on Queens Lane in Nashville. My grandparents had just had their house built after they moved from Haynes Street in the heart of East Nashville. Their home on Haynes Street was only one street over from Haynes School, the school where my aunt, uncles, and mom went. It was a pretty good school back then. (Oprah didn’t attend Haynes School with the rest of the family; she attended Warden Elementary School.) The question that everybody asked was, “Why did this woman act so strange when she comes from such a good and nurturing family?” No one, my grandparents included, could understand why my mom carried on the way she did, leaving me to practically raise myself. Thank God for my grandparents. After a few episodes of my mother’s outlandish behavior, my grandmother intervened and demanded that she seek professional help. Of course, my mom, as stubborn as she was, refused. Soon after, my grandparents realized the law would allow them to have her admitted into the hospital because they were scared for my safety. Later, they would find out that she had PCP in her system, which, according to the National Institute on Drugs, can cause symptoms that mimic schizophrenia, such as delusions, hallucinations, paranoia, and distorted thinking. 28

My grandparents discovered that my mom used PCP constantly, thanks to the encouragement of her African husband. She would later be dually diagnosed with schizophrenia and borderline personality. As a result, my mother was sent to Central State, a mental health facility located on Murfreesboro Road. I was about three-years-old at the time. While she was adjusting to the medications that they were giving her, it was not safe to visit her. During the last visit that we made to Central State, a man that was standing out in front of the yard as we were walking up the steps pulled out his penis and asked us for a dollar. People were all over the place talking to themselves. The place smelled horrible, and the more insane patients there had shackles on their feet or were locked up completely. It was horrible. I told my grandma I did not want to go back ever again. My mom would just cry and cry every time we left, but I couldn’t stand to be in that place, and I couldn’t understand why my mother was in the situation she was in. From that point on, I asked not to be taken there again, so they let my mom have weekend visits home once a month. Nonetheless, I was still scared for her to come around at that point because I was scared she would do something to me. One day when she was home for a visit and taking a shower, she thought someone was actually in the shower with her, touching her. That “someone” she imagined was my grandpa. I would sometimes hear her yelling, “Shut up. Leave me alone. Get your hands off me, you fool, and don’t you dare touch my (blank blank) daughter.”

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Immediately after, she would tear the door down. I was scared to death and sometimes I would go hide in a corner. Other times, she would go in to her bedroom, grab the knob of the door several times, and shut it repeatedly. She would do this for 15-20 minutes at a time. Sometimes, I would scream and say, “Leave the door alone,” but no matter how much I expressed my discontent, she never chastised me. I guess she loved me so much she just couldn’t see harming me in any way. She always focused her outbursts and anger toward men because she thought they were trying to touch her in an absurd, sexual manner. I’ll never forget the day she pulled a knife on my grandpa and told him never to touch her again. I never could understand why she had so much animosity and hatred for my grandpa or toward men in general, for that matter. My mom used to drink beer and keep it in the bedroom. At around the age of five, I would sneak into her room, get some of her beer and run down the hallway with a sheet over my head because I didn’t want my grandma to smell it. I wonder if seeing everything I saw my mom do caused me to be a late bloomer. I slept with my grandma until I was about six-years-old. I used to wet the bed a lot, but my grandma hung in there with me. Some nights, she would put plastic on the bed under me just in case I had an accident, and other nights she would just flip the mattress over. I used to have nightmares about my mom a lot and it bothered Grandma. She considered taking me to see a psychiatrist about the bedwetting, but there was another problem that was more important and

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needed attending to: I had no voice. People wondered why I never really spoke, and when I did, they further wondered why there was no sound. My grandparents thought there was something seriously wrong with me, so when I was two-years-old, they took me to an ear, nose, and throat doctor. We found out that I had papillomas on my vocal chords caused by the human papilloma virus (HPV). At the tender age of two, I had surgery to remove them, even though my grandparents were informed that there would be almost a 100% chance of reoccurrence, due to the nature of the virus. That is exactly what happened to me. At the age of five, I had to have another operation. Dr. Gowda, the specialist that treated me, was very good. After the second operation, my voice was not 100%, but it was definitely better. I have had a total of nine operations in my lifetime for this condition. While I was in the hospital, my grandma would sit by my bedside and pray for me, quoting scriptures from the Bible, “Let not your heart be troubled, you believe in God, believe also in me” (John 14:1) and, “But seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33). At that time in my life, I should have been excited about starting kindergarten, but I wasn’t. It was painful to me that children would make fun of me and ask why I couldn’t talk. They wanted to know why I was so sick all of the time. They called me Snap, Crackle and Pop because my voice made cracking noises when I talked. I was so embarrassed at times that I didn’t want to raise my hand to answer questions in class. I didn’t want to read stories out loud. I didn’t even want to communicate with any of the kids for fear of being made fun of. 31

If the problem with my voice wasn’t enough, I also remember having the challenge of being very pigeon-toed. In fact, I was so pigeontoed that I had to have braces on my legs. This made school life more difficult for me. I couldn’t compete in running races with the kids, due to my braces getting in the way; I would always trip over them. All my friends would make fun of me. My grandmother grew tired of my constant complaining about the way my friends treated me, so she finally took me to a foot specialist. I went to the specialist two to three times a week for several weeks for walking exercises with my leg braces, and it helped me immensely. In the midst of my challenges, my family still wanted to make sure I was happy and loved. I remember having a rabbit that my great uncle bought me, and I loved it so much. My rabbit stayed alive for seven years. That was my best friend in the world, and I cherished my pet so much that I thought it was a human. More or less, it kept me company because I didn’t have any brothers or sisters to play with. After my rabbit died, I didn’t want my grandpa to carry it off and dump it; I still wanted to be close to it. So, instead, I asked for it to be buried in the backyard. I loved my rabbit so much that I used to visit it after its death. Sometimes, I would put carrots on top of its grave in hopes he would wake up and eat them. Of course, that never happened. After the rabbit died, my grandpa bought an Alaskan malamute from Mr. Lineweaver, a guy he used to pick up trash from. The dog was a good pet, but nothing could take the place of my rabbit. I remember when my grandma used to work at Old Sarge Cleaners. the establishment owned by her brother. She would drop me 32

off at the daycare center, which at the time, was called Children’s Corner. It was located on Kings Lane, across from Kings Lane School. Those years were memorable because that’s where I had the most interaction with children my age. Since my grandma and grandpa were raising me, I didn’t go to extracurricular activities like Opryland, skating, bowling, swimming, and other fun things. I also missed out on family picnics, movies and other social activities because my grandparents were older. So, daycare provided an outlet for me to enjoy those things. I had a ball on the field trips, birthday parties, and just playing on the playground. In addition to the daycare, my grandma sometimes would drop me off at my Aunt’s Dorothy’s apartment. She lived in Haynes Garden Apartments. I really enjoyed those days, and I learned a lot from my aunt. Sometimes she was very strict, and that was something that I wasn’t used to. My Aunt Dorothy was a very outspoken lady, and she has always been a hard worker. Even while raising three children, she attended school to further her education. She has been at the same place of employment with a widely known hospital (St. Thomas), which is known for its heart specialty service, for over 16 years. I didn’t know it then, but it seems as though being around my Aunt Dorothy at such a young age played a big role in helping me to realize that I, like her and Grandma, could attain an education and make something out of myself. So, the journey continued.

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Chapter 3

Elementary and Middle School Years

I was very tearful on my first day at Cumberland Elementary School. I really couldn’t talk much because the operations had created scar tissue on my vocal chords. I pretty much had everything I wanted in life except a voice, and that was the one thing I wanted more than anything in the world. One of my most memorable voice operations took place when I was in the second grade. I was in Ms. Cloud’s class, and I remember having to take two weeks off from school. All of my best friends were praying for my speedy recovery. There was another girl in the hospital room with me. She was in the hospital for an operation as well, but a different kind. My room mate, who happened to be a white girl named Amanda (Mandy), became my best friend. We shared crayons and coloring books, and we would laugh and snuggle all night. When Mandy’s mom would come to see her, she would always bring me a book to read or something to play with. Likewise, when my grandma came to see us, she would bring us both Happy Meals. When it was time for our operations, I was the first to go; I cried because I didn’t want to go. I would miss Mandy because that was the best friend I ever had. After all, I had no brothers or sisters in my life. As they wheeled me into the operating room, they assured me that everything was going to be OK. I remember the doctors putting a tube with a camera at the end of it through one of my nostrils to see the 34

papillomas on my vocal chords. Then shortly after that, they inserted medicine into my IV, which was already set up previously. In minutes, I was asleep. After the procedure, my throat was very sore. I wasn’t supposed to talk and could only eat soups, puddings, and juices. When they wheeled me back into my room, I thought I would see Mandy, but she was already gone. I was so upset, but I felt better when I saw that she left me a get well card. I was happy to know that the card also had her telephone number on the inside of it with her mother’s name included. After the operation, I was so happy to get home and relax because I could stay out of school for the remainder of the week since I needed to rest my voice. However, resting my voice didn’t stop me from outdoor activity. I played volleyball, which I was really good at. I also played basketball and ran track. By this time in my life, I had become a bit pudgy, and I thought this would be a great way for me to lose the needed weight; my involvement in athletics was starting to pay off. I saw myself trimming down, and fitting into women’s clothes that I previously could not wear. I would always have to go to Bert’s Men’s Department Store and buy my clothes, or I would have to shop at Lane Bryant. I really wasn’t into toys too much. I liked Barbie, and I also liked Skipper, but I was more into building blocks and puzzles. I always wanted to figure things out, take them apart and put them back together. My best card games were memory card games where you had to remember what card you placed down in order to match it with another card.

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Like all girls, there came a time when I became interested in boys. I remember one in particular. The first guy I ever had a crush on was my next-door neighbor. His name was Peyton, and I thought was really cute. Back then, we used to play kickball together at his house. I don’t think he ever really liked me, though. Peyton was tall and light skinned. He could very well pass for my brother, but I liked him because he was quiet. I was about 13 when I noticed my crush on him. The neighborhood we lived in was a very quiet and established neighborhood. I called it the “granny hood” because all grandparents seemed to live on our street. When we would play, there was always a grandparent standing outside watching us with the screen door open, or they would be walking up and down the street with their canes, getting some exercise. I’ll never forget the day we played kickball, and Peyton’s dog chased me to 3rd base, attacking me on my bottom. I cried and cried because I was so scared of his dog. He was just being playful, but I didn’t play like that. My grandmother recognized my crush on Peyton, and she felt I was headed for trouble. She didn’t think I was ready to get involved with boys, so she put an end to my crush by banning me from playing outside at the same times that he would be outside. She would make excuses that it was going to rain, and that we had somewhere to go, when in fact we didn’t. Being excluded from my surroundings, from boys or others, started a trend in my life that could not be stopped until I learned that it wasn’t the right thing to do.

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My life as an only child was special in some ways, yet hard in others. Nevertheless, I am grateful that my grandma and grandpa did their best in trying to raise me. My mother wasn’t in her right frame of mind, and after a while, I started to notice that my mom was doing various things to her body. I knew that she didn’t know what she was doing, so I guess being sexual with herself and drinking beer was all she knew how to do. While my young mind wasn’t able to interpret everything that was going on with her, I did know that whatever it was wasn’t right. When I would sometimes go in to her room, I’d find that she would have sex toys lying around. I would run and tell Grandma what I saw. My grandmother would tell her to put those sex toys (dildo) away because I was young; she didn’t want me to see those types of things. I remember one time I peeked into my mother’s room to see her acting out with her toy; she was on the floor using it. I immediately ran down the hall and screamed to my grandma what my mother was doing, and my grandmother told her that if she didn’t get her act together she was going to put her back into Central State. On another occasion, I saw the same dildo inside her shoes, hidden in a closet, and I picked it up. I ran down the hall playing with it, and my grandmother was cooking in the kitchen at the time. It seems that when those episodes were going on, my grandma was always cooking. I had the dildo running down the hall while it was swaying from side to side. I took it and showed it to my grandma. I said, “Look what I got, Grandma!” Immediately my grandma had enough. I was being exposed to too many things. 37

I never forgot when I used to go to school in the morning, how my mom would come outside and walk me to the school bus with her pants unzipped. Because she didn’t have on any underwear, she inadvertently exposed all of her pubic hairs. That was the year I failed the 4th grade as well. I knew my mother was mentally ill, but I still couldn’t understand why she was doing the things she was doing. It seems my performance in school was adversely affected from her being around. My mother had changed so much from the early pictures I saw of her before I was born. Before the illness took over, people told me that she used to be beautiful, slim, and tall, with the features of an African goddess. I guess my mom had the looks that most people dreamed of: 6’1,” tall and slender, about 140 pounds. I never got to see her in those days. In her later years, her teeth were decayed, her hair was unbecoming and unmanageable, and she weighed about 260 pounds. Her language was filthy at best, and all I saw was a lady with a vulgar mouth. Still, I couldn’t understand why. I didn’t know my mother the way I thought most daughters usually know their mothers. There was a gap in age between my grandparents and I, and I missed the benefit of getting advice from my mother. There were some things my grandparents didn’t discuss because of their age; those things were just too personal. I knew that my mother would have been a good friend to me. I figured that if she were in the right frame of mind, she could tell me about my menstrual periods and boys, and we could put on makeup together.

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Deep inside, I longed to have a mom that I could go do fun things with like go shopping and get our hair done together. I just wished that we could have been able to spend time together sharing the simple things in life. I never had any of those extras. I always wondered what it would be like if she wasn’t sick. When I had problems, sometimes I wished I could talk to my mother. I even wished I could go to my father for advice, but since I didn’t know him, that was obsolete. My grandparents were good replacements, but there was still emptiness in my heart that kept me yearning to know my mother better. Because of her illness, it never really came to my mind what a good relationship we could have had. I thought about it only at times when I would go through certain problems that I couldn’t talk to my grandparents about. They were mostly personal subjects. One of the painful things about not having both my parents raising me was the fact that kids did not spare me when it came to making fun of me. They would say, “Ah ha, your mother and dad didn’t want you, and they left you on your grandparents’ front porch.” This was one of many horrible jokes that kids used to say to me. Sometimes, they would call me Big Bird, and when the bus would break down, they would say all I had to do was get on top of the bus and flap my wings so I could guide the bus back on the road. I wish I could say that the childhood rhyme, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” was a true saying. I was the butt of many jokes, and I was called many names. The insults and the name-calling really did hurt, but thank God I survived. Thank God for the love that my 39

grandparents instilled within me to let me know that I was special, even if I didn’t know it then.

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Chapter 4

Ties That Bind

I remember a lot of talk about a woman named Oprah, but I didn’t know who she was. I used to hear stories about her and how Vernon's brother, Trent, raped her when she was 13-years-old, and how unruly she was as a child. When she was raped, no one believed her. I felt her pain because I, too, had a similar experience. When I was about five, my uncle Alfred was laying on top of me grinding me in my mother’s bedroom on her floor. No one believed me either when I told my grandparents what happened. The pain of the memory was so unbearable, that I was in my early 20’s before I even told my grandparents that Oprah and I were both raped by our uncles. The end result of me breaking the silence was that it started uproar. I guess because I was such an outcast in the family anyway, and because I had done so many unacceptable things like stripping and drugs and living a life of crime, it would be hard for anyone to believe me. When I think about it, I guess I really didn’t expect anyone to listen to me. They only saw me as a product of my mother. I also was doing other things that mirrored Oprah’s behavior. By the time I was 14, I was stealing money, running away from home and having sex with older men. One might infer that my behavior was somewhat parallel to Oprah’s because of our similar experiences, but none of that mattered to me. As far as I was concerned, she was an icon. I just couldn’t visualize 41

all those things happening to her; all I saw was a beautiful, wellrespected woman on channel 4. I always asked my grandmother about Oprah, and what she was like when she moved to Nashville. My grandmother’s memory of Oprah was very vague. Because Oprah went to a different school than my uncles and aunts, my grandma could only remember whatever Vernon might have shared with her. I would dream of meeting Oprah, and me working in her firm; I thought I could be a big help to her. I guess that was a far fetched dream, yet I wondered what she would say if I called her. I wondered if she would offer me a job if I flew to see her. I really never asked a lot of family members about her because I knew that they wouldn’t know anything either. Oprah lived a very separated life away from the family. She was more in touch with Vernon, and he is the only one that knows the true Oprah. As her family, we are like people on the outside just like everybody else looking in. It is amazing when people ask me, “Do you talk to Oprah?” I say in the back of my mind that if they only knew, they probably know her better than I. I figured if I asked strangers about Oprah, and they would probably know more than me. Because not many of the family members knew much about Oprah, she seemed like a mystery woman. I didn’t want to ask too many questions about her because I didn’t want anyone to think I was being too nosy. So, I would only ask my grandma and grandpa. It shocked me that when I got older and began to ask questions about her to strangers, no one had anything good to say. I felt that they were just jealous. After all, she was once trapped in a city of poverty, yet, she rose above her 42

obstacles to be one of the most admirable women in the world. Plus, she was a black woman. “They are all just upset,” I thought. Our family’s roots were in Kosciusko, Mississippi. My earliest recollection of Kosciusko all started when my grandma and grandpa used to take me and my cousin Denise to Mississippi to see my grandpa’s family. This was the stomping grounds of the Winfrey family. It would take several hours for us to get into the heart of Kosciusko. We would pack up our belongings two days in advance for the oh-so-dreaded trip to the countryside. My cousin and I didn’t want to go; we wanted to stay in the comforts of city living. It was such a boring trip. We would travel through the heart of Memphis and stop to see my Uncle Junior, the dentist. Memphis was a lot bigger than Nashville. My uncle made sure to take us out on the town to see Elvis’ house and to Beele Street, the hangout spot for black folks. We’d also visit Orange Mound, a place where the teenagers and young adults would hang out and showcase their fancy rims and colorful paint jobs on their cars. There were Cutlasses and SS Impalas, and a couple of older cars that would bounce up and down on two wheels with the flip of a switch. We’d never seen anything like it. Even the colors of the cars were odd, ranging from bowling ball colors to light green to even sometimes yellow. Some cars would even change colors. It was a little too much for me to endure at the time; there was just too much excitement. I had never seen Kangols become so popular until we visited Memphis. Kangol hats, Jheri curls, and Versace suits with the matching alligator boots, were all very common in Memphis at 43

that time. My cousin and I had never seen so much coordination in dressing until we came to Memphis. The whole Memphis atmosphere was a little devastating in a way because I felt that we were held in captivity; we didn’t know that this was how it actually was. The inner city communities in Nashville were so much different from those in Memphis. Memphis felt like inner city everywhere. We would stay the night with my uncle and eat Church’s chicken, just up the road a bit, or we would eat dinner at his house. After our exciting adventure in Memphis, it was time for our long-awaited trip to Mississippi. On the way there, we would make a couple of stops at Gas & Go’s, where you pumped first and paid later. There were only maybe two pumps to choose from, and the clerk was usually inside sleeping. The only thing they had to eat was chicken or peanuts. We had to travel on several dirt roads, and my grandma was always complaining about her White Fleetwood Cadillac getting dirty on the dirt roads and hills. She even bought a bug net to put on the front of the car because the bugs were so bad. My grandpa had assured my grandma that he would clean the car when we got back to Nashville, but at that time, my grandma’s Cadillac was new and she cherished it to the highest degree. That was her Sunday car, meaning that we didn’t drive it until Sundays, and occasionally on Saturdays if we were going to a fancy restaurant. At that time, the fanciest restaurant we had around was Shoney’s. This is where I could get my favorite cheeseburgers with fries, and my grandpa and grandma would get Philly steak cheese sandwiches. She would drive her older model Cadillac on the weekdays to take me to 44

school and to drive to work. I was so excited to take the new Cadillac to Mississippi because it had nice seats and a cassette player, which was the in-thing in that era. Her older Cadillac still had a cartridge player inside. She would stick in the Elvis cartridge all the time, but I would always take it out and turn the radio to the rap station. My cousin and I were both excited about her cassette player, and as soon as we hit Memphis, we wanted to hear their rap stations. However, if my grandfather heard one curse word, we could forget about listening to the rap stations because he would change to gospel music. He always said, “I don’t understand why these young people have to use curse words in every sentence. Someone needs to grab them by their ears and hang them up by them.” He always said that if some of the parents would have raised their kids to go to church, there would have been less crime. My great-grandmother’s house was a little old house sitting on about three or four acres of land. We pulled into her gravel driveway, and it seemed like we had to drive for miles just to get to the front door. When we pulled up, we saw a little old lady with a cocoa-colored complexion, blue eyes, and long, silver, straight hair. Her hair was shinier than a diamond ring. She greeted us with a smile and gave us hugs and kisses as we entered the house. Then she said, “Ya’ll come on in now and have you somethin’ to eat. I fixed food for everyone.” We were starving because on the way there, we had no options for food except chicken and peanuts. She made a big dinner for all of us. As we walked into the house, she directed us to where our rooms were going to be. My grandma and grandpa had one room, and my cousin and 45

I shared another. Each room had floor heaters, and if you stepped too close to the heater, you’d get burned. I’ll never forget the time that her cat came out of nowhere and accidentally struck the heater with its tail— it forever had a burn spot on it. I was so scared because the cat screamed, “Mmmmmmmmmeow,” when he burned himself. That incident alone convinced me to never want to have a cat at home. My great-grandmother’s home was so comfortable, and with its country, rustic touch, it was like a bed and breakfast resort. The rooms of the house were so comfy and so surreal. All of the blankets were handmade, quilted by her, and she told us that she spent several months making those blankets. They were magnificent; every patch that she sewed together stood for something. Although it wasn’t the most intriguing place to go for vacation, it was home. It was the roots of the Winfrey family. I enjoyed the quietness, the peaceful atmosphere, where you would hear the birds chirping every morning, the chickens in the afternoon, and the crickets at night. This was a place where you could leave the screen door open at night for fresh air. You couldn’t find those things in the city. This was just one of the many trips that we took to see Greatgrandma. Every trip was different and Great-grandma would always cook us something to eat. It was fascinating to see that she made her food from scratch, even her biscuits. She would also make honey, eggs, sausage patties, and cured ham. Once we woke up from under her handmade quilts, she would say, “Ya’ll come in here; it’s breakfast time.” You could always hear the chickens in the morning as well as the morning insects. When I looked out the window, I could see the frost that 46

fell the night before, cradling the grass until the sun came to melt it away. I missed my great-grandma every time that we had to leave. Unfortunately, our visits didn’t come without interesting occurrences. On one particular trip, just as we were getting ready to leave, I fell into an ant bed full of black ants. My great-grandma washed my clothes and put alcohol on my ant bites. On top of that accident, when we were finally ready to leave, my grandpa didn’t see me get into the car, so he accidentally shut my leg into the car door. Those Cadillac car doors were really heavy, and I cried and cried because it hurt so much. I was always prone to accidents. After the trip was over and we returned back home, I felt a sense of relief, but I also felt pain, too. Now it was time to turn back to reality: we would have to go back to school. I don’t miss those trips to Memphis because as I became an adult, the trips reminded me of poverty. It had always been my desire to be set free from poverty. I had no interest in being reminded of what it’s like to be poor. It was so clear to me that crime and poverty were clear components of our race. That was one of the reasons that I moved to Atlanta, “The black melting pot.” I did, however, learn some valuable information on the trip to Mississippi, and that was, that people were happy with just the little bit that they had. They didn’t have the nice amenities we had in Nashville, but they were happy with what they had. Cooking freshly hatched eggs, making biscuits from scratch, leaving your screen door open, and boiling water so you could take hot baths were all little things. But it’s the little things that meant so much. Outside of a strong belief in God, these were the foundations for the Winfrey family.

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Chapter 5

The Shadow Begins

One cold winter day my grandma called Oprah because she wanted her to speak for Roger Heights Baptist Church, the church my grandma and grandpa attended. The very thought of Oprah coming made me excited because I thought I would get a chance to see my cousin, whom I believed I was very much like. Although Oprah turned her down, I’ll never forget the day she called us. I was screaming in the background, “Is that Oprah?” I waited patiently for my turn to talk to her on the phone. Her show was airing at the same time the phone call took place. I was let down by the conversation, but I could understand she was a very busy person. I knew she was probably overburdened by all of her obligations those other than her family. In my pre-teen years, I was so delighted to be related to Oprah. I was in awe every time I watched her show. “Wow, this is my cousin,” I would think. Every day that I went to school, other kids would ask me if I was related to Oprah. Joyously, I would tell them, “Yes, she is my cousin.” It was a great pleasure to share this news with everyone, even though I didn’t know her personally. However, the hype wasn’t all positive. The kids couldn’t understand why I didn’t have nice clothes. They wondered why I had to ride the bus if Oprah was, indeed, my cousin. The stress of having her as my cousin affected me so much that I wondered how she handled being one of the richest women in the world.

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I also wondered how she could take the stress of being criticized constantly. On another occasion, I remember my grandmother speaking to Oprah about coming to speak at our church for our pastor’s anniversary. Although Oprah was busy again, I was very excited to hear her voice. I asked her if she was really my cousin. I couldn’t believe that this was the woman I saw on TV all of the time. I told her that the kids at school made fun of me. Oprah told me something I will never forget. “Don’t tell them that we are related,” she said. I was shattered by her comment, but in later years, I understood that maybe that was the best response I could have given. She was probably looking out for my best interest, standing on her intuition that they would only tease me more if I would have said I was related to her. I believe my living in Oprah’s shadow really began by the time I was 14. It was then that I got my very first car, a red Geo Storm. For some reason, everyone thought that Oprah bought it for me. Truthfully, I really did want everyone to think that I had the things that I had because of the fact that I was related to Oprah, and as such, I tried to buy my friends that way. To my dismay, though, my little strategy created a disaster. My friends started to use me for whatever free rides they could get. As the years passed, I felt that I needed to uphold the ideology of being a “Winfrey.” Not only was I expected to be a person with money, and a person of power and influence, but I also found myself being caught in the fad of being thin and hip by the time I got to high school. My weight shifted every few months from a size 6 to a size 12. I would 49

lose 30-40 pounds, only to gain it all back. The continual shift helped me to realize that I had a weight problem. When I think about it, it really shouldn’t have mattered because weight challenges are a problem that was not unfamiliar to the Winfrey family. I felt the same struggle as Oprah with weight, and I always said to myself that it simply was in the Winfrey genes. I did, however, find some consolation in remembering that my grandma’s side of the family (the Andersons) is very slender and tall, and that I took after both sides. The school that I attended was not considered an elite high school. It was your average inner city high school. The girls there were thin, and there were a lot of athletes. I wanted to be thin, and I wanted to have money. I had everyone believing that I knew my cousin when I knew full well that I didn’t know her at all. This was the source of all of my problems, but I believe I really brought a lot of my problems on myself. People automatically assumed that because Oprah was my cousin they could do anything they wanted to me. It was their belief that if an expense was brought upon me, she would come along and pay for it. Now that I am older, I’ve come to understand that a lot of the punishment I received was not because I am related to Oprah. Rather, I now believe that the incidences occurred because I created the facade that I lived a life of wealth and prestige. Part of my problems included my friends stealing clothes from me and breaking into my car. I ran my grandparents into financial hardship as I tried to convince others that I was well off. Of course, my grandparents had no idea that this was what I was doing. As far as they were concerned, I was the only grandchild 50

they had that was without a mother and father to take care of me. This mere fact caused them to feel sorry for me in a way, so for the most part, they gave me whatever I asked for. In many ways, I took advantage of that, not knowing that later in life it would work to my disadvantage. I found myself taking advantage of my grandparents’ compassion many times. For example, I remember my grandmother putting a stereo system in my car when I was 15-years-old. The system alone cost over $2,000, and if that wasn’t enough, she bought rims that cost over $4,000. She and my grandpa were only trying to make me happy, and this is a great example that they would do whatever they could to keep a smile on my face. I really wanted to fit in, and I felt that if I had nice things, I would gain more friends. Oprah’s dad, Vernon, blamed my grandfather for all that they did for me. Unfortunately, the things they did for me not only put them in debt, but it made them a spectacle around the church as well. This was the case when my grandmother borrowed money from the church for something I wanted her to purchase for me. Because she was the church’s treasurer, no one even knew that the money was gone. I didn’t find out about her “loan” until years later. When I did make the discovery, it was painfully clear that I put them through so much pain and destruction. If the two-pronged battles I experienced with my weight and the fight for acceptance were not enough, fuel was added to the fire when I started binge eating. I didn’t really think that I was ever going to gain any weight. Yet, the more I kept eating, the bigger I got. When I graduated high school, I was a whopping 289 pounds and pregnant with 51

my first son (who would later weigh in as a ten pound baby.) I had to learn the hard way that eating would add weight, and I also had to come face to face that I would be having a baby out of wedlock. I knew my grandparents would be disappointed because that’s not the way I was raised. I thought for sure I’d begin to have children after I was married. I soon found out that life’s journey can take us on detours. The disenchantment that came from my pregnancy and the excessive weight gain only pushed me further from my future dreams and goals. Nevertheless, I still was able to keep the faith. Even though I felt so much like a failure, I found myself praying a lot. After my pregnancy, my grandma didn’t give up on me. She said, “Girl, you need to get down on your knees and pray to God. That’s the only way you are going to make it.” My grandpa, on the other hand, was more verbal in expressing his dissatisfaction. In fact, he made it known that he felt that he and my grandmother had ruined me. As time went on, though, he snapped out of it. Eventually, he and my son became the best of friends. I knew I had caused my family shame through my pregnancy, but I somehow mustered up the courage to realize that I was having a child that I could love and cherish. With that being the case, I knew I would have to get myself together so I could love my child with all my heart. Even if that meant that there would be no room for friends, that was a sacrifice I was willing to make. Just when I thought I had been given my fill of bad thoughts that could come against me, people started to compare me to my mother. Many people clearly decided that I was an apple from a bad tree and that there was not much good in me at all. These people (most of them family 52

members) said that my mom was using drugs, and that she was very promiscuous with men. They even said that no one knew that she was pregnant with me because she hid it the entire time. They said that I was just like her. I became sexually active when I was 15. The onset of my sexual activity began with the fascination I had with the older guys that would hang out at my middle school. During this time, I started dating a guy who was 27, although he lied and said he was 19. Little did I know that this same guy would later rape me. My friendship with a girl by the name of Amanda (Mandy) only added to my increased sexual activity. Mandy was the girl I first met years ago when I was in the hospital for the problem with my voice. We remained friends for a long time. My grandmother used to drop me off at Mandy’s house, not knowing some of the things that we were getting ourselves into, which many times caused us to stay out late at night. When we would do this, I would have Mandy to call my grandma and pretend as if she was her mother. She would tell her we were in the house looking at T.V., but in actually, we were out clubbing. Finally, I found myself in a hotel room with a girl friend of mine one night after she stole her uncle’s car. I knew then that my rollercoaster of fun was about to end. It was during this excursion that I was almost raped by seven guys. Mandy was having sex with one guy in an adjacent hotel room while I was in the other room. There was a party in the other room, but what I didn’t know was that the party was for me; all the guys in the room were trying to take their shot at raping me. The

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only thing that saved me was my long leather skirt, which was too tight for the guys to take off. I scuffled and scuffled to get away, but unfortunately, my raspy voice was not loud enough for anyone to hear. I kept scuffling and fighting for at least 30 minutes or so while all the strange guys were pulling and tugging on me. They were determined to have their way with me. The hotel’s front office was located down the hall from the room we were in, and finally, someone from the hotel’s personnel heard something going on. They viciously knocked on the door, demanding that it be opened. When one guy opened the door, they all ran out the hotel room, scared they were going to be charged with sexual assault. They ran out to their car and sped away; you could hear the screeching of the tires as they left. What a horrible experience. As I lay crying, it bothered me terribly that Mandy didn’t come to assist me. Her abandonment made me feel like there was no one else in life I could trust. I lay crying on the floor by the same bed that I was assaulted in. I was in shock and devastated. A while after the ordeal was over, I was able to gather my composure and talk to the front desk personnel and the police about what had taken place. To my dismay, I was told that if I hadn’t been there, this would have never happened. They said I brought it all on myself. When I got to high school, my life really became even more of a torture. At this point, my mom’s arrest record was consistent. Rumors began to surface around school that she was mentally ill. Unfortunately, the police officer who arrested my mother on one occasion when she was having an episode had a sister who attended the same school as I did. In 54

what I esteemed to be a poor level of professionalism, he told his sister about my mother’s illness and her subsequent behavior. Of course, this embarrassing experience left me with no desire to continue going to school. I had tried for so long to keep my mother’s illness a secret, and here it was out in the open. I thought, “What ever happened to confidentiality?” As a result of my “secret” being exposed, the kids began calling me crazy. This caught me off guard because I certainly wasn’t expecting that to happen. After all, I was Oprah Winfrey’s cousin; I was a girl with money and prestige. At least that’s what I had my peers believing. Now, the very ones I sought approval from had given me a destructive label. I was a laughing stock, and as I walked down the hallways, I could actually hear the kids laughing at me. After four months of the revealing of my mother’s illness, I could not take it any longer; I’d had enough, and I had to find a way to stop all of the teasing. After not giving it much thought, my solution was to become a bully. I felt like I couldn’t beat them or stop them, so I decided I’d just join them by acting just as foolishly as they did. My newly adopted behavior was somewhat shocking to me. I began carrying guns---9 millimeters, Mac 10’s, even 25’s---to school to protect myself from the bullies. I got the guns from some low-income apartments my friends hung out in. I bought them with my own money. I was able to get them into school by hiding them in the hood of my jacket. I thought by carrying a gun, nobody would dare bother me any more. But instead of me changing the way kids treated me, I changed the way I treated them. I didn’t care anymore what people thought about me. 55

After this, my grandparents began to get a glimpse of the lifestyle that I was living. They couldn’t quite put their finger on the problem, but they knew something was drastically wrong. They attempted to reach out to me in hopes that I would change, but I didn’t. My behavior just got worse. Even Vernon tried to get me to change, but it was to no avail. He felt that his words would prevent me from destroying my life, because I guess his years of wisdom gave him a premonition that I was on my way down a road with no path of return. Vernon’s intentions were good, and although I may not have known exactly what I was doing, I now see that I have always been searching for something: advice, affection, or support. The problem was that I never liked it when I got it. Looking back over my life, I see that I really was heading down a dark road; I just didn’t know it at the time. Older people have been the pillars of my life, but I’ve often had to lean on younger generations as well. There were other pertinent questions that I needed answers to about sex and relationships, as well as everything in between. Of no fault of their own, I just could never discuss these things with my grandparents; the sensitivity of these topics made it forbidden conversation. Sometimes, I would talk to my cousin Denise about these things since she was six years older than me. Denise was like my best friend and sister. She coached me and taught me the ropes of life. I used to ask her about sex when I was about 17 years old, and she would willingly give me information about it because I was curious. She would always say, “Girl, I have been on birth control for ten years, and I ain’t trying to have no baby.” 56

As I got older, we would go to church together. She was working with Vernon at the time. He had extended a section of his barbershop just for her, and it was called Winfrey’s Beauty Shop; his shop is called Winfrey’s Barbershop. Denise was good at her profession, and as such, she was making lots of money. She was previously a manager at Fantastic Sam’s on the south side of town, and she was really making good money there, too. She was skeptical when Vernon made the offer for her to come work with him, but she went ahead and took the chance; she felt that change was good. At that particular time, I was working part-time in college, and I used to flock behind Denise a lot because I liked the fact that she had her own place. It was decorated nicely, and she had everything imaginable. Her house was like a dream to me, and I always wanted to have a place of my own, but I couldn’t afford it at the time. Plus, I was too young. Her home was so clean that when you walked into it, it was almost as if you could eat off of her floor. She had black leather couches that were really fashionable back then, and her color scheme was black, white, and purple. It was somewhat different, but the way she put her decorations together was very becoming. From the shower curtains, to the rugs, and the furniture, everything matched perfectly. Denise had a nice car (that Vernon helped her get), and then she bought several other cars, too. She even bought a nice baby blue Cadillac (one of the newer styles.) The other family members and I knew she was making a lot of money, but we were still amazed that she could afford such a nice car. At any rate, it was beautiful, and a lot of people were

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jealous of her. She definitely had a good head on her shoulders, and she wasn’t ashamed to tell you what was on her mind. I used to say, “Denise, I want to have money. I am tired of being broke. There are too many people at the bottom, and I’d much rather be at the top.” She would show me how to save my money, invest it, and put it into bank accounts. We would go to church together, tithe 10%, and then we would go out to eat at various restaurants after service. She would also do my hair at the discounted rate of $10 every week. My hair was growing so long, thanks to Denise. It was a delight to see how nice and healthy it was. Unfortunately, time brings about change, and somehow Denise and I went our separate ways. I started drinking excessively everyday or so after school. I would drink Hennessey and Coca-Cola, or gin and juice. I would smoke Black and Mild cigarettes, too. On some weekends, I would smoke weed but I didn’t care too much for it, though, because it made me forgetful, sleepy, and I always burned my fingers. Of the many outlandish things I engaged myself in, I never liked smoking Heavy Chevy’s. That was marijuana with sprinkles of cocaine on top of it, rolled into a cigarette. I tried that a few times, and I didn’t care for it because it made me feel disoriented. However, I loved everything else that I was doing. At the time, I started hanging in the clubs, and would stay there all night, many times not leaving until 6:00 a.m. They didn’t I.D. me and my friend because we looked old enough to be there. Since the age of 14, I was tall and had a grownup’s figure. After staying out all night, I would drive to school and be in class by 7:00 a.m. 58

I would always fall asleep in my first period class. My teacher would just let me sleep. As long as I can remember, I’ve had a feeling of emptiness inside of me. I don’t recall ever getting the support, affection, or advice one would get from their loved ones while growing up. My grandparents gave me a loving home. However, as far as teaching me about being a young woman, body changes, and the ways of the world, it wasn’t something they discussed with me. They were from the old school, and things like sex were never discussed. Mostly everything I learned, I learned by myself. After all the disappointments, and my family turning against me because they perceived me as the granddaughter from hell with a drug addicted, psychologically challenged mom, I wanted to prove to them that I was different. I had to find a way to convince them that I wasn’t like my mother.

I knew I would need to make some serious changes in

my life.

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Chapter 6

It’s Showtime

After graduating high school, I went directly to college. My choice was Tennessee State University, the same school that Oprah went to. The only difference was that I went without a scholarship. I wanted to be a talk show host, just like Oprah, but I felt that the polyps on my vocal chords made my voice too raspy. I was very self-conscious about my voice, and I was too ashamed to pursue a career in broadcasting, so I decided to take a different approach. After I lost the excess weight I gained from having my son, I decided to become a model because I knew that was a profession where I wouldn’t have to talk much. I did well as a model as long as I was able to keep my weight in proportion. I was able to get down to a size 4, and I felt that I was on my way. Well, after two years of modeling and starving myself, I could no longer remain in the market. I would pass out sometimes from not eating enough during the day. At this point, I put all my energy into finishing college. I had gotten married and had another son, but I still thought that I needed to strive even more to become another notable individual in the family. The problem was that everyone didn’t think I could do it. My husband (at the time) was in and out of jail for selling drugs, and the family thought that the decisions I made in life were not wise ones. Particularly when it came to my sons’ father, I must say they were not. I met him when I was in the 9th grade. He was always the class clown, and I knew he sold 60

drugs then. At the time, I had really low self- esteem, and I was seeking attention from wherever I could get it. I couldn’t make friends, so I bought them. My grandmother would always buy me at least $200 worth of clothes every weekend, and I would hardly wear anything twice. There were a lot of people who were jealous of me; they felt that I didn’t belong to the school that I was attending. I went to Maplewood which was the high school out of my zoned area because I was scared to go to Whites Creek, the school I was actually zoned to go to. Because I had several altercations with girls from Maplewood when I was in junior high, I was scared to attend that school for fear of getting beaten up. I was a little off mark when I met my children’s father because I never knew the bad side, in other words the wild side of life. I was always curious about what it would be like to talk to a drug dealer, someone who would buy me things, get my hair done, and take me out to eat all the time. I was never attracted to anybody that just worked a regular job because I had my grandmother giving me everything I wanted. I needed someone who could compliment that. In other words, I wanted someone who could bring in fast money. I needed someone who could help take care of me. After ten years of being together and going to college, I knew that we didn’t belong together anymore. He used to come to the university and visit me, and shoot craps with some of the guys in the lounge area at the university. Sometimes we would argue about things, and he would say to me, “I hope you don’t think you’re better than me because you got a little bit of education.” We had several apartments together, and he would stay gone for four to five weeks at a time without 61

me knowing his whereabouts. When I later discovered that he was addicted to drugs, I knew that was it for me. I saw him go from a pusher with nice cars and money to a known user. I never really knew the user side, but after we had divorced, other people would tell me he was strung out really bad. He would have his ups and downs, constantly staying in and out of jail. This had been going on year after year, repeatedly. These actions caused me to want to keep my distance from him, and sometimes we wouldn’t see him for two or three years. While still a student at Tennessee State University, I decided to join the U.S. Army because I liked the idea of a $5,000 sign on bonus and $40,000 towards your college education, and many other perks such as housing for me and my children, the GI Bill, and so forth. I was based in Fort Sam Houston, Texas for my AIT Training (Advanced Individual Training). I didn’t remain in the Army very long---only a year--- because my grandmother, who was taking care of my sons, soon developed pneumonia. Their father was constantly in and out of jail, and I remembered that I didn’t want to see my grandmother raise another generation of kids. So, I was able to be honorably discharged because of a family hardship. While I was in the military, I remember having cousins that lived in San Antonio, and when we would get breaks for the weekend, I would visit them. Their names were Lisa and Alicia (they were twins), and we are all Winfreys. The father, Ocie, was a pastor of a church, and their mother, Willie Ethel, was my grandfather’s sister. We would always eat good breakfast before we would go to church. We would eat scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausage, cured ham, toast, and grits, and we would have 62

milk and orange juice to drink. One of my twin cousins was a principal at the time, and she would make the Sunday programs for her father on her computer. She would also play the piano for him during service. After I filed for a hardship discharge, because of my grandmother’s pneumonia, I wanted to get my hair done, and as such, I went to a local salon that was on the base. I wanted color in my hair, but when they were finished, it was orange instead of the copper color I had asked for. So, the hairstylist reprocessed my hair a second and third time to get the results that I wanted. However, when I got to the barracks, my hair had fallen out directly in the middle from the front to the back. It looked as if someone took clippers and tried to skin my hair into a reverse Mohawk. So, I had to take my hair on both sides to cover the bald spot in the middle. It was horrible. Because of my weight and my hair, my self-esteem was severely low at the time. When I had arrived back in Tennessee, one of my good friends picked me up from the airport and was stunned to see my tremendous weight gain and the hair. I was weighing about 230 pounds. The combination of the weight gain and my atrocious hair caused her to make fun of me immediately. This was a friend that I had kept in contact with throughout my service in the military. So when I arrived back home, my grandma greeted me with a hug, and a bowl of cabbage soup. At that time, cabbage soup was good for weight loss. Immediately, I began to lose weight, and I started working out twice a day, and drinking lots of water. After about two months, I lost over 70 pounds. I felt really good about myself, and I had started wearing sewn in weaves because I could no longer wear my hair the way it was. Plus, I didn’t want to get a short 63

hair cut. After another month, I lost another ten to 30 pounds, and that was when I started pursuing modeling as a career. At 150 pounds, I was the smallest I had ever been in my life. After I was honorably discharged from the Army, I resumed my studies at Tennessee State. During my third year of college, I decided to open a promotions company called the “Winfrey Sports & Entertainment Group.” This company was to promote artists as well as sporting events. Well, the Winfrey name gave the company more awareness within the community, but it only lasted a few months because I didn’t have the funding to keep it going. I sent Oprah a 30-page business plan in hopes that she would back my idea. I didn’t get a response from her, but I know that my plan was one of a million that crossed her path. Even though I knew Oprah was a busy person, I still took it hard when she didn’t respond to my plan. In an effort to avoid being a homebased business, I opened an office, and all the expenses associated with running a business began to incur. I quickly found myself drowning in a sea of debt. I felt no one believed in my plan. When graduation time began to approach, I had no money to buy my cap and gown. I didn’t even have money to buy a nice outfit to wear for the post-graduation festivities. I called everyone I knew, but no one could help me. I had already drained my grandparents out of all their money, especially with all the truck repairs and the car note that Grandma was paying for. (I had a 1999 GMC Yukon as well as another car.) I called my Uncle Junior for the money, but he couldn’t help me, either. So, my final resort was to go to work as a stripper at a strip club, which I did on Christmas Eve.

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In my desperation, I made my way to a strip club in Nashville called Executive 701. I walked through the door wearing a Victoria Secrets red lace, see-through Santa’s suit and furry heels. I was so nervous. When I walked in, though, I saw that many of the dancers were from my high school. Ladreka was the friend I remember that stepped up. She came over to me and said she’d let me speak to the manager. Her boss was a tall, skinny, dark skinned guy named Stix. He said, “You sure are fine. Let me see you dance.” They gave me a test by instantly putting me on the stage. However, I had to first have some form of alcohol so I’d be in another frame of mind to perform. I went over to the bar and asked for a shot of Alize. I quickly downed six of them. I got up on the main stage, in a corner, and I showed what I was working with. Stix was tossing twenties at me. Other guys came over and they were making noise and tossing money, making it rain dollar bills. The next day after I sobered, I felt so bad about what I had done. However, after I counted my earnings---over $2,000---I was so happy. Deep down inside, I felt that I would have a bad reputation within the family and around town. It didn’t take me long to get over that particular notion because my newfound job allowed me to pay some bills, as well as buy my babies nice gifts and clothes. I kept working there, even after graduating college because the money was good, and I could buy all the clothes I wanted for myself. I could buy my children whatever they wanted. Nonetheless, I couldn’t negate the fact that my self-respect was going down the drain. 65

After making thousands of dollars as an exotic dancer, I had bigger goals and dreams, and I wanted to work in a respectful environment. When I graduated college and put my past life behind me, I landed my first real job with Mental Health Cooperative, a casemanagement agency for the indigent population and the mentally ill. I stopped dancing before I was hired, and I tried to hide the fact that I was ever a stripper. My effort to conceal my past was averted when one of the managers realized that he had seen me in the club. It bothered me that he quickly spread the rumor. I was so embarrassed. I wanted to quit, and at the same time, I was scared I was going to get fired. It was heartbreaking, but I held my head up and kept moving because I knew that if I could get over the fact of being married to a drug dealer, and seek a better life by pursuing a college degree, I could move on and put the part of my life that I danced in the past. That is exactly what I did. Although it was hard, and I was angry with myself, I had to realize I couldn’t change my past. I had to make myself know that whatever happened was over and done. I just had to learn to move on, to not look back, and to start anew. After I moved on with my life and had been at my job for some time, I met a friend that was from Detroit, and we started going out. Her name was Michelle, and she was a model, too. She was about 6’2” with a brown complexion. She was very slender, and had an hourglass shape. Although I had stopped modeling because of my weight, I still never let go of my passion for the profession. I never told her that I had been a stripper until after three years or so because I felt that she would slander

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my name when I was trying to change my life. I just wanted a friend at the time. Michelle and I started traveling back and forth to Atlanta on the weekends and would come back in time for work on Monday. She was dating a local NBA player, and I was just the straggler. Her boyfriend didn’t like the fact that I was hanging around them because of my weight issue. (I had regained so much weight; I was no longer the slender woman that they were probably looking for.) I told Michelle I thought her boyfriend was using her because he would take her to sleazy hotels. Of course, she didn’t listen to me. She felt that I was jealous of her because I couldn’t wear the clothes that she wore, and because I didn’t have the body she had. I did feel a little jealous, but I didn’t want her to know that. She also thought that I was envious of her dating an NBA player, but I was only trying to look out for her. One night, we went out to a club called Liquids with several of their NBA friends. I drank about five glasses of a drink called Grateful Dead, which made me a little tipsy. While I was dancing, I put my drink on the bar and left it there, going back to it for sips every once in a while. All of a sudden, I felt very dizzy and had to sit down on the dance floor. After I sat down for a few minutes, I felt so sick that I decided to go to the bathroom because I figured that if I tried to vomit I could get rid of some of the alcohol in my system, which I hoped would make me feel better. Once I staggered my way to the restroom, all the women in the restroom, including Michelle, laughed at me while they put on their makeup. I sat on the toilet for a while trying to induce the vomiting, but I 67

got so dizzy that I fell face first on the dirty bathroom floor. It took me passing out for Michelle to realize that something was definitely wrong, so she finally ran for help. The bouncers came in the restroom and lifted me off the floor and took me outside on the bench where they laid me on my back. All I could hear them say was, “She’s gone. She’s not going to make it.” They gave me a sternum chest rub several times, and I couldn’t feel a thing. I could, however, hear them talk to me, asking me if I wanted to go and see my sons. I wanted to say yes, but for some reason, it didn’t come out. I could hear everyone talking, but I couldn’t move. I wanted to shed tears, but I couldn’t; they wouldn’t come out, either. When I woke up in the emergency room to hear the news that I was in a slight coma, I knew I really needed to change my life and get myself together. The doctors told me that I had alcohol poisoning, and that I possibly could have been slipped a date rape drug. I felt that my life was taking a turn into an even worse situation than it was in the past. I had a conversation with myself, “I have got to get myself together, not for myself, but for my children. Why am I doing these things? Why am I even in Atlanta when I need to be at home taking care of my kids like a mother should be?” I saw myself following in my mother’s footsteps, but something was causing me to not accept that this was what was happening. Then it hit me. I said, “This is it. I have to get my life together, or my kids won’t have a mother. I can’t let my grandmother raise another generation of kids. I have to get it together and become the mother that I am supposed to be. I don’t want my children to grow up like me.” It 68

seems that I always jump and do things sometimes without realizing what I have done. After the doctors told me I was in a slight coma, I knew from that day forward that I needed to get my life together quick, fast and in a hurry. Living in Oprah’s shadow and facing my own personal issues was only the beginning of my lifetime of ups and downs. I was also dealing with some other challenges at this time. It was not only my past, but my mother. It wasn’t until I started working at Mental Health Cooperative that I started to investigate my mother’s mental illness. I remember when I was about six-years-old, we used to go see my mom at Central State, which was probably a maximum security facility for mentally ill patients. I used to cry every time I had to see her because I didn’t understand what was wrong with her. Family members said that her nervous breakdown was attributed to her use of drugs. I asked myself, “Do I want to follow my mother’s footsteps with the crowd of people that you can’t detach yourself from if you are not of sound mind, body, and spirit?” I surely didn’t want to go that route, and I began trying to find ways to change my life. One of the things I’d learned from working at Mental Health Cooperative was that family characteristics could provide key indications or explanations of other family members’ behavior. I knew that this would be crucial for me, especially since I was ready to make some life changes. However, the fact remained that I never knew who my dad was, except that it was speculated that he was probably mixed. Everybody had different stories of how my mother met my father. Some 69

family members said that my mother was pregnant for a guy before he went to jail, and they believed that was my father. To the contrary, my grandmother told me my mother got pregnant after this guy was already incarcerated. She said my mom met this guy on a college campus here in Nashville, and no one ever knew his name, except my mother. The problem was that my mom was not capable of holding a sound conversation about who my father was. So, naturally, she couldn’t begin to give an indication of where he might have been located. My grandmother said that I have this guy’s nose, eyes, and all of his facial features. I said to myself that I am glad I know who my children’s fathers are, because I don’t want them to go through what I am going through today. When I started working for Mental Health Cooperative, my mom walked in one day, screaming at the top of her lungs, “There go my baby. Ain’t she fine? She is the best damn lookin’ thing in here.” I knew it was my mom, but I didn’t want to believe it. My mom was getting her medications from Mental Health Cooperative every week. She would catch the bus back to her place, or she would wait until I got off so I could take her home. Her diagnosis was dual diagnosis schizophrenic, with border-line personality. I would ask her case manager how she was doing and about her living conditions, and she always said fine. Yet, when I took the initiative to visit her myself, I saw that she was living in a drug-infested apartment complex where drug pushers took advantage of the mentally ill. Once when I went to visit my mom, I found that she was not taking her medications, and hadn’t been for about five months. The 70

house smelled atrocious, and going there was a disgusting sight to see. I couldn’t get my mom to even step one foot in the shower, nor change her clothing. This was part of the problem that attributed to the smell. What’s more, there was stale food on top of her dresser that had begun to collect mold. There was also dirty, smelly clothing packed in boxes, and a toy bear that she would talk to and play with. I had to tell her not to put back on underwear that she wore during her menstrual cycle. The house smelled of filth, and I could barely get any of my friends to help me move her because they were scared of her and the way she lived. Finally, a close friend of mine from the gym helped me move her. We used trash bags, gloves, dishwashing detergents, and old boxes from the dollar store. We moved bloody clothes, urinated clothes, old stale food and other items out of her efficiency apartment. My friend was so disgusted that he started to throw up outside in the parking lot. He regretted helping me move her because he didn’t know it was so bad. My manager at work, Evelyn Yeargin, helped me find a place for my mother. Ms. Yeargin was a very good mentor and friend; she would give me videos to watch, which helped me understand the effects that medications have on patients, such as Clozaril and various other drugs. She had known my mother for a very long time, and it was a blessing for her to teach me how to deal with my mother’s illness. She told me about the book, A Beautiful Mind, and it played a major role in helping me to change the way I looked at this disease. From that point on, I started looking at life differently. I started to realize how blessed I was. I stopped taking things for granted. My grandpa always said, “We ought to be thankful that we are able to wake 71

up in the morning.” Another helpful thing that he said was, “We that have the blessings of money tend to forget where we come from and brag on the things we have. The one thing that we must remember is that all those suits that we have stashed in our closet, and the many shoes, cars, and whatever else we have, when we die, we are only able to take one suit with us, and that is the one that we wear in the casket.” Those are great, practical, and wise words to live by. Well, at this turning point in my life, I found that I did have a greater calling on my life. I was determined I was going to make something of myself. I thought, “I only wish Oprah could see what I am accomplishing. Boy, would she be proud.” I placed my mom in a boarding home located in the heart of east Nashville, right down the street from Vernon Winfrey’s barbershop. It was hard at first having to juggle my personal life which entailed attending graduate school, taking care of my mother and my two sons, and holding a job all at the same time. It was amazing and hurtful at the same time to know that a lot of people at my job didn’t know that she was my mom because we looked so different. They would talk about her so freely out in the open, especially about how bad she smelled. I said nothing at the time, but later I would cry at the thought of people making fun of her. I always wanted her to be in a better environment; it was just that I couldn’t afford it. The boarding home at that time was not the best housing placement for her, but it was better than where she had been before. I believe that taking the steps of completing my education, shunning my wild ways, taking care of my kids and trying to create a 72

better living environment for my mom helped to put me on a better road of identifying who I really am. I began to realize that I didn’t have to worry about living in anyone’s shadow. I had enough inside of me to spread my own wings and fly.

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Chapter 7

’Til Death Do Us Part (At Least That’s What I Thought) After traveling back and forth to Atlanta so much over the years, I decided to move there with the hope of gaining better job opportunities. I felt that this was my chance to live out my dream. Donnie, the man I would eventually marry, had been my backbone since I relocated. I met him in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Actually, when I was coming out of Wal-Mart is when I caught his attention. Donnie was already on a double date with one of his close friends, but his date had gone inside Wal-Mart when he made his move on me. As I was coming out of Wal-Mart, he called me over to his car where he was sitting. Since I was already walking that way, I stopped over at his car, and he asked me where was I from, why was I there, etc. He told me he was an oil and petroleum dealer. After we talked a while, a young woman approached the car and got in on the passenger’s side. That was my signal to be on my way. Donnie had given me his business card, but I hadn’t given him my number. I kept walking across the street to go to Vegas Nights (a club). Because it was directly across the street from Wal-Mart, people would usually park their cars there so they wouldn’t have to pay. I was meeting some friends who had flown into town; they were already inside waiting for me. After walking in and going through the VIP line, which at that time cost about $50, I went to the ladies room to freshen up a bit. While I was in the ladies room, I noticed that the woman in there with me was 74

the same one that had gotten into the car earlier with Donnie. Her shoes were the distinguishing factor that helped me remember who she was. I was a bit worried about an altercation, so I hurried out of the bathroom. As soon as I walked out, I ran into Donnie. He began following me, trying to grab my hand everywhere that I walked. I had to finally tell him, “Look, aren’t you here with someone else?” It was a blind date, he explained, and he wasn’t interested in her at all. I refused to believe that line, and I proceeded to go to the dance floor. Much to my discomfort, I could see with my peripheral vision that Donnie just kept staring at me. I couldn’t figure it all out. After the crowd became mellower, I decided to head back to my hotel room. I knew I would need some rest since it would take me four hours to drive back to Nashville the next day. After I returned Nashville and got back into my regular work and school schedule for a couple of weeks, I decided to call Donnie. The first phone call opened the door for us to chat daily for hours at a time. The relationship evolved quickly. He initially called me more than I called him, and it was quite irritating at first. He was very confident in himself, and he told me to trust him because my feelings for him would soon be just as strong as his for me. I kept saying, “Yeah. OK. Whatever.” Donnie must have known what he was talking about because to my surprise, my feelings, indeed, did start to change after several months of talking to him on the phone. Shortly thereafter, Donnie drove to Nashville to see me. At the time I lived in Hendersonville, Tennessee, in Waterview Apartments, a very nice complex nestled in a quiet remote area that had a beautiful view of the lake. 75

Donnie and I began to see more and more of each other, despite the distance. After we consistently traveled back and forth by airplane and by Greyhound for a while, he wanted me to move to Atlanta. At that time, my job at Mental Health Cooperative paid only $23,000 a year. I realized that I was in college working on another degree, but I also knew that I eventually wanted to start focusing more on family and being in a relationship. I had never really spent any time focusing on creating a true household because I was always in school, and the thought of me moving to Atlanta with him made me feel as if hopes of having a traditional family would be manifested. I knew this man was my true soul mate, and because I didn’t want to let him slip away, I decided to move to Atlanta with him. I turned in my two-week notice at work, and waited until the semester ended in April before relocating. The lease on my apartment was already up, so I had management to provide an extended lease until I was ready to move. Don took the Greyhound bus to help me move out of my apartment. We started moving things little by little, putting the things that couldn’t fit into his house into a local storage in Nashville. He didn’t care too much for my truck (the Yukon) because he said it wasn’t very ladylike. Plus, everything was always breaking on it. Every week it seemed like there was something new going wrong. Sometimes, my truck would break down in the middle of the street and I would have to call my grandma to come give me a ride home so that she could have the truck towed. I never had any money. After moving to Atlanta, I wasn’t able to get a job, and as such, I found myself depending on Don for everything. In the meantime, I 76

commuted back and forth to Nashville to complete my second degree during the summer. This was a four hour drive that I took just about every other day. After about six months, I was able to get a job at World Airways. Prior to landing the job, I was stressed out due to the fact that I had no money, and it was so difficult to find a job. When I finally found one, it was very flexible, and I really liked having a schedule of four days on and four days off. Hindsight is always 20-20 vision. The fact that Don was on a blind date when I met him should have been a clue that I would have problems with him being faithful. Perhaps that would have been an indication as to how our marriage would start and end. He was a cheater from the start. I have always looked for a man to be responsible for me, although I knew I should have been responsible for myself. So, in addition to him being a cheater, it was also disappointing when he didn’t turn out to be the knight in shining armor that I thought he would be. Throughout all the years that Donnie and I were together, we always had problems. Instead of addressing them, however, I tried to cover them up. I told myself things would get better soon. It later dawned on me that when we were commuting back and forth between Nashville and Atlanta, I should have taken the time to research the kind of man I was dealing with, but I didn’t. I flew to Atlanta a few times, and he came to Nashville a few times, and then I moved in with him. It was just that simple. I was head over heels in love, so I quit my job, put my education on hold to engage in a “once in a lifetime relationship” with someone that I believed would love me and help me take care of my two children. What a fool I was. 77

When I moved to Atlanta, I discovered that Don had slept with someone else that same week. In addition to that, one woman called while we were putting our belongings in the truck to take to storage. “Why didn’t I walk away then,” I asked myself. For some reason, I felt that these women didn’t want to let him go even though they knew that he was coming to move me from Nashville to Atlanta. Oh boy, that was not the case, either. An eye-opening experience occurred when a young lady called the house shortly after I’d gotten settled in. It was disturbing to me, though, that she knew when I went to jog in the morning. I guess Donnie let her know that piece of information. After I came back from jogging, the phone rang. When I answered it, this young lady said she was returning a call to Donnie. He was my boyfriend at the time, but I politely asked him why he was telling people my daily schedule. I told him it was none of their business. He made a nice excuse, and of course, I believed it. After I got a peace of mind from that situation, I thought we were doing fine. Donnie changed the home phone number, which I thought was a wonderful move. I thought he really loved me and that he wanted to work things out, but I was wrong again. He changed his number, but now he was having the women call his cell phone. I didn’t catch on to that until later on, either. Six months passed by and I found myself still being without a job, living in Donnie’s home. Because I had no money, my appearance changed for the worst. I couldn’t get my nails or my hair done, and Don was not doing anything to help contribute to my finances. Although I 78

didn’t aggressively ask that he help me, I still thought it was strange that he didn’t volunteer to do so. He owned a local gas station in one of Atlanta’s well-known neighborhoods, so it wasn’t like he didn’t have the means to take care of me. This made me bitter because, again, I found myself expecting a man to take care of me. Sometimes, I would go to Don’s gas station and keep him company while he worked. When I noticed some of his ex-girlfriends or their sisters coming by, they would see me and ask him why he was with me. They would point out that my nails and my hair were a mess. Instead of him telling them not to talk about me, he indulged them with conversations, and then he would come back and tell me about it. I overlooked that, too. By this time, people started asking me, “OK, what is wrong with you? Why are you permitting yourself to go through this torture?” I didn’t listen, of course, and stayed with the man I knew and loved. One day, I had to go to court with him on a child support issue. He had always told me the child in question wasn’t his, and so we had to go to court with the baby’s mother so that he could take a paternity test. It was an ongoing battle because this lady would always come to our house and to his place of business. I wondered why. After I started questioning her actions, he then told me that there may be a 50% chance that it really was his child. So now here was another hurdle that I would have to jump over, but I didn’t think I could make it this time. I tried and tried, and I even made friends with the baby’s mother, but it became evident that she still

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had feelings for Donnie. The child was only a few months old at the time. Why didn’t I leave? If I couldn’t handle the pressure, why did I stay? I don’t know. That’s the million dollar question that I still can’t answer. Well, I did leave for a little while because after I found out the child was 100% his, his attitude changed toward me. I felt that I didn’t fit into the “happy family” that was starting to evolve. I remember days when I would cry and ask him why he was doing this to me. I told him I didn’t deserve such treatment. I wanted to know if he knew all this drama and chaos was possible when we got together. His response was that these women wanted him and that he didn’t have anything to do with how they were acting. Nonetheless, after Donnie found out this child was his, he began acting nonchalant about everything, and he said that the baby’s mother was the only person he loved. So immediately, I packed my things and I left; I moved into an apartment nearby. I was terribly hurt. How could this guy who told me he loved me every day on the phone while I was in Nashville go from knight in shining armor to my knight in shining hell? I stayed out of Donnie’s house for about five months before I fell back into the same trap that I was in before. While I was away from him, I started dating someone else, but he didn’t turn out to be the man I thought he was. Actually, I went from bad to worse. I reflected on my past behavior and said to myself, “This is the exact same thing I was trying to keep from doing. My choices in men have to be better than what they are.” Yet, when I moved to Atlanta, they were no better. I

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rushed into yet another relationship with a man that I didn’t know, and I didn’t take the time to research him, either. The relationship with the new guy put me, once again, in financial distress. I wasn’t getting any assistance with bills, and I let him talk me into buying things that only put me into more debt. I found myself going to cash advance places borrowing money every two weeks. It seemed that I just couldn’t keep myself afloat. With car notes, rent, and just the daily needs of my children, I couldn’t do it. I found myself losing my apartment, moving into a townhome that the new guy had, which happened to be going into foreclosure. The townhome had no air, no running water, and no food. I would have to take baths with baby wipes. In the midst of this horrible scenario, I had to go to work pretending everything was OK. I was in debt up to my brains, and I had nowhere to run. The new guy seemed to not be concerned with my suffering like this. He could care less that I had no air, no water, and no food. It didn’t bother him that I had to ask family members to wire money to me as if I was a drug addict. I woke up one morning and put all my clothes back into the trash bag that I brought them over to his house in. I then put everything in the trunk of the car and left. I thought that I would never make it. I owed about three companies cash advances, and the money that I was making went towards paying off the fees. I was at a loss for words. I called my friend, and I told her my situation. With a heart of compassion, she allowed me to move into her basement. This was the perfect plan, but I didn’t feel comfortable because I was used to having my own space. Plus, I remember that my 81

grandmother had always told me that two women in the same kitchen won’t work; and it didn’t. I would call Donnie and apologize for leaving. I realized I had left one home only to become homeless. He accepted my apology, although he probably had over eight different relationships in the five-month period of time that we were apart. At the time, it didn’t matter to me because I was in despair. Being away from Donnie put me at a greater disadvantage than I realized. For example, I remember putting my car (a Mercedes s500) in the shop because it needed to be serviced. For whatever reason, I thought that my insurance would cover the costs of the service, but it did not. Not only that, I thought the rental car that the dealership provided to me was free, but that was not the case either. After leaving my car at the dealership and going to the car rental establishment, they required a $100 deposit, which I didn’t have. I gave them all the credit cards I had, praying that one would go through. By the time they got to the last card, I closed my eyes in pointless hope because I knew that I only had about $9.80 on the card. Just as I figured, the credit card transaction did not go through. The staff there, however, felt sorry for me and let me have the rental car anyway. So, immediately, I took the rental car and went to work for about two days. When I called the dealership to ask them when my car would be ready, they gave me a price of $540. I said to myself, “Where am I going to get that kind of money?” To make a long story short, my car sat at the dealership for about three weeks. That’s when Donnie came and loaned me the money to get the car out of the shop. I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. “What 82

a lifesaver,” I thought. After that, he said I shouldn’t be living in anyone’s basement, so he told me I could move back with him. In the back of my mind, I wondered what my reasons were for going back. Was it because I loved him, or was it because he helped me financially? Once I moved back in with Donnie, everything was OK for a while. Conversely, there was a drastic change on the horrible night he was robbed and shot. On January 11th around 10:15 p.m., two guys came in to Donnie’s gas station to play the Georgia Lottery. At that time, two people were already in the store. After everybody went out of the store, I came in because Donnie’s niece had missed her flight to St. Louis. After her friend dropped her off at the store, I came to pick her up. She and I left the store, but because she was hungry and we didn’t have enough money to get something to eat, I went back in before we pulled off. As I was walking out of the store, I met one of the guys at the entrance of the store and he said, “Hey, beautiful. Do you need directions?” I didn’t answer, but after I left, one of them walked back in to the gas station. Donnie didn’t see him come in because he was doing something under the counter. He made his way in to the gas station, and apparently, hid by the cashier’s booth. Then, the other robber came in and pulled out a gun. Prior to their entrance, the window and door to the cashier’s booth were still open. In an effort to protect himself, Donnie shut the window right away and then jumped to shut the cashier booth’s door. He didn’t know that the other guy was hiding there behind the door. Donnie and the first robber got into a tussle, and the other robber came around 83

and shot him in the back, one inch away from his spinal cord. As soon as Donnie was shot, he fell down and couldn’t get up. The robbers stole money, took his briefcase, and took off. Donnie called me before he called the police. He said, “Shakeeta, I have just been shot.” I couldn’t believe what I saw when I walked back in to the station: he was lying in a puddle of blood. I called the police. The ambulance arrived around the same time and immediately took him to the emergency room at Grady Hospital, which was not only Atlanta’s primary hospital for the uninsured, but it’s the city’s key hospital for handling traumatic situations. I was so hysterical that I couldn’t drive my own car; they had to put me in the back of the police car. Upon arriving at the hospital, the hospital staff immediately started working on Donnie’s gunshot wound. They decided not to operate on him to remove the bullet because they were scared that it might paralyze him; it was maybe one inch away from his spine. Several news stations interviewed me about the incident. After his hospital stay, he eventually began to recover. I was so glad when it was over.

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Chapter 8

The Long Road Home

After being in Atlanta for six months, I finally landed a job. I worked at World Airways, and I waited a couple of months to get on my feet before I decided to visit Oprah’s talk show. My show date was January 15, and boy, was I so excited! I booked my tickets with Air Tran Airlines, and took flight 824 on January 13, 2003, arriving into Chicago around 1:36 p.m. After arriving in Chicago, I had mixed emotions: I was both excited and scared. I booked my room at the Four Points Sheraton located on 7353 South Cicero Avenue, which was about five miles away from the airport. The excitement and the adrenaline were killing me on the inside. I was warned by my co-worker Marc Register and Donnie to not be overly excited about the trip and not to expect too much from it. So I went up to Chicago with an open mind, but I still had dreams that Oprah would greet me like family and then take me to lunch so that we could catch up on all that we’d missed. At this time, Donnie and I were on rocky terms; we were going through “baby mama drama” about a daughter that he didn’t know he had prior to us getting married. So, it was tough. I started not to go on the trip because these issues had ruined my mood completely. He was a well known business owner who had himself together intellectually; at least that’s what I thought. They say men are from a different planet than women. In spite of it all, I knew I had to go to Chicago. 85

I was so excited after I arrived that I had to call Oprah’s dad and get some advice about what to say if I was given the opportunity to speak to her. I booked the hotel room for three days, just in case I would be able to spend time with her. I attended the show about people who had lost over 200-300 pounds and were able to maintain their weight. I didn’t get any special privileges to the show, of course, because Oprah didn’t know me. So, in order to get my January 15 show date, I called the ticket hotline every single day for about a month. It was tough, though, because every time I called, either they were sold out of tickets, or either the line was busy. I was planning to bring my friend Lavonne, and her sister Denise, but they both had other obligations. I later realized that it wasn’t such a bad thing for Lavonne and Denise to be preoccupied because if I did get the opportunity to speak to Oprah, then it would be one on one. When I arrived in Chicago it was cold and snowing. After arriving at the hotel and checking in to my room (number 313), I quickly began to make my phone calls back home. The first person I called was my grandma. She told me to make sure that I showed Oprah the photos of our deceased family members to see if any would ring a bell. So as I was sitting in my room looking through the pictures, I was praying that this would turn out to be my best trip ever. I looked at Vernon’s photo of when he married his current wife, Dr. Barbara Williams, on June 17, 2000. I also looked at some of the pictures of my aunts, uncles, great aunts, and great uncles that passed away such as Alonzo Winfrey, Jr. He lived in Chicago, and passed away on July 24, 1989. My great aunt passed on April 29, 1989 in Chicago, 86

too. My great aunt’s services were held at the Mt. Hermon Missionary Baptist Church, and my great uncle’s services were held at the Mt. Pisgah Missionary Baptist Church. This was several years ago, and these were the obituaries that my grandmother gave me to take to Chicago with me. I looked at our family photos, and I wondered if they would help Oprah remember her family. When I arrived at the show, all guests were to leave purses, cameras, and any other accessories such as magazines, coats, and cell phones at the front. We were given a ticket for our items. As I walked in, the director of the show seated me in the front with the families of those that were guests on the show. I felt very important at that point, especially after Oprah's dad called and told them that I would be there in the studio. “I can’t believe this is my cousin, and I am sitting here in her studios,” I thought. During the entire taping of the show, I was just amazed that the woman that was sitting on the couch talking to the guests and to millions of fans across the world was actually my cousin. It was awesome; inspiring, I should say. I sat there and thought anything I wanted to achieve in life was in reach. Then again, isn’t that what everyone that watches this woman thinks? And there I was, right there in the midst of a phenomenal woman that was blood-related to me. The topic of the show was interesting, considering that I had battled with weight problems myself. I was able to stay for the second portion of the talk show that runs on the cable station. A lot of people were asking me questions about my weight, such as had I lost 200 pounds, or was I a family member of someone who lost weight? I told 87

them no, but that I was Oprah’s cousin. From that point on, they started saying, “Well, you get to have any seat you want because you’re Oprah’s cousin.” It made me feel sad to know that these people didn’t understand that I didn’t know Oprah any more than they did. After the second half of the show was over, Oprah was whisked away by her security guards to do promos for her magazine. I was able to briefly grab her hand and tell her that I was Millie Winfrey’s granddaughter. Oprah remembers her as a child, visiting her when she went to Warden Elementary School. She greeted me with a gracious smile, and said, “You are?” I said yes, but she didn’t have time to talk to me then because she was carried away by the security that was waiting on her. The director of the show brought me a complimentary sweater along with a cap and a mug. I was told Oprah would call me at my hotel and come by to visit. I was so happy to finally meet her and have the opportunity to grab her hand and know that she would call me. After I took the cab back to my hotel, I waited and waited for her phone call and worried that I might have missed it. I called the front desk a couple of times to ask them if anyone had called my room. As I waited in my room, the minutes became hours, and the hours became a day. I booked myself three days at the hotel, but she never called. Perhaps, I should be thankful for just getting a front row seat at her taping. I really thought I deserved more. I cried and cried. I tried to go to Chicago with a level mind but it still ended up hurting so much. Three days later and no call or no show from Oprah left me emotionally distraught and in tears and pain. I was hurt, so hurt. How could my cousin do this to me?

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She had no intentions on meeting me at my hotel as promised. This was all a big lie. I called my grandma and cried over the phone to her and told her that Oprah didn’t get to see the pictures because I didn’t have the opportunity to show them to her. I held those photos in my lap at the hotel, and I cried and cried until the latter part of the night. This is someone that I had wanted to meet and get to know my whole life. It was not enough to merely grab her hand and have what was not even a measurable conversation. My dreams were shattered, and I didn’t have any good news to tell my friends at work. When I flew back to Atlanta from what I felt was a wasted trip, I began to push aside the fact that she didn’t acknowledge me. At that point, I was just excited to see her and to know she was my cousin. I just wanted to shake her hand, and to tell her I was related to her. This closed a chapter for me that had been open since I was fiveyears-old. I don’t regret the visit to see Oprah, or the letters that I have sent; they were just for her review and her approval. I have to set my own destiny and evaluate my own life to make sure that I’m reaching my desired goals. I went back to work with that attitude, and just started putting my life in perspective from that point on. I have a small book that I keep in my purse with daily uplifting scriptures. One of the scriptures says, “Do not look so long upon the door which has been closed that you do not see the one which has been opened for you.” From that point on, I just looked at that event as another great chapter in my life.

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Chapter 9

Out of Africa

Donnie hailed from Lagos, Nigeria, and during happier times in our marriage, he wanted to take me to visit his homeland. As I was preparing for this trip on April 22, 2004, I wasn’t sure what I was in for. Was Nigeria going to be urban? Was it going to be rural? Was it going to be anything at all like the United States? Also, I had some doubt that his family was going to like me. What would they think of me? Do they even like Americans? And worse, was the man going to have other wives stashed away? I had gained quite a bit of weight over the course of the year. In fact, I was weighing approximately 194 pounds. So, when I found out we were going to take the trip to Africa, I quickly started going to the gym and working out. My goal was to lose weight for the trip in January, and I was able to lose over 30 pounds in a three-month period. By the day before the trip, I weighed around 160 pounds. As an extra measure to maintain good health, I went to the doctor to get pills for malaria; I knew the mosquitoes would be bad. I began a journal when we were getting ready to leave for the airport. I packed over three bags full of clothing, and I really believe I had more than what I needed for the trip. Since I was going to be there for two weeks or more, I wanted to be sure. Our flight was scheduled to depart at 4:10 to Paris, France (Charles De Gaulle International Airport.) In order to leave and be at the 90

airport on time, I was supposed to meet Donnie at home around 1:00 p.m. that day. Well, I was so busy shopping for clothes that I didn’t get home until around 2:00 p.m. Donnie was very flustered about me being late, but our hurrying up was in vain because even his nephew (our driver) was late. After he finally picked us up and we got to the airport, we were arguing about me getting home late. Things didn’t get any better when we got in line to show our passports and tickets because as we put our bags on the scale, Donnie’s bag was 11 pounds over the weight it was supposed to be. So, I was standing there telling him that not only was he holding up the line, but we were going to have to unpack and repack some of his things into my bag. “Men,” I thought. After we got through and they checked our luggage in, we went through another portion of the airport where carry-on luggage is checked. They stopped me because I had Off repellant spray, with the fogger attached, in my bag! Even though I had gotten pills for malaria, I still felt like I needed to have the Off as well. Well, they wouldn’t let me take it unless I put it in my luggage that was checked, and I didn’t want to do that because we were already late; I just didn’t want to take that chance. After arriving at our gate, my excitement began to intensify. We boarded the plane to Paris. Once we got to Paris, we did a little shopping until it was time for our flight out to Lagos. I liked Paris, but no one understood what I was saying, which was frustrating for me because I was very hungry; I didn’t eat on the plane at all. I asked for a cup of water and a salad. The salad was unusually small, and there was pretty much nothing on it. As I looked around, I saw that everyone was slim, 91

and I then knew why. It seemed as if everyone drank coffee, smoked cigarettes, and ate very little. I guess the people of Paris’ way of easing the stress of the day was to smoke and not eat. We departed Paris around 10:00 local time, and arrived into Lagos around 4:15 p.m. What a difference. Once we arrived in Lagos, you could see the beautiful trees and the forests all over. When we landed, you could see from a distance a woman carrying pots and pans on her head with no assistance. I didn’t think that way of life still existed anymore, but I guess it does. As Donnie paid someone to carry our luggage outside on the trolley, there were several other individuals from the outside that joined in and assisted with taking the luggage. We told them we didn’t need them to assist, but they came and helped anyway. They waited 15 minutes for us to tip them, even after we insisted that we didn’t need anymore help. Donnie gave them U.S. dollars when he realized they weren’t going anywhere. Next, a guy in a wheelchair rolled up and asked me for money as we were waiting for Donnie’s nephew to bring the other car. After his nephew pulled up, we paid the gate attendants so we could leave the airport. Once we got on the roads, the traffic was horrible. It seemed like there were a million people on the road, and there was nothing to separate the road and the drivers on it. There were vehicles everywhere. I thought we were going to wreck. All you heard was horns, horns, and more horns all over the place. There were people selling phone cards, steering wheels, bath towels, fruit, water---just about anything---on the side of the road.

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We didn’t have an air conditioner in the car, and it was so hot outside I could feel myself sweating pounds off while we were riding down the street. There were so many people begging. There were mothers with children tied to their back with cloths, begging for food. Even the small children that weren’t old enough to talk were begging for food with hand gestures. It seemed that even the smallest kids were capable of survival skills they learned from their parents. I remember seeing a mother that was carrying her young son on her back. He looked as if he may have been six-months-old, and he was holding out his hand, curling his fingers and putting them toward his mouth. He wanted food to eat, and he was reaching out to us for it as we were driving past them. A little boy who looked to be three-years-old knocked on our car door and asked us for money. There were people on the side of the road without shelter curled up in blankets. I saw people walking for miles and miles with objects on their heads, just trying to make a decent living while traveling from point A to point B. I even saw one guy walking with a sewing machine on his head; he had a needle and thread in his hand. After the hustle and bustle in the traffic with all the many hawkers on the street, we were finally able to reach our final destination. We arrived at Donnie’s brother’s house, which was nestled in a more prestigious neighborhood. After seeing all of the poverty-stricken people, it was comforting to see what the better side looked like. When we pulled up to the gate, the attendant pulled open the doors for us and nodded his head for us to enter. We then pulled in front of an

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immaculately built black and white house. Donnie’s nephew and nieces helped us with our luggage, and we all walked inside. As we were walking inside of the house, we were greeted by the house boy, who was also the cook; he looked to be 16-years-old or so. He greeted us, and as soon as we walked a little further in the house, we were greeted by Donnie’s senior brother, who was sitting down in the living room. He welcomed us by nodding and bending down. We sat down on the couch and started discussing our trip. While Donnie and his brother spoke, I tried not to feel like an outsider. I was family, true, but this was more than just going to visit my spouse’s family in another state. This was a whole new world. Like a tourist, I marveled at all the sites. I noticed how the ceilings were so architectural and how everything looked almost cathedral-like. The walls were made of cement, but the way that they were crafted was brilliant. The ceilings and the walls were just amazing, not like the ceilings that we have in houses in America. Even the furniture was crafted nicely; it was white leather and very elegant, very different from the leather living room suits back home. It was almost imperial. While we were talking with his brother, Oprah’s television program was on. Donnie’s brother began praising Oprah on how she helps Africa by donating money. It made me feel bad. “Here is a woman that I know is my cousin, but yet I don’t even know her,” I thought. I sat there for a moment feeling somewhat hurt, but I later blocked it out of my mind as I went outside to view the neighborhood. I noticed a woman walking from house to house. It seemed as if she was picking up dirty 94

dishes and putting them on top of her head. I guess she was going to a remote location to wash them, and then she would return the dishes later on that day. Watching the woman made me realize that we take so many things for granted here in America. It is an amenity to have lights that work 24 hours a day; it is an amenity to have air conditioning when it is very hot. Only the privileged have the opportunity to have air conditioning in Africa. We are made to have car insurance in America, but there is no such thing as car insurance there. If you tear up your car there, it is just torn up. Even the police and ambulances in Africa are different. They do not rush to get to a slain victim or someone who has been hurt. There are millions of people that live in Lagos alone, which is just a city. Just imagine: there are over 15 million people that live there now and that number will more than double by 2020. So, with the population growing at such a rapid rate, Lagos will be one of the largest cities in the world. It is already one of the ten most populous cities in the world, and the fact that there is no such thing as birth control only affirms that the population will continue to rise. I found it interesting that the people there believe it is a blessing to have children. No matter what the circumstances are, children are still viewed as a blessing. There seemed to be nothing taken for granted in Lagos. All of Donnie’s nephews and nieces have gone to school to be dentists, doctors, and accountants. Education is the key. In America, we sometimes get paid to go to school through grants, scholarships, and so forth, but that’s not the case in Lagos. Another key difference there is that the children live at home until they are married. There is no such thing as shacking 95

up, getting an apartment, or doing anything else independently. One of Donnie’s nieces, Yetunde, a very beautiful and intelligent girl, is living at home right now until she gets married. Her future husband was in London while she was working for Lagos State University. It may seem like an insult to say this about our country, but the truth is that so many of us have lost the sense of morals and standards in America that we ruining our young ones, whether we want to believe it or not. Yetunde reminds me of this fact because I couldn’t think of many young people that were staying focused like her. At onset of my stay in Africa, I started making a synopsis of the similarities and differences between the U.S. and Africa. In doing so, I noticed that lots of things were different, yet lots of things were similar. As Donnie and I were waiting on the driver that he called on the second day of our trip, we awoke to a breakfast made by the house boy. Since I always eat boiled eggs as a source of protein, the houseboy had already prepared my two boiled eggs. He had done so bright and early, and he even had a bottle of water for me. Everything was waiting for me as I got out of bed. Donnie ate his usual African dishes, which I never got fully accustomed to. When the driver arrived, we toured the town a little and visited some landmarks of Lagos. While we were riding around, I noticed a statue of what looked to be an African man holding a peace sign. I guess this is where the peace sign originated. As we got on the highway, I was in serious picture-taking mode. I tried to take a picture of a guy selling bananas, but as I started to take the picture, the man hit my window so hard that it almost broke. I was so scared I was almost in tears. He was 96

screaming, and although I couldn’t understand what he was talking about, I knew it was about me taking his picture. After touring the city in the hot sun and stopping at a local fast food restaurant for food and beverages, it was time for us to go back to Donnie’s family’s house. One thing that I did notice was that when you purchase a beverage in a bottled container, you must return the bottle back to the restaurant so that they can reuse them. When we arrived at Donnie’s brother’s house, everyone was waiting for Donnie’s daughter to arrive. It was Donnie’s birthday, and I went with his nieces to get a cake for him. We had two birthday cakes made especially for him at a bakery that was maybe a couple of miles away from the house. While we were out, his daughter arrived. When we got back, I was able to meet her. To my surprise, though, the visit was exhausting. I thought after the many pleasant conversations we had over the phone as well as our email messages our visit would have been grand, but it turned out to be horrible. I spoke to her after I arrived with the birthday cake, but she didn’t say anything to me at all. I was so torn up by this because this was the person that I had several conversations with. Now, she acted as if I had taken her father away from her. Perhaps, this was the normal behavior of a 20-year old in our situation. What she didn’t know, though, was that she caused me to feel rather depressed for the rest of the week. It bothered me so much that I bluntly asked her why she wasn’t speaking to me, and she said it was because she thought I would have been much slimmer and much taller. I couldn’t understand where her comment came from. There, it seems that 97

anyone weighing over 130 pounds was overweight. I immediately became defensive, wanting to tell her some things about her appearance, but I decided that I would be the bigger person. Plus, it would be rude to do so. From that first day with her, I was ready to get back to Atlanta. I felt better when everyone else in the family showed me so much gratitude and love. Besides, if I had cut the trip short, I know I would have spoiled it for Donnie and the rest of his family members. It was definitely hard to overlook the situation, but I had to for the sake of my sanity. God says to love your enemies, and that’s just what I did. We ended up staying there for about three weeks. After I arrived back in Atlanta, the world seemed so different. I was definitely changed by the trip. I met some wonderful people over there that I will never forget. In addition, the trip gave me a better appreciation for so many of the things we take for granted such as a roof over our head, clothes on our back, shoes on our feet. The trip made me realize how blessed I was. Looking back over the trip today reinforces the revelation that I am blessed.

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Chapter 10

Life and Death Issues I was greeted on my 29th birthday (2004) with a hug and a kiss from Donnie, telling me happy birthday. (We were still married then and on better terms.) I was so tired that day that I lay in bed until about 1:00. I was then greeted by my two sons, who were armed with handdrawn birthday cards, telling me how much they loved me. I was so happy that I was in tears because it didn’t matter what my children gave me; it just felt so good to be loved by them. Usually, I would get a call from my grandparents, but after the afternoon progressed without me receiving a call from them, I decided to sit around and look at television a bit, just to see if they would call. My grandfather always called on my birthday to tell me, “Happy birthday, girl,” but the call still did not come. Around 2:00 p.m. I decided to call my grandpa; he picked up on the first ring. I said, “Grandpa, how come you didn’t call?” He said, “Shakeeta, I have been trying to call you for the longest time, but your voicemail was full.” I realized then that my grandfather didn’t have the phone number to my house. After I sat on the phone with him a brief second, he told me that my mother died that day. I felt my heart drop immediately. I said, “No, she can’t be dead.” He went on to tell me how she got sick the day before and went into cardiac arrest. They couldn’t keep her because her kidneys had failed her. I couldn’t believe that my mother had died on my 99

birthday; I was in total disbelief. My grandfather and I cried together over the phone. I immediately called Donnie and screamed and cried over the phone. I was hysterical so he knew that there was something wrong with me. I was three months pregnant with our first child, so he knew that it was not good for my emotions to run so high. I told him about my mother and he rushed home. He told the boys to console me until he got there. My son, who was ten at the time, told me, “Don’t worry, Mom. Pat is in a better place now. Stop crying. She is in God’s hands.” To listen to my son say such grownup words was very comforting to me. After Donnie arrived, he hugged me and tried to get me to understand that my mom was in a better place. I started blaming myself immediately because of all the trips that I took to Nashville without going to visit her. I thought about all the phone calls I could have made while I was there and when I was in Atlanta. I regretted not being able to say goodbye. Then, I remembered a prayer that was in my office, which says, “For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done for you” (John 13:15). I sat around and prayed to God for forgiveness for not doing the things that I should have done for my mother. I took the Greyhound bus from Atlanta to Nashville around 8:00 the next morning to help with the funeral arrangements. I arrived in Nashville around 1:00 p.m. I immediately saw my grandmother waiting patiently to pick me up. We proceeded to go to the funeral home, where we would then take care of the funeral arrangements. At the time, it just hadn’t hit me that my mother was dead. I guess it was because I didn’t see her body; they had already embalmed her and were waiting on us to 100

pick the casket for her. The expenses for the funeral were much more than I anticipated, and I was now in charge of everything: the burial plot, the color of the casket, the outfit she would wear, and the wig she was to wear. We picked a beautiful white casket with a pink interior, and my grandmother and I agreed that she should wear white. After we picked the casket and the other things we needed for the actual funeral, we left and went home where we sat down and discussed the funeral arrangements with my grandfather. We decided the funeral would be on Friday the 17th of July at 11:00 a.m. I had to leave that night around 9:45 so I could go back to Atlanta and get my boys and something to wear for the funeral on Friday. My grandmother took me to the bus station, and gave me $5 apiece for the boys to spend however they wanted to. When I arrived in Atlanta around 3:00 a.m. the following day, Donnie was there waiting on me. He took me home so I could get some sleep. One of my best friends at work decided to take the trip back to Nashville with me. She had just lost her mother about a month before and wanted to be there for me. The drive to Nashville was very touching as we discussed the deaths of both of our mothers. We talked about how we wished we had more time to spend with them. I felt so guilty for not being there for her over the past few years, but there was a part of me that was mad, too, because she never took care of me. Sometimes, she would call my grandmother’s house to speak to me, but I wouldn't talk to her because she called so much.

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When I was older, I didn’t want the responsibility of taking care of my mother; I wanted my own life. After she passed away, I began to feel remorse by thinking I should have moved her to Atlanta with me and found a place for her here. When I used to write to Oprah, I expressed my dream of her helping me start a haven house for the mentally ill. My letters went unanswered, and I never pressed the issue. When we arrived at my grandma’s house, my aunt and uncle were already there getting ready for the funeral. My grandma greeted Donnie, the kids, my friend and I as we walked into the front door. We waited to see what time the limo was coming to pick up the family, and then we started to get ready. After I tried on several outfits, I was finally able to fit into a twopiece black suit that fit pretty snug, thanks to my growing stomach. (I was pregnant with my daughter at the time.) I was about to burst out of my suit; I hadn’t realized just how much weight I’d gained. Although my oldest son’s clothes fit perfectly, my youngest had to wear his suit from the previous year because he was so thin. My grief didn’t really hit me until I saw my mother’s picture in the hallway of the church, and then I burst into tears. Right away, I remembered my mother’s presence. Although we were never really close, she was still my mother and I grieved over all the lost time. I also hurt because I was left fatherless, and I had no chance of ever knowing who my biological father was. I never took the opportunity to ask her his whereabouts, who he was, or where I might find him. The only thing that my grandma remembers is that he went to Fisk University and that he

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was called Kojak. I thought about my unborn child who would not have grandparents of her own, and I felt sad. When we entered the church and sat down in the family section, it was time to start the services; visitation started at 10:00 a.m., and the funeral started at 11:00 a.m. sharp. The church, Roger Heights, held many memories for me. It is where I used to greet and welcome the visitors at the age of five. This was the church where I also played the piano and organ. When I looked in the pulpit, I saw the pastor that used to preach to us when I was a child. Everyone looked up to Reverend Williams, who had made some great accomplishments in his life, but was never recognized for them. He had a home where he kept mentally ill men, and helped them to get jobs so they could be productive in society. Most of society had turned their backs on them, but he didn’t. When the selection by the choir was over, Reverend Williams began his scripture and prayer. He started out saying that he knew my mom from the time she was born, and kept up with her life until she became a teenager. He said that when her mental illness took over, he never got to see her much. He offered reassurance by saying when mental illness sets in, that is not the time to give up on someone just because they have a disability. Reverend Williams gave many examples of the mentally ill, and how we should treat them. After the scripture, my cousin Teresa Leggs sang a solo. This was the very first time that I had ever heard her sing, and I cried even more because I had not seen her in so long. When the funeral was over, we drove back to Atlanta quickly because Donnie had to go to work. I was in tears during the whole drive. I mourned all of the lost time I could 103

have had with her. It was very hard for the first few weeks back in Atlanta, but everyone offered me so much support that it made it easier for me to cope with her passing.

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Chapter 11

Forever in my Heart

When I first moved to Atlanta, my grandpa was the one I always talked to when I would have problems with my husband. We would be on the phone for hours, and he would give me advice. I would call him around 10:00 in the morning because I knew he would have gotten up, taken his bath, and probably be sitting at the breakfast table, ready to eat. That was a good time to talk to him because the phone was located right by the table, so he didn’t have to move much to pick it up. I knew if he was sitting somewhere else in the house, he wouldn’t get up for the phone because it was too far away. I had already moved to Atlanta before my grandpa’s first stroke, which was around October 26, 2004. He suffered three more lifethreatening strokes thereafter. My grandfather also suffered a mild heart attack. When he passed out at the kitchen table after eating Kentucky Fried Chicken, we took him to the hospital where they checked him out. They said that his blood pressure was high and that he needed to be on medication. After that heart attack, my grandmother changed his diet, and he was doing good; he was still able to move around and talk. My grandmother would say, “He is alright; he is OK. Don’t worry. He is doing just fine.” So I didn’t worry. My grandma acted as if nothing was wrong after the first stroke, so I never thought to be curious about his condition. I could only go on what she told me, until I came home (when I was pregnant with my daughter), and we went to the 105

nursing home to see him. The entire right side of his body was paralyzed, and he could not swallow. As a result, he had to eat through a feeding tube. As I saw him laying there speechless, I couldn’t believe his condition. I thought that he was OK. I didn’t know if he understood what I was saying to him. He would nod his head when we would say certain things to him, and he would grunt sometimes. He would also sometimes look at me and shed a tear. Seeing my grandpa in such a condition was a very painful experience for me. With my pregnancy, it was quite a burden to bear. I almost fainted knowing that my grandfather could no longer speak or feed himself. I cried in the nursing room nonstop because of the shock that I felt when I saw him. This was by best friend. He always talked to me about personal issues, and he always praised me for the good things I was doing. No matter what it was, he would always tell me to keep up the good work. He reminded me that things would work out for me. My grandfather passed away October 8, 2005 at 2:30 a.m. at the Bordeaux Nursing Home in Nashville. His condition had been deteriorating over the last few weeks prior to his death. He was getting fluid in his lungs, and his kidney had failed him. He had been on a feeding tube ever since his first stroke, after which they had to send him to St. Thomas Hospital. My grandmother had been right by his side every day until the day he passed away. I remember one Wednesday the doctors at the nursing home called my grandmother and told her it was imperative for her to be there because it didn’t look as if he was going to make it. At that point, my grandmother made a call to me and stated that my grandfather was not 106

doing well. This was the first time that I ever heard her tell me that my grandfather was in bad condition. Her phone call prompted me and the kids to get on our knees that night in our home, and pray to God to spare my grandfather’s life. We prayed about 30 minutes without ceasing in hopes that God would listen to our prayer. The following day, Grandma said that he would be OK, and that he just had fluid around his heart. My intuition, however, caused me to be a little cautious after she said he had fluid around his heart, and that his kidneys failed him. So, I didn’t ask any more questions in regards to granddaddy; we just went on as normal. Donnie and I purchased a cell phone on October 6th, two days after I had spoken with my grandma about Grandpa’s condition. My son called my grandma on that Friday night to let her know he had a new cell phone, and that she could call him anytime. The very next day, at around 7:00 a.m., my grandma called and told my son that my grandfather has passed away. She tried calling me on my phone but I was still sleep, so my son knocked on my bedroom door and shared with me the message Grandma had given him. I was devastated. I couldn’t believe it; I had to call my grandma to hear the bad news for myself. She told me that my grandfather died around 2:30 Saturday morning. During our entire conversation, she did not cry at all. She was being strong for me, and told me that we needed to be strong for her, too. She didn’t want me to worry about her because she would be alright. Sometimes, I wondered how she would be alright because I figured she would have to sell her house since I knew she couldn’t afford the mortgage. I figured she would now have to find somewhere to live. I 107

wanted to help, but I remembered that, as always, I put my money in the wrong places. I should have saved for something like this, but I didn’t. As I sat reminiscing, I remembered that I had just called my grandpa on his birthday, a few days before he would have the stroke. He told me about how he had spoken to all his sisters and brothers. I’ll never forget how he encouraged me to find out who my father is. He felt that I needed to know this, but I assured him that I was doing well not knowing. I told him that it really didn’t matter to me who he was after 29 years of living without him. But he convinced me to agree to find my father. Little did I know that would be our last conversation. After my grandpa had his last stroke, we had to call on Vernon for him to yet again come and assist; this time maybe with the hospital bills because my grandpa had been in the hospital and nursing home nonstop since October 26th. Vernon went by to see him once or twice a week. Vernon has really been an inspiration, and one would think since he is Oprah's dad that he wouldn’t have time to see him, but he always made time. What I love about Vernon is that you can call him Tuesday through Saturday and he will be at his barbershop cutting hair. He is always there when you need him. He is not one to sugarcoat things, and will always give you the truth as he sees it. He was the one that told me over the phone that my grandfather was really in bad shape even though Grandma always told me that he was doing fine. Different people have different ways of coping with life-changing situations, so I guess saying Grandpa was fine was Grandma’s way of coping with what she knew deep within wasn’t true. Or, it could have been that she was in denial. 108

I had to file bankruptcy just a few weeks earlier because of all the debt I’d put myself in with car notes and student loans. Vernon had warned me against things such as the Mercedes Benz s500 that I didn’t really need. I never wanted to listen to him, and I always tried to avoid him because I knew he wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to hear. I wanted to ask Donnie to help me, but asking him was like asking a brick wall, so I just prayed about it and asked for God’s help. I prayed for my grandfather everyday; he was so strong. He used to work two jobs to make a living, working at night for a trucking company on the cold docks for 12 hours, and in the morning, running his own disposal business, with maybe four to five hours of sleep a day. He did this for over 30 years. After watching him be such a hard worker and such a strong man, I knew he would survive his illness, too. I wanted him to live forever. Little did I know that such would not be the will of God. Though the pain I felt from his death was unbearable, I eventually had to accept what God allows to happen in my life. In an effort to rebound from what I believed to be the biggest blow in my life, a friend of mine treated me to an all day pampering at The Hammam Medical Day Spa. That day proved to be not only refreshing and exhilarating, but it was also a time to seek the peace that I was so much in need of. I so needed to retreat alone and just sort out my feelings. During this time, I was finally able to thank God for the time

He allowed my grandpa to be an integral part of my life. Although he is gone, he will never be forgotten.

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Chapter 12

From the Inside Out, Yet the Drama Continues Shortly after the robbery and his gunshot wound, Don seemed to be appreciative of me being there for him. I stayed by his side throughout the whole devastating nightmare. Yet, I found myself feeling bad about still being with him at the time. When I thought about it, I felt like despite everything we had gone through, he didn’t really appreciate me being there for him. When we were at the hospital, he made it seem that all the “other” women still wanted him, and that I was the reason why they still came by. What kind of sense did that make? Donnie had the nerve to call these women after he was discharged from the hospital to let them know what happened. I was thinking that these women were calling him and harassing him, when it was the other way around. Boy, what a fool I was to fall for the oldest trick in the book. Once we were back together, he begged me to give him a child, and I agreed, although I felt like I really didn’t need any more children, due to the hardships that I faced with my two sons. Nonetheless, I agreed because, for some strange reason, I thought that he would change. After I was pregnant, our relationship started going down in more ways than one. My weight gain was tremendous, my appearance was depreciating, and I had very low self-esteem. 110

My pregnancy was especially hard because of my grandfather’s stroke and my mother’s death. The hurt, the pain, and knowing that everyone was starting to leave me really brought me down. I was so tired all of the time. According to the latest ultrasound I had, my baby weighed approximately 8 pounds and 8 ounces. They were going to induce labor because I told the doctor that I didn’t want to wait until the baby reached 10 pounds before I would deliver. After being admitted into the hospital on February 17, 2005, I immediately started receiving Pitocin, a medication to enhance my contractions. I was only dilated to two centimeters when I arrived at the hospital. After receiving Pitocin for several hours, they broke my water around 2:00 p.m., and I received my epidural at 3:00 p.m. At first, the pain wasn’t bad at all, but then after I had dilated to four centimeters, I was in severe pain; I couldn’t handle the pain the way that I thought I could. Around 6:00 p.m., we realized that I had dilated from five centimeters to nine centimeters within one hour. This kid was coming fast! When my daughter Jada was born, she weighed in at 9 pounds and 4 ounces. All I wanted was for my grandfather to meet my beautiful baby girl. I also wanted Oprah to see how many beautiful cousins she had yet to meet. I felt so blessed with our baby girl. She was perfectly healthy. Some people take things for granted, not realizing that things could be worse. I thank God for giving me healthy children. When Jada was about four-months old, Donnie visited Texas, where he was supposed to be networking on a business deal with another guy. They were to promote the deal in Africa. When he came back from 111

his trip, I wanted to be intimate with him, but he wasn’t interested. I prayed and prayed to God, asking him what I was doing wrong. It seemed as if God started to show me who I really married. I found a number and a website address of a particular lady. I went to the website, and it was a pay-porno site with nothing but naked females on it. Immediately, I took Donnie’s cell phone and decided to go through and call each and every individual number in the phone. This is where the drama began. After I called all the numbers, one of them was a number saved under a different name. But I was able to figure out, after investigation, that it was an ex-girlfriend he had dated for about six years prior to us meeting. I called this particular number, and my intuition was telling me that something wasn’t right about the telephone call. I typed in the number on the Internet and was able to retrieve the street address. I thought it was a business, but it turned out to be this particular woman’s home address. After I hurriedly drove to the address, I knocked on the door, and surprisingly, his ex-girlfriend opened the door. Of course, she badgered me about coming to her home, but she finally decided to let me in so we could talk. We talked for hours about my “husband Donnie” and I was shocked about all the things she knew about me. She even brought my sons something to eat at times when they were at the gas station with Donnie. She also would bring my husband food while he was at his place of business. All of this was news to me. This woman knew so much about me and my personal life that I couldn’t help but wonder why. The husband that I thought I knew, I really didn’t know. I was amazed at all the information she gave me 112

about Donnie. I couldn’t believe that she knew things that only he knew about me. She even told me things that I thought only I knew about him. She went on and on with the conversation. After the conversation ended, she went through the living room to her bedroom door. She knocked and knocked, “Donnie, come out please. You and your wife need to talk.” I was absolutely stunned! For six years, Donnie had denied this relationship with a woman whom he said chased him for years. He said he didn’t want her, and now here he was at her house. Most infuriatingly, not only was he at her home, but he was hiding in her bedroom. I was livid! After everything that I had gone through in the past and as a result of my being related to Oprah, the one person that I thought I could depend on was living a lie. He was taking my daughter with him when he would try to talk to other women. I would check his phone periodically, only to find additional numbers of women every week. The shocking discovery of my husband tore me apart so much that I could no longer go to work on time. I was so distraught that I could not focus on my job; my productivity there was going down the drain. I think another factor that only added fuel to the fire for me was the fact that Don acted as if I were the one that cheated on him. To my disbelief, he took the only car that I had (which belonged to him.) This was problematic because it ensured that I would have no way to work. I also had no babysitter since I no longer had transportation. As a result, I sat at home for about a week, and then I finally rented a car so I could go to work. My mind wasn’t on my job, and I was feeling the pressure from 113

Human Resources. I received a phone call from Human Resources in the midst of one of my quarrels with Donnie, and they told me I had an obligation to the company to be there; they said I needed to find a way to work. On top of all the stress I was going through, I was about to be terminated from the same job that I was so happy to have landed when I moved to Atlanta. I initially had to quit and focus on the book I had begun writing (this book), as well as other goals. By the time October rolled around, things seemed to be working out just fine. On the particular day of October 26, 2005, I had gotten the boys off to school, and I stayed at home taking care of some personal business and watching Jada. Donnie and I had been separated for some time, but he would come over every now and then to check on Jada. Or, he might stay the night and sleep on the floor while Jada and I slept in the bed. We talked on several occasions about getting back together to make the marriage work, but we would always argue about who was right and who was wrong in the situation. I had always accused Donnie time and time again of cheating, and I caught him on several occasions doing things that married people shouldn’t do. I caught him over his ex-girlfriend’s house with his car pulled into her garage. I sent him emails from fictitious email accounts that I made up, pretending I was someone else, and he would respond, not knowing it was me. Foolishly, he would respond to the email all the way to the point of hooking up with the person. After conducting my own investigation, I called over 30 women, and they all told me that he was trying to sleep with them. Some refused 114

and others didn’t. It seemed like that was not enough to make me leave him. I don’t know why I still felt attached to him. I loved him so much more than I loved myself at this point, but I couldn’t understand why. Donnie’s infidelity put my life in jeopardy in more ways than one, yet I was still not convinced enough to leave him because I really hoped that he would change. On this particular day, it was a strange day, and every time he would come around, I would pretend to talk to other guys to get attention from him and make him jealous. I guess that didn’t bother him either. Around 5:00 p.m., I came from the gym and brought spaghetti for the children to eat. Donnie was there at the time, and he said I needed more spaghetti because I didn’t have enough. I told him to go to the store and get it. When he left, he didn’t realize that he left his phone on the charger. Since I was already distrustful of him, I took this time to go through his phone to see to whom he had made recent calls. I knew this was forbidden, but after all the other phone calls that I had made to other women whose numbers were in his phone, I wanted to see if he was living up to his promise to change. I looked in his phone and I saw a couple of guys’ numbers. Then I came across a name, Bridgette, and I said to myself, “I talked to this lady once before. I called the number once or twice, but no one answered.” About the time Donnie came back, I immediately asked him who Bridgette was, and he said she was a friend he used to date that does mortgages. He said she wanted to help him. I then replied through the door (I left him outside holding the bags) why he would want to deal

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with her on the mortgage when he knew his credit was messed up and that he could not even pay a mortgage. I eventually let him in after he begged and begged, saying it was cold outside. When he came in, I immediately followed him to the kitchen, which is where I asked him a series of questions I made up, only to see if he would fall into the trap. I asked one question after another until I got tired of his lies. I took the phone off of the charger and threw it across the kitchen. I then took the charger out of the wall socket and threw it at him as well. “Get out,” I screamed. “I am tired of you. You will never change. You don’t even think about me or this baby. GET OUT! RIGHT NOW!” He immediately grabbed me by both arms and slung me into the wall. Then he started hitting me and grabbing me, putting me into headlocks. I grabbed him once I was turned loose, and when I grabbed him, I bit him on his back. I looked at myself and saw that my hand was bleeding. I followed him upstairs because he hid the car keys in his sock. I demanded that he give me the keys. I followed him upstairs, and screamed and yelled at him to give me the car keys. My sons became fearful of our altercation, and as such, they locked themselves in the room upstairs. I wanted the car keys because I knew that Donnie would leave me and the children with no transportation. I don’t know what thought entered his mind, but he pulled the car key out of his sock and handed it to me. He then took some things from the bedroom that he had left from the previous move out earlier that year. I immediately followed him downstairs so he could leave. Normally, he would take the tags off the 116

car so that I wouldn’t have anything to drive, or he would take the car. This time, I beat him to it. I pulled the car in the garage, and I took the tags off myself and put them in the house. The last time we argued, he took the tag off the car, and I had to ride with a piece of paper on the back, which I wrote “Stolen Tag” on it and taped it to the back of the car. While I was in the garage, I noticed that my son Kelando was on the phone. I asked him who he was calling, and I took the phone from him and hung it up, not knowing that he had called the police. Five minutes later, the police showed up at our door. There were about five of them. As they came in the house, I explained to them what happened, but I didn’t want my husband to go to jail. I figured if anyone would go, he would be the one. After they asked to get statements from the both of us, I wrote a short statement, leaving pertinent information out because I was certain that if anyone got taken away, it would be Donnie. I didn’t know that he had written a two-page story. The police informed me of this, and I just couldn’t think what he could have written. The police said, “Well, mam. Your husband has written a lot of stuff, and you have merely written nothing down.” I said, “This is all that happened, sir. There is really nothing to write down.” So after about 15 minutes of talking with Donnie, I was in the house sitting down with my daughter on the floor because there was no furniture in the house at the time. I was supposed to be moving by the end of the month so a tenant could rent out the house from me. I was sitting and thinking everything was resolved. The police came in and 117

handcuffed me. They told me to give my daughter to my husband. I was livid and I said, “Please, Don. Please tell them the truth.” He looked at me with a nonchalant look and said, “Shakeeta, I did.” I couldn’t believe they were hauling me off to jail, a Winfrey, imprisoned for domestic violence? Now there were several cases against me. Credit Card Fraud was high on the laundry list of things that my I may end up being imprisoned for. Donnie stood there with no facial expression as they carried me off and put me in the back of the police car. My son Kelando ran to the police car and told the police, “Please, don’t let her go. She didn’t do anything. Don’t take her away.” Donnie stopped him and my son Germell cried as the police whisked me away. I looked at my beautiful daughter’s blue-grey eyes cry as they took me to jail. I felt like a failure; I felt like I had failed them. As I was riding in the back of the police car, I thought, “I have messed up my entire life. I am in college, I am doing real estate and conferences. Why am I going to jail for something I felt I shouldn’t be going to jail for?” We passed my billboard for my conference, and I looked at myself on that board saying, “Winfrey Enterprises Presents the Women’s Empowerment Conference.” What a drag. I couldn’t believe all the stuff I was going through, yet I was supposed to be a motivator to others. This was ironic. I was afraid of what might happen if the reporters found out that I was indeed a Winfrey. As we arrived, I went through to check in, and the correctional officer frisked me to see if I had anything on me. All I had on was my 118

purple and blue gym suit and my orange shoes that Donnie handed me before I was carted off. I remember those orange shoes were the ones I used to wear when I was pregnant with Jada. They were so comfortable. They proceeded to put me in a holding cell. I was able to use the phone, and I called my best friend Samantha. The recording on the call said, “You have received a collect call from an inmate (I said my name -- Shakeeta Winfrey) in the Clayton County jail. To accept this call, press one. To refuse this call, press two or hang up.” I knew Samantha couldn’t accept the call, but at least the phone call informed her that I was in jail. As I went back to my holding cell, before going to orientation, there was a girl named Franz who was there for violating probation for a ticket. She seemed to be very nice and respectable. We were talking while we were waiting to go over to the other side to get our fingerprints done. Another girl was in there for trafficking two kilos of drugs from the Bahamas. She got caught in Customs with the drugs, and she was only in her early 20s. I was shocked to see that so many women go to jail, not only for drugs and tickets, but for fighting. There was another lady in there for fighting her sister, as well as another woman who was in there for fighting her husband. It amazed me that there were so many of us in there on the same night for the same thing. While we were waiting for my fingerprints, a guy named Bo recognized me. He said, “Hey, you look familiar. You look like Don’s wife.” I didn’t know who the guy was, but he says he was Tammy Hayes’ brother. I remembered my husband telling me that he used to date Tammy for a while. So, Bo and I immediately started talking, and 119

he mentioned how Don would brag about all his women and how if he goes to Africa, he would take Bo with him so he could see all of the women. Bo asked me if Don lived in Peachtree City, and I told him that he lived in Riverdale. It amazed me how my husband lied and said he lived in a prestigious part of town that is known for beautiful and expensive homes when he really didn’t. It also amazed me that people came back and told me that he told them he bought my Mercedes Benz when he knew that he didn’t do that, either. I was just sitting and talking to Bo about this; it was all so shocking to me. Bo said, “Yeah, Don used to try to sleep with my sister. She came up on some rough times and needed to borrow some money, which she borrowed from him. When she wouldn’t sleep with him, he started to demand his money back.” In our 15-minute conversation, I was appalled at all of the encounters Bo informed me of. It was some of the same things other women I had conversed with over the phone told me. Bo assured me that Donnie was going to get me out of jail; he said I should not worry. By the time Bo and I finished talking, all of us had gotten fingerprinted, and they put us in another holding cell. I didn’t know what my charges were until I signed my paperwork. It said that I was incarcerated for Family Violence Battery as well as obstruction of a 9-11 call. I didn’t know what this really meant at the moment, but I guess I would find out later. We were told to stand against the wall, line up, and get our clothing. As we lined up to get our clothing, three of us walked into a room that had three shower stalls and we had to take everything off. We 120

could leave our underwear on, but if we had on any other color besides a white bra and white socks, then we would have to put them in a bag. After three of us changed into our suits, we were then placed back into a holding cell to wait for the other women to be booked so they could take us all down to the holding cells together. We waited for another hour in the cold cell, and then the correctional officer told all of us to get up. By that time, there were seven of us that were to go down. We walked down this long hallway on one side with our hands behind our backs to a room where we were to receive our cot, spork, cup, two sheets, and a blanket. In orientation, we were able to ask questions such as what kind of privileges we would have once we got to our cell. We also wanted to know if we could talk to a chaplain if we wanted to. The correctional officer stated that we could and we would be able to use phones if need be. After orientation was over, it was about 4:15, and that was breakfast time. We were directed to our rooms, which were configured for two or three to a room. There were three of us in my cell. Once all of us arrived into our rooms, I immediately heard the gate shut. This is not like normal gates you can see through. These were steel doors with one peep hole for you to see out of. There was also one steel opening located at the middle of the door that you could receive items such as blankets or food, but the guards would have to come unlock those little doors. They almost looked like pet doors that people have in their home. The correctional officers could come unlock the doors when they wanted to slide something to you. 121

As they called us down for breakfast, I maybe had 15 minutes of rest. We were lined down the stairs with our spork and cup to eat breakfast. The food didn’t look as enticing to me as it did to others, so I refused to eat and I went back to my bunk and went back to sleep. I slept for a few hours, but it was very uneasy. I wondered why I was in there, and I cried. As it was turning into midday, we were able to use the phones for collect calls. Running to the phone, Donnie was the first person I called, but it seemed as if he was hanging up on me during my several attempts to reach him. I called my grandmother, and I was glad to know that her phone could accept collect calls. When she answered, I asked her to please get me out of jail, and I started giving her the bonding company’s information. In the midst of me giving the information, however, it was time to get off the phone. Because she couldn’t write it down in time, I was unable to get the full information to her before the correctional officer approached me and made me end the call. I cried and cried as I walked slowly to my cell. I was in disbelief that my husband hung up on me, and that no one was there to get me out of that place. As I went back to my cell, I said to my cellmate, “Why is my husband treating me like this when he is the one who cheated; he was the one I caught over his ex-girlfriend’s house. He was the one where I called over 30 women and no one knew he was married. Why am I being treated as a criminal?” I asked my cellmate, “Am I overreacting or what? After what he has done to me, I was almost fired from my job because he took the car, and I was stranded at home with no 122

transportation with all three of my children.” I said to my cellmate that everything he has done will come back on him threefold. I sat behind those bars, and when it was time for us to make phone calls, I found myself still calling him repeatedly. He would answer the phone, but he would nonchalantly say to me, “Oh Shakeeta, you’re OK. You need to stay in there and think about your life.” I was floored! Think about my life? He was the one who put both of our lives at high risk with his lack of self control. He was whoring around with every Sally, Jane and Sue, yet he had the nerve to tell me to think about my life. This made me even more furious than I was in the beginning because I couldn’t believe that he felt no remorse about my situation. I admitted that Donnie had ruined my life and yet he thought nothing was wrong. He brainwashed me into believing that I was stupid, and that I should have pity on myself. “Am I stupid in love,” I asked myself. It seemed that he never approved of or accepted anything I ever did. If I was working on a project, he would not approve of it. If I was fat, he would tell me I needed to lose weight. My hair was never long enough. It was just one thing after another with him. All the bad thoughts I had of Donnie surfaced, and I continued to cry. As I cried, I thought no one was going to get me out of jail. I was relieved on the third day when Samantha came and bonded me out. I was so grateful because I had almost given up on my life and my children. I never wanted to experience anything like that ever again. When Samantha bailed me out, she told me all the hateful things Donnie said about me. I was shocked that he felt that way. He told her terrible things like I didn’t take baths, that I didn’t brush my teeth, that I 123

wear the same black clothing all the time, that I am nasty, and that I’m not worth anything. He said that he wouldn’t sleep with me even if someone paid him. He went on to tell her that I was stupid, that he wished he never met me, and that I was nothing but a worthless dancer. Samantha continued and said Donnie said, “Shakeeta thinks that I am broke. I am far from broke. I shipped my Mercedes and my BMW to Africa, and I paid for my daughter’s vacation in London, which was over $2,000.” This was all a pack of lies. I wondered how he could say such things. He didn’t even take care of our daughter we have together. As I pondered the things she shared with me, I thought to myself, “Oh God. Why me? What did I do? I don’t deserve this. He is the one that deserves to be in jail. Why am I still around after he has cheated on me repeatedly, and treated my children cruelly? Oh Father, I ask of you, do I love him, or am I just scared to leave?” I said to myself that Samantha was right all along. She said my husband didn’t care, and he didn’t. If he did, there was no way he could say those things about me. He even told my kids that I sleep around at night with different men. He knew my kids loved me, so it still puzzles me to this day why he wanted to brainwash them into hating me. He went as far as telling my kids that I was a stripper, which was really confusing to them. They were young, but they were old enough to form opinions that strippers are nasty. Before Samantha came to bail me out of jail, she went over to the house to get the property deeds because she knew she would need them. In the process, she noticed that Donnie had moved the documents to where she couldn’t find them. I specifically told her where they were, 124

yet they were not there the first nor the second time she stopped by. While she was there, Donnie told her, “If I were you, I would leave Shakeeta in there. She needs to die and rot in jail. I will take my daughter from her and send her to school in London. Shakeeta is crazy. She is just like her stupid and crazy mother. Shakeeta’s cousin Denise is crazy, too. It runs in their family.” He even said he saw why Oprah didn’t want to have anything to do with the family because the whole family is crazy. After all I had done for this man, I could not understand how he could stoop so low and say those things about me. I was right by his side for a month when he was in Grady Hospital after he was shot at the gas station. When he was trying to promote his newly created drink in Africa, I was the one who did his presentations for him. I did the business brochures for him the exact same day I went to jail. So again, I asked, “God, what am I doing to deserve this treatment? Was it the abortion I had a few months back when I had sex with Donnie again in my desperation, hoping that it would make our marriage work?” I know the Bible says not to kill, but I felt that we didn’t need another baby because of the problems we were having. After I was released from jail, I felt like a ton of bricks was released off my shoulders. I immediately called the sheriff so I could go get my children. Samantha was afraid that Donnie would have me locked up again if I came back to my house. I wasn’t afraid of that because I know that I’m a damn good mother. No one would take my children away from me; I wasn’t going to even entertain that thought.

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As I called the sheriff and the sergeant of the Clayton County Police Department, I waited at a nearby gas station for their arrival. As they arrived, they trailed me to my house to get my belongings and my children. When we got to the house, Donnie was standing at the door with my daughter in his arms. She already had her snowsuit on, and one of the officers politely took my daughter away from Donnie and handed her to me. I held her so tight, and I cried tears of joy. My son Germell, who was nine at the time, ran to me and gave me a big hug. My oldest son Kelando was speechless, and I couldn’t carry on a conversation with him, either. He didn’t understand why I wasn’t speaking to him. I guess it was because he thought I believed it was his fault that he called the police. Kelando later told Samantha that I didn’t love him because I didn’t speak to him. I have to admit that I was distraught about the situation. I remembered that this was the son I birthed into the world that I had to carry with me to high school. I had to put him in the school daycare; I had to take him to all my college classes with me because I didn’t want anyone else to keep him. He was the same son that I would also take to work with me because I didn’t have anyone to keep him. This was the same son that I sent over $2,000 worth of clothing when I went to the Army. He was the same son that when I came to Atlanta, I would go to Kids Profile and buy him and his brother coats and outfits worth $200-$300 and bring them back to them. I put Kelando into all those private daycares, and I put him in basketball camp at the age of four. I did so without help from anyone. This was the same son that, when I went shopping at Burlington Coat 126

Factory, security would have to check my bags because I would have purchased him clothing in the amount of $700-$800. This was the same son that the courts said I couldn’t see because I obstructed a 9-1-1 call. This was the same son that thought I didn’t love him because I couldn’t talk to him at the time. There I was, asking the same question and making the same plea all over again, “Oh my God. Why is this happening to me? Please, Jesus, help me to understand why all of these things are happening to me.” Both Germell and Kelando helped Samantha and I as we proceeded to put my things in the back of Samantha’s truck. I only had 30 minutes to get the most important things out of the house. Kelando had tears in his eyes as he helped pack Jada’s and Germell’s things. We proceeded to leave, and I waved bye-bye to my son. I looked at Donnie as we drove off, and saw that he was pacing up and down the street in our neighborhood. He was in disbelief that I had finally come to pick up my children, especially our daughter, whom he loved so much. As we were heading out of the neighborhood, I saw that Kelando was still standing outside. He started to go over to a neighbor’s house, and Samantha shouted out the truck, “You know your mom loves you. Please go back home. I will be back to pick you up tomorrow.” I saw Kelando look at her briefly in disbelief, then he immediately held his head back down and walked back towards the house. When we drove off, I cried and cried because I felt like I had abandoned my own son. How was my firstborn child going to endure all of this stress, I thought. How would I be able to explain to him why I brought him into this pitfall of a marriage? How could I love someone 127

so much without thinking of the welfare of my children? Maybe it was my low self-esteem; maybe I didn’t love myself enough because I never experienced true love. I have always lived a tough life. It was the lifestyle of a hustler, a gangster. I never had anyone to cater to me the way I saw in the movies. I never received flowers on special occasions. I barely received cards on certain special days. It just seemed that maybe I didn’t set my standards high enough, which could have been the reason that I was experiencing that particular episode of my life. As we drove to a hotel that was about a mile away, Jada and I quickly removed our belongings and put them in the hotel room. Everything was out of order: Jada needed milk, but there was no can opener. I didn’t have appropriate clothes for her, nor did I have suitable clothes for myself, all because of the limited time I was given to get my things out of the house. After we got settled, we saw Samantha off. Germell and I then organized things as best we could so that we would be able to find them if we needed them. Germell was hungry, so I ordered pizza from Pizza Hut. As we waited on the pizza, we sat back and looked at a movie while Jada was playing on the bed between us. When the delivery man arrived with the pizza, I explained to him my situation, and he asked if we needed anything to drink. I told him yes, not knowing that he would go to a nearby gas station and buy us two liters of drinks, as well as three bags of chips. When he returned with those items, I was definitely shocked to see that there really are people that actually care about others and what they are going through. After he dropped off the snacks, I told him how

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much I appreciated him doing that for us. I told him that he would be blessed. After we ate the pizza, Germell and I talked about what happened to me. He immediately explained that while I was in jail how Donnie would use my laptop as well as my pocket PC. He also expressed to me that Donnie told them that I would be alright because where I was, they gave us three hot meals a day, that we were able to play ball, watch TV, and have visitors. I told my son that I was on lockdown, which meant that I was in a room with only a peephole on the door. I told him that I shared a room with two other people, and that there was no TV. I let him know that we all had to sleep on bunks without cover in a cold cell. Why in the world would Donnie tell the children such lies? Germell continued and told me that while I was gone, one of my closest guy friends from my former job (Randy) called me several times. He said that Donnie recognized the number and told him and Kelando that Randy was another one of the men that I was sexually involved with. I knew then that it would be a long journey to cleanse my kids’ minds from the poison that Donnie had infiltrated to them. I also knew it would be a serious task of getting Kelando back with me and getting my life back on track. Samantha did as she said and went back for Kelando the next day. Slowly, I was able to put the pieces to my life back together. I was able to find work, and I eventually got my real estate license. This was the beginning of a new chapter in my life.

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By January 2006, things had begun to somewhat simmer down, or at least that’s what I thought. In mid-January, I went to the Clayton County police headquarters to pick up copies of all the police reports of me and my husband, and I noticed there was one additional report that was filed on January 4th by my husband. After reading through the reports, one stood out more than others: my husband reported that I authorized myself as being a user on his credit cards without his knowledge, and that he was out of town when I made several charges to his credit card. He stated on the report that I fraudulently took his information and added myself as authorized user. I was knocked off of my feet when I read such garbage. My husband put me on as an authorized user and he received all of the cards in his P.O. BOX, so I was totally appalled to see that he wanted to say he didn’t know anything about it. After seeing this, I just felt like giving up. All I wanted to do was take care of my children. Yet, my husband wanted to have me locked up. “What else will happen,” I wondered. I began contemplating suicide because the stress was too much for me to bear. “I can’t go back to jail,” I thought. I would rather kill myself than to go through with that. I considered my options, and I wasn’t pleased: I didn’t want to go to a shelter for battered women; I didn’t want to prostitute for money; I didn’t want to strip again, and I didn’t want to work for an escort service. I couldn’t keep a job if I had no money for daycare. I had worn out welcome with Ma and Keith (a friend and her husband who previously opened up their home to me) because I didn’t have anything to give them for my stay. 130

I realized that Donnie was trying to make sure I suffered. Thus far, he was doing a great job. I had no car and nowhere to stay. I couldn’t believe Donnie would file such a report, when I paid half of the bills he left behind---even his mortgage for a house I can no longer go back to. I finally was able to put Jada in daycare so I could find a job, and start rebuilding my life. After retrieving report and receiving phone calls from the creditors, I asked them to explain to me how my husband could not know I was an authorized user when the cards went to his PO BOX that I don’t have access to. I also explained to them I paid three months’ mortgage that was in his name, an electricity bill that was in his name, a gas bill that was in his name, a student loan that was in his name, and my daughter’s day care bill. Why would he file an affidavit stating he did not authorize to pay his mortgage, when that was his house and at the time, I couldn’t go back to the house because that was part of my bond condition to not return. As I faxed all the documents in proving those were his bills and I was paying for them and not maliciously using the card, as well as paying for Jada’s daycare, Donnie didn’t have a case anymore. They dropped all fraud charges. When I also faxed over the measly $200 check that we received from him, and informed them that we had nowhere to go and no car, they knew that he was trying to be malicious towards me instead. I prayed this prayer every morning I woke up fearing I was going back to jail for a long time. Do I have low self-esteem? This was the inevitable question after facing this real-life horror story. My life was already in shambles 131

because of everything I’d experienced up to this point, including being teased about being related to Oprah. It seems as if this particular time was the one time I should have held on to the old saying, “Never depend on a man. Depend on God for your strength and companionship.” The Bible teaches that all things work together for good for those that love the Lord. I eventually started to see that because after all of this, my relationship with God began to grow more and more. I needed to know him more than ever. I needed him to come into my heart, to help me, and to cover me with his love. Since this started going on, I would say a prayer every day, “Father God, thank you for always being there for me no matter what I face. I know you will never fail me even in my most intense trials. I have not always understood why I was going through certain things. However, I do not have to understand because you are God, and you are in control. In spite of my lack of understanding, I know that all you require of me is to trust you, and to look to you in faith. I know you will come and save me and bring me an answer. You always have, and you always will because you are faithful. You never fail any of us that look to you. I have failed you, oh Lord, by my doubt and unbelief at times, but you have never failed me. Lord, please remove all the sorrow and grief I feel. Heal this pain I feel in my heart and help me to trust you more. Fill this empty place in my heart with more of your spirit. I ask these things in the name of the Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.” This prayer seemed to help me when I was going to give up on myself, my marriage, and all the personal goals that I had set. Here is another prayer that brought comfort to me in times of such distress: 132

"Father, in the name of Jesus, I come before you, confessing my need for you, and crying out to you from the bottom of my heart. Lord, you’ve said that you are near to those whose hearts are breaking and that you give grace to the humble. I humble myself before you now...I cast down any pride or self-justification that I would hide behind, and I present myself to you as I truly am--weak and helpless and despairing of my very life. I know there is no other rock but you, and I turn to you with all of my heart. Father, please forgive my sin! I open myself up to receive your cleansing, your healing, your forgiveness, and your faith, hope and love into my being. I receive your love as a river, washing over the dry wasteland of my emotions. I see that in your river there is life, and that every place your river touches in me is revived. I cast all my cares, my sorrows, my disappointments into that river and I let the current of your spirit carry them far away. I believe you, when you say that you think good thoughts about me, and that your plans are to give me a future and a hope. I believe you when you say that you knew who I was even before my mother conceived me--and that you wanted me to be alive on the earth right now. Thank you for giving me life! Thank you for working all things in my life for good! Thank you that I can call on your Name and You will be near me. Thank you for bearing all my weaknesses on the cross, and healing me, spirit, soul and body." I also spoke these words of affirmation to myself as well. It is called “Command Against Satan:” “Satan, I close every door that I have opened to you and I renounce every activity I have partaken with you. In Jesus name, I submit myself to God. I resist you and command you to flee from me, as 133

it is written in James 4:7, I remind you that you are defeated by the power of the cross--and with the authority given to me by Jesus Christ I command you and force you to leave me right now!" While my children and I were going through this trying time, we would all sleep together and say a prayer before we went to bed. I would always tell them, “Mommy is going to make a better life for you, and we have to pray everyday without fail for those dreams to come true.” I have taken my children through so much, and they needed to be happy. I did not want them to see Mommy unhappy all the time. So, I put it in God’s hands, and I told them that he would handle everything for me. Now that I am closer to God, I know that prayer has played a major role in helping to change my life. Another of my prayers is, “Father, I ask you first to forgive me for my sins and to cleanse me from any area where I allowed the devil to enter my life. I renounce any involvement with the works of darkness. In the name of Jesus, I cancel every curse, and Father, I ask you to forgive the people who have spoken them against me. In Jesus’ name, they are broken right now by the power of Almighty God. I cancel every evil that was spoken against me, and I ask you to cover me and my family with your protection according to your Word.” After Donnie’s deception continued, I began to pray all the more. That’s when the Lord revealed to me that it was no longer his will for Donnie and I to remain together, so we decided to go our separate ways. I am forever grateful that although family, friends, and so called loved ones turned their backs on me time and time again, God never let me down. Throughout my trying times, I am so thankful that I was able 134

to find refuge in him. I began to pray and find comfort by reading the Bible. After some time, I was united with a great church, and that has made a significant difference in my life. I am proud to say that I am no longer bound by the evils that once controlled my life. I can see clearly now because the rain is gone.

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Chapter 13

The Male Perspective

Much of Shakeeta’s ups and downs point back to the lack of the male influence from her biological father. Jeffrey Lamar, a college student at Alabama State University, shares his insight on the importance of having male parental involvement in one’s upbringing. What was your childhood experience like? I believe parental involvement from a male figure plays a major role in that answer. In my own experience, my father was there to teach me life’s lessons; however, my mother was there to teach me as well. It’s a ripple effect: how you are raised depends on how your parents were raised. My mother was the oldest in her family, and my father was the youngest in his family. Together, they raised three boys into men. Along the way, my father took breaks from his duty as a father. During those times, my childhood was full of let-down and sorrow. That feeling passed through my mother and brothers. Being the woman she was, she arose to the test of a single parent. I must say that she passed with honors. Unfortunately, this isn’t always the case within every household. Male figures in the household are essential to discipline of children, but there is a difference between having fathers in a household and having male figures in a household. For me, it was a lot more meaningful to learn from my father than to learn from any “average Joe.” With a father, you have built a trust or a bond so you can believe what he tells you opposed to just a figure. A male figure can only have so much 136

influence, depending what age the child is when they enter their lives. The younger the better because at a young age, children are more influential. As they get older, they are able to make their own judgments. That puts pressure on the mother to find a replacement for the biological father. It all starts with the parents and the culture they build. Why do single moms have problems with their sons? Fathers can teach their sons how to be men better than anyone in the world. They can teach them how to be tough, hard working, and independent. In essence, they can teach them how to carry out the responsibilities of the man. Father is also there for their daughters to provide comfort and protection. They also have influence as to how a child behaves. As a boy playing with my cousins, my uncles never allowed any of my female cousins to play the boys. As a child, I didn’t understand why, but as I got older, I learned that the people around in your life mold you into who you are. Think about it. The best way to become a millionaire is to learn and surround yourself with them. The best way to become a man is to lean and surround yourself with them, and the best way to be a woman is to learn from a woman. Sometimes these duties get crossed. The male figure influences in the household also starts with the husband-wife relationship because a father can teach his son how a man should treat a lady. At the same time, he sets the expectations for their daughters as to how they should be treated. If a son witnesses domestic violence by his father and it is allowed by the mother, then a culture has been created that hitting a woman is okay. That perception will clutter

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the mind of a young girl that a man is supposed to control everything she does. In a household, the male is usually the provider as well as the protector. In modern times, more and more women are starting to bring in the higher income and serve as the main provider. In some cases, this hurts the male ego and often leads to a broken home. The comfort of protection is naturally provided by the male, dating all the way back to cavemen. The male influence in the household is so important the lives of individuals. I’ve witnessed it personally; the frustrations of single parenting can spill out onto children and can cause bad relationships between parents and their children, causing the ripple effect to continue. The male influence in the household is important, but depending on the personality of the female individual, they can provide for the family and handle all the duties of a male but with much stress. So, to women I say, “Men, you don’t need them, but you don’t need to go without them!”

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Chapter 14

My Personal Goals and Dreams

I am not like Oprah, but it seems that so many of my struggles are similar to hers in a way. Although I wasn’t back and forth between family members as she was, my mom wasn’t able to take care of me, and my father is unknown. The only people that showed me love as if I was their biological daughter were my grandma and grandpa. They raised me as if I was one of their own, and they didn’t pass me around to other relatives. My grandparents became fully responsible for my health, education, and my well being. It was evidenced in so many ways: from the many operations that they paid for, to the clothes that my grandma bought me to keep me looking nice in school, to all the hairdresser appointments, to the cars, to the many things that my grandparents have done for me that they didn’t have to do. I thank God for them. I carry a lot of the same visions that Oprah does. As I was reading her book, Oprah Winfrey Speaks, I found out a lot of information that I did not know. This was information that her father didn't share with the family. I hadn’t realized just how much she’d been through. The only differences between us are that I have children, and have been married. We both sometimes get drifted away from our goals. I have always had a problem with trying to please other people and gain friendship that is not earned but bought in a sense.

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I remember reading about the Ten Commandments to Oprah’s success, and I will follow those commandments from henceforth. The one commandment that I would like to be able to do is to surround myself with people who are as smart as or smarter than me. I want to be amongst positive people, and I never want to allow money be my motivation. She has enlightened me so much and been such a positive role model. Hopefully, I will be able to turn my wounds into wisdom, and create the highest and grandest vision possible for my life. In a way, I think being related to Oprah made me strive more to accomplish things just to uphold the Winfrey name. I also think at times I tried too hard to project an image of myself living comfortably and having nice things just because I didn’t want people to see me as not having anything and being related to her. Being related to someone with so much power and wealth can be positive and negative. It’s positive because you have someone to look up to in the immediate family. It’s negative because you can push yourself too hard to prove to your peers that you have it like your wealthy relative. I had to learn the hard way that whatever that I was striving for was not for my peers, but for myself. I had to learn to appreciate and love myself first, before expecting anyone else to love me. I feel the more positive impact that I can make on my life or someone else’s life will eventually bring me riches. Not riches in the terms of tangible items, but riches meaning love, security, and other intangible things. As far as advice to others, the advice I would give is to never give up. I have just about done it all, but there was always a small space in the back of my mind that I could do better. Like anyone else, sometimes I 140

backslide when my back is against the wall. Sometimes, I find myself doing things that I wouldn’t normally do. I’ve come to know that if something is worthwhile, you have to work for it, and that is exactly what I didn‘t want to do. As soon as times got hard, I would always have someone to bail me out. Eventually, I learned that was not good, and I needed to get off my butt and do it myself. Anybody can accomplish anything if they want to; just don’t let the temptations of life discourage you. Sometimes, it is very difficult but you have to have a set goal, a set plan, no matter how long it takes. Everyone needs at least five short-term goals and long-term goals, which should be kept posted somewhere where you can see them at all times. A visible reminder is always helpful. A lot of people have not gone through what I have gone through. You have to go through challenges and make mistakes in order to learn from them, and I definitely went through a lot of them, as well as made a lot of mistakes. Sometimes, I wanted to give up, but I always said to myself, “What kind of role model am I? What will my kids think of me when they grow up? Will they have the same kind of ill feelings towards me as I had towards my mother for so many years?” Even though I couldn’t understand her illness, I felt abandoned by her. We have to be role models for our kids. While I can definitely say that I haven’t been the best, I can say that I did get myself out of this Acrutch.@ I have bigger dreams and goals for myself. I am not simple minded, and sometimes, the less education you have the more restrictive you become to opening up to others’ opinions and ideas. I think I have changed totally. I have done a 360 degree turnaround. If anyone from my 141

past sees me, they couldn’t imagine that I have done the things I have done. But there comes a time in life that you have to be mature and let certain things go. I am no angel, but I am not the devil I used to be. I am growing and growing each day. With God’s help, he is directing my life now. I am not directing myself, and my outcomes are a lot better.

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Chapter 15

Family Tree/Memorabilia

July 9, 2002 Dear Dr. Maya Angelou, I am writing you because you are a friend and mentor of Oprah. I am one of her cousins from Nashville. Please, can you contact her to let her know that there is someone in the family has been trying to reach her, see her and talk to her. We have sent so many letters, emails and cards. Can you ask her why she is avoiding us? I graduated from Tennessee State University, as well as I went to Meharry Medical College for a while, and attended Tennessee State University again to work on my doctorate degree in Philosophy. My concern is that I always wanted to see Oprah ever since I was young, and always wanted to be in her footsteps. I would see her on T.V. and say, “Wow, that is my cousin.” I used to send her emails, and after no response, I just stopped. I felt that she didn’t want to know who is in her family. Vernon, her father, would always shun and say, “Well, if Oprah doesn’t know you, she won’t help you.” I find that very hard to believe. He is the only one that Oprah really has substantial communication with. I recently moved from Nashville to Atlanta, Georgia in hopes of finding better job opportunities, because I am 27 years old, with 2 sons, ages 8 and 6. I have never seen any other geographic regions outside of Tennessee, and after I got here, I noticed the job market was extremely tough, and hard to get in. I thought Oprah may have some ideas or maybe 143

she could network with people in Atlanta to help me. Also, my ultimate goal is to help my mom, Patricia Ann Winfrey. who has been mentally ill since I was born. I used to have a job at Mental Health Cooperative where I had the opportunity to place my mom in better boarding homes, and I could access better treatment for her, since I was already in the system. I want to purchase some properties, and turn most of them into group homes. I would even like to go as far as getting a nursing home as well. My grandfather James Winfrey had a stroke last week. He is Vernon Winfrey’s first cousin, and if I could help him out, that would be great, too! My grandfather and my grandmother have a trash route, but he can’t quit because he needs the money to keep things going. I wish I could help, but I can’t. I have all these degrees, diplomas, and army certificates, and can’t even afford to help him out. Right now they have my kids down in Nashville with them, while I am here in Atlanta trying to find a job. I must say, the job market is ridiculous. I need your help, Dr., to talk with Oprah. I really need her right now, and I am one of her younger cousins with a mountain of unsurpassable burdens. Please, can you help me? I know that you and Oprah receive an overwhelming amount of emails. But if you can help me, may God bless you more times than you know. I have faith that you will help. If you want to contact me, my numbers are xxx-xxx-xxxx, as well as xxx-xxxxxxx. Or if you want to confirm who I am, Vernon Winfrey’s number is xxx-xxx-xxxx at the barbershop. Here is a passage from the Bible I want you to read:

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“He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much; and he who is unrighteous in a very little thing is unrighteous in much. If therefore you have not been faithful in the use of unrighteous mammon, who will entrust the true riches to you?” (Luke 16:10, 11- NASB)

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The Winfrey Family Tree Vernon Winfrey Oprah Winfrey

Vernon Winfrey Vernita Lee

Trenton Winfrey (The Molester)

Overtis Winfrey

Lee Winfrey

Elmore Winfrey

Marie Winfrey

Beatrice Woods (spouse)

Earlene Harrison

Elmore Winfrey

Sanford Winfrey Chrysteen Richard

Marvie Frazier

Katie Simms

Ella Staples (spouse)

Kelando Potter Patricia Winfrey Alonzo Winfrey Patricia Winfrey James Winfrey Ida G. (spouse)

Dorothy Leggs Millie H. (spouse)

Willie James Winfrey

Charles Winfrey

Alfred Winfrey

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Shakeeta Winfrey

Germell Potter

Shaketta’s father unknown Jada Aisid

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Vernon Winfrey and Barbara H.Williams

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Vernon Winfrey’s Barber Shop

Vernon Winfrey Avenue 154

Shakeeta Winfrey and sons Kelando and Germell Potter Shakeeta Winfrey

Shakeeta Winfrey’s daughter Jada

Grandma Millie and grandsons Kelando and Germell Potter

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