[In Gibbs's attempt to allow all opinions to be heard, we publish this interesting self-accounting of a single mother and the needs in her children's lives. This essay projects a interesting, even pitiful perception of what this single Black mother feels about black men and what black male children need in their lives. Gibbs has omitted the name of the author, although the name of one child remains. These are the only changes made to this document.]

At 15-years old, I became a mother. Still in school, I had no idea of what I was going to be facing later on in my life. At the beginning of my pregnancy, I was afraid to tell my mother and father. I was afraid that my parents would make me get rid of my baby and send me off to some other place for bad children. One day my mother noticed my facial appearance; she asked me, "Red, are you ill?' I said," No mama." I started for the back room. I was trying to stay out of my mother's way so she wouldn't notice my change in appearance.

The next morning, I was getting myself together for school, I did not feel nauseated, but as I brushed my teeth, I started to gag and vomit. My mother heard me that morning as she passed by the bathroom door but she did not say anything. Every morning after that day, I started experiencing morning sickness and my mother became suspicious. I made up all kinds of excuses, like I just didn't like the taste to the toothpaste. My mother didn't believe any of those excuses.

Later one evening, my mother called me into the restroom. She said, "Red, let me see your stomach." I showed her my stomach. Then she asked, if I was having sex. I was afraid to say I had been sexually active. I lied and said no. She did not believe me. Early the next morning, my mother took me to a clinic to be seen by a doctor. I was hoping and praying the results would be negative. It was positive. She couldn't believe it, so she brought me to a private doctor and the results were the same. She almost passed out and the nurse had to fan her to revive her. By the time my first daughter a year and a half old, I had my second child, a son named Aaron. I thank God my parents did not turn their backs on me. My son was born with Pompa Disease.

We were informed that one in four of my children might inherit the gene for that disease if I continued to have children with the same father. My family and I were in and out of the hospital tending to my son. At this time in my life, I started to know what it is like to love and care for someone who could not help himself. Doctors came to my family and said Aaron may not make it through another week. I did not want to socialize with anyone; I completely shut myself off from others and everything around me. My children's father and I had ended our relationship. His mother had issues about her son and our relationship. This child lived for five months and two days.

I felt like it was too late for me to realize that maybe I could have given Aaron Jr. more love, hugs and kisses that he would have been still alive and well. After Aaron's death, I did not want to date again. I could not eat; I got little sleep. I just did not feel like I wanted to live anymore. I felt helpless, confused and punished by God. I felt suicidal. My daughter Tywanna saw at me crying often. People came over and said things like, "Well, you have a daughter. God knows what is best for you." I started crying anew, and I would go over to Tywanna and hug and kiss her. It was then that I realized how wonderful it is to have her. She did not know it, but her presence was what I needed then. She did not know but she was here for me. Her presence helped me with my sanity and to push for a better life.

I kept going to school. I graduated with my class. My children's father kept coming in and out of our lives. He had two jobs he helped when he felt like it. By my 18th birthday in 1986, Tywanna was ready for Head start. I tried dating again. My children's father wanted to come back in our lives. I accepted him because I always wanted my children to have their father, but that was a mistake. This time I was fed up with him, and I washed my hands of him. I did not want my child to see how he and I argued all the time. I could not take MY child out for a decent walk or stroller ride without seeing her father with another girl all hugged up or holding hands walking through the park.

When Tywanna would see her father she went through a tantrum to be with him. I've learned not to depend on a man or anyone. My mother always fussed at me because of how I used to treat my children's father. I would not let him see Tywanna, I would not let her go places with him. I would not talk to him when he called. My mother thought that I was just mean to him. My mother never knew why, until she walked into a nightclub and saw him.

In 1987, I became pregnant again by a different man. I moved to California. Being a single mom, I had a lot of problems. My first children's dad wanted me back into his life. I did not want him to see me pregnant again. I couldn't blame anyone but myself for all of this. I had so much stuff that I wanted to do. I felt like the friends and peers that I was in contact with had a lot to do with me achieving my goals in life. I will never forget the statement my mother made, "Red ain't going to do nothing but have babies all her life." From that day, I knew that I had something to prove to her. My mother would say things as if I did not belong to her. I felt that she favored my oldest sister and my baby brother.

My father felt that I needed to get stable for my children's sake. My father said it was not healthy for my children to be moving from place to place. I believed him. I hated having put my children through all my ups and downs. I was not pleased with myself yet. My mother had a stroke, so I packed my begs went back to Louisiana because I knew she needed me. I felt bad because I knew how she cared for her grandchildren and I took them away from her.

In 1989, my grandmother was the manager of some apartment on Sumpter in Houston, Texas. I moved to Houston, Texas. I had my two children with me. By this time, Tywanna was in the second grade; I enrolled my son in childcare. I enrolled in Houston training School for Registered Medical Assistant. There was plenty days that I wish I had my children's father to help me. There were plenty of days I cried because I honestly did not have much help after I moved out on my own. There were days I had no babysitter. So I took my children to class with me. I was so determined I even caught the bus on rainy days to school with my backpack on my back, one child on my hip and Tywanna by the hand. Sometimes, I cried that I had to take my kids out in bad weather, but I needed my education. In 1991, I moved to Oakland, Ca., and started working. My daughter met a friend in class whose parent would pick them up after school. My son was at a school from which my friend picked him up. There were nights I still cried. I had to budget every cent I made. I needed another change in my life. What I was looking for was love. I did not know who or where I was going to get it. I wanted my own apartment. I did not like living with people especially if they were not clean, and if my children were not happy, I was not happy. Finally, after no time,

I moved into my own apartment. A male friend of mine helped me. He gave me some household stuff he was not in need of. He helped me to go grocery shopping. My money did not reach the full amount of my rent payment, so my landlord agreed that I would keep her washroom and entry yard clean for the balance. I had to explain to my children that I needed another job to help make my other needs meet.

My second job did not have that many hours but the pay was ok. On my full-time job, if I had a chance to do a double, I tried to do as many as I could in a week. There were many days when I had my children there with me in the lobby or break room. I decided to quit my job and go back to school and be a full time mother to my children. It was a very hard decision to make.

Today I live in a low-income neighborhood. My complex has a unit of 22 tenants. All were single female mothers as head of household. Out of the 22 units, I saw only eight parents doing something positive and trying to strive toward a better life. The neighborhood in which I live is hard. The male role image is pitiful. You see drugs being passed from one young hand to the next. You see males beating on and cussing young females. The grounds and areas surrounding my complex stay filthy and nasty. I teach my children not to do the things they see. I want my kids to be respectful and have a goal, and, most of all, to believe in God. I have to remind my son what's going on with our Black men. Most of them are in jail. How this environment we live in is not good for him. I tell him that I dream of him being able to rise above the depression, obstacles, and Ghetto attitude to be a productive successful Black man.

I try to keep him exposed to something and/or someone positive. I show by example and not just by words. My son doesn't have a male figure to teach him sports he would like to play; he doesn't have a male role model in his life. He needs someone to teach him male oriented activities--fixing cars, fishing or bowling; someone to teach him how to approach and appeal to females when he gets older; someone to help him with science projects and experiments from a male prospective. He just needs male figure to love. In telling my story, I hope that I have chosen issues that single parents have faced throughout their lives. My life is still a challenge. I 'm trying to stay positive and trying to get a better job. Most of all, I am trying to keep JESUS in my life. []

Gibbs is withholding the writer's name for obvious reasons.
5/12/03