When I was 6 years old, I went on a 3,000-mile car trip with my mom, dad, sister Becky, and grandmother, Mamaw Audie Brown. Dad drove 95 to 100 miles per hour for countless hours on endless highways in his gigantic yacht-like Cadillac. No safety belts or cell phones in those days. Good times!
Mamaw Audie, whom I adored, would tell me and my sister ghost stories in the back seat. Mom was Audie’s only child and we always felt we belonged to her. She was a young and sassy grandmother to us, although she had experienced a harsh and cruel childhood herself.
When she was 6 years old, she was in an accident where she lost her leg from a gunshot wound. Shortly after the accident, her mother died while giving birth to her baby brother. She was poor, an orphan and handicapped, all by the age of six. All of this trauma somehow made her the best grandmother in the world.
I was always comfortable with Mamaw as she would take her leg on and off as needed. I grew up watching her navigate her prosthesis. From my perspective, having only one leg never stopped her from doing anything. She was confident, well-spoken, and strong. She fished, gardened, and, had she not been raised at the Louisiana Baptist Children’s Home, I’m sure would have danced. This is how I saw her. She was never a victim.
Meanwhile, on the trip, Dad would stop every few hours for us to use the restrooms and make us run and stretch. Then, he would buy enough sweets and junk food to induce a group diabetic coma, which was a mandatory tradition for all Fluitt road trips. When we finally reached New York City and got settled in our hotel room, it felt like a different world coming from Louisiana; skyscrapers in a concrete jungle.
Mamaw Audie had not traveled much in her life, so this was a new experience for her as well. We took off on foot to sightsee and stroll around near the Empire State Building. While walking down the street, Mamaw held me and my sisters’ hands tightly. Forty-five years old, wearing bright red lipstick and a belted dressed, Mamaw was beautiful and fierce. We had zero fear when she was near us.
To our surprise, we encountered our first openly homeless beggar. Mamaw was accosted by this man who was on crutches. He looked pitiful, unshaven, disheveled, and was wearing shorts that exposed his amputation. He said to her, “Lady, can you give me some money?” Mamaw ignored him and kept walking. I said “Mamaw, why don’t you help that poor man? Please give him some money. He only has one leg.” I guess I pushed her “Tilt” button with that statement. Mamaw turned back towards the homeless beggar and gave him a speech that I will never forget.
She nailed “Victimhood” clearly and schooled him for 10 minutes, hardly taking a breath, on how pathetic he was for utilizing his handicap as a parasite to society. Little did this beggar know that Mamaw had a prosthetic herself. She hiked up her dress high on the right side and thumped her wooden leg saying, “Losing a leg is no excuse. Get a job! You just approached the wrong sucker!” He replied, “Damn, Lady, I just asked for some money, not a speech.” Her famous last words to him, as we walked away were, “Don’t like my peaches, don’t shake my tree!”
I had never seen wrath come out of my beloved grandmother like this. It was an indelible memory that led to an awareness of the “Art of Victimhood,” which is kryptonite to man’s true divine purpose; a treasured learning.
Thanks, Mamaw!