Kendra Jones
Selma, AL
My grandmother carried her moniker with pride, though it has a dubious beginning: At six weeks of age my mother was given away to an aunt I refer to as my grandmother. My mother’s biological mother meant it as an insult when she said, “Oh, just go to your mammy.” But “Mammy” stuck, and Mammy was the person I loved most in the world, the woman who adopted my mother and who showed both of us how to unconditionally love. But I dare not utter her name in public, for individuals–especially black women– bristle with offense. And though this is the only name I have for her, I speak it only to those who knew her.
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