Day 29 - Gladys Cere Simmons

She never had a driver’s license, but she drove everywhere she wanted. Well, maybe not everywhere, or even, not beyond Tuscarora-Rhem Road, but certainly, she traveled extensively up and down that particular road. Whether in the white truck – with its gear shaft on the stirring wheel - transporting sticks in the back, or the blue truck, transporting looped tobacco on sticks on the back, Gladys Cere Simmons owned the road.

There’s no denying that my paternal grandmother, Gladys Cere was brilliant, strong, strong-willed, resilient, determined, high achieving, straightforward, and most importantly, an advocate for the best of everything for her children. A hard worker, she was my grandfather’s partner in farming. Never working outside the home but working within the home creating an atmosphere of “tough love” for education and high achievement. 

As long as I was an enrolled student anywhere, MaMa would always ask, “Angie, you getting your lesson?” Education was extremely important to her. Entering law school, I was naïve about the costs of law books. Well, my grandmother, the champion of education, jumped right in and paid for my first year, first semester law books, and that was no cheap cost. 

She was ingenious, styling the early morning tobacco field attire for the women ensuring that we remained dry from the morning dew, trademarking, what my cousin called, her “assembly line chitterlings” that found the entire family involved in washing them outside by the “packhouse” with just a little bit of washing powder, and marketing, as an ardent spokeswoman for Cheer and Woolite. On a side note, Lowe’s, the hardware store, would absolutely no longer receive the marketing or support from my grandmother.

On the tobacco harvester, my grandmother was the greeter for those who traveled Tuscarora-Rhem Road. We always giggled when she spoke: “Hi, alright.” It was particularly funny because they obviously couldn’t hear her, it would always be followed by “that looked like so and so”, and it was the melodious sing-song way she greeted. 

She was righteously obsessed with cleanliness, neatness, and tidiness. A fly stood no chance against this formidable foe for everything would cease until “that old nasty fly” met its end. 

We would hold our coughs until we gaged, for if we coughed, “Brown’s Mixture” would appear from the cabinet, and we’d have to stomach its revolting taste. A bath from MaMa meant that you’d be sore for several weeks for she was the ultimate “scrubbologist.” Your knees and your elbows were to be blended into the rest of your coloring. Period. This was her mission each time you “underwent” a bathing from her. (See above about cleanliness.)

Well into her 70s, she still wore high heels because she felt they made her legs look nicer.

Black stockings were after 5ish. 

Wearing “blood red” was out of the question. 

People kissing on television caused the television screen to be turned into blackness, quickly. 

And, my cousin Temerial still doesn’t know what happened to Catsup, her dog, or her yellow sweater and black skirt. 

My grandmother never hinted around to you. You knew what she liked, and what she didn’t like. I’ve even made Cere a verb. When my grandmother didn’t like something you had, or you wore it too much, she’d hide it or get rid of it. Who knows? Example: I’m going to Cere that shirt.

We, my cousin and brothers, would always joke about creating a show entitled, “Ask Cere” where people would call in and ask her random questions to which she would respond in Cere fashion. We all knew that “Ask Cere” would dethrone “Dear Abby” easily. My grandmother was a natural comedienne and was quick! She had a comeback game better than some of the best. 

As I write about this remarkably revolutionary woman, I’m laughing when I remember how she could brighten any room, naturally. 

Now, the story doesn’t end there though because the other side of this is … or, the word on the street was that she wasn’t to be messed with. She could hold her own. Let’s just say, I saw brief glimpses. 

There’s not a day that passes that I don’t quote my grandmother, that I don’t think, “uh, I know what Cere would say about that!” My mother and I always laugh at my father because we see her in him so much. My grandmother transitioned in 2012.

My grandmother found absolutely no joy in taking pictures and would probably be quite upset with me posting this, but I’m honoring her, her life and her impact on mine.

I hated it then, but today, every time I pass a tobacco patch, I think of her particularly. I was never in a good mood those early mornings we had to “put in” tobacco, who would be? After all, as my brother Torrence would say, “Tobacco is an evil weed.” She would spot my mood and say, “the baby isn’t in a good mood.”  The last time I heard her say that, I was 24 years old and thought my tobacco days should have long been over.

Looking back, the tobacco field: served as an impetus for me – I left for college early thinking I could escape it (I couldn’t); provided me an amazing amount of time to spend with my family, particularly, my grandmother; gave me an understanding of the sacrifices that my grandparents made for my father and his sisters. 

MaMa would always say to me, “Angie, try not to be so much like MaMa.” 

Truth is, why wouldn’t I want to be?

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