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Ali asked, “Nana, why didn’t you go to college then?”

“She was always smart, but it was not easy for a young person to go to college at that time,” Aunt Hattie told him. “Especially not for a young Black woman from a poor family.”

“We’re talking almost eighty years ago, remember!” Aunt Connie chimed in. “That’s why you should be especially proud of your great-grandmother for working so hard and getting her degree from Howard later on. She did that all on her own.”

Nana smiled a little sadly. “That dream.”

My grandmother told us about meeting my paternal grandfather, Reggie Cross, two years after her marriage to Walker Arnold was annulled. He was tall, rugged, and a merchant mariner.

“Like marry man of sea,” she said, and coughed. “Make money. Time, no. Jason born. Something not right Reggie. He say, Make more money. He gone.”

Aunt Hattie said, “Which meant he was away from home and at sea more.”

“Raise baby. Alone. Aunt El. But she old.”

Then Reggie decreased the amount of money he was sending her for rent and groceries, claiming he was having trouble getting on higher-paying crews. To make ends meet, my grandmother went back to work as a cleaner.

“Got me jail almost,” Nana Mama said, sighing.

“You?” I said, shocked at the idea.

Slowly, haltingly, Nana explained that shortly after returning to work cleaning, she was questioned about missing jewelry and silverware at one wealthy household. Of course she hadn’t stolen anything, but she knew who had.

“Knew who. Knew why,” she said. “Live-in maid, three kids. But I fired.”

Bree said, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

My grandmother shrugged. “She have mouths feed. Right thing. But hurt.”

Nana Mama said it was even more painful a few months later when her aunt Eleanor died, and she discovered that the real reason Reggie had started to be stingy was that he was also giving money to a mistress in Newport News. Shortly after Jason’s seventh birthday, she confronted her husband about it, and he’d turned violent.

“Like Walker… Reggie hit. I must think me, my life.”

Aunt Connie Lou said, “That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, I suppose.”

My grandmother lifted her chin and shook her head. “I see papers, bank. Reggie angry. Say me, I good nothing. Clean toilets.”

Bree said, “And that was the straw that broke it.”

“Mmm.”

Nana’s aunt Eleanor had left her almost a thousand dollars, which was enough back then to finance her first steps to independence. So the day my grandfather left to return to his lover or the sea—she could not remember which—my grandmother packed up her things and, with Jason, boarded a train bound for Washington, DC.

“I cook diner breakfast,” Nana recalled. “After I, Jason, walk Howard.”

This story I knew because it was part of the family legend. My grandmother was a tiny person even then, barely five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet. But she made sure that the administration and admissions officers knew exactly who she was and what she was doing, which was bettering herself.

Damon said, “And your grit and determination finally won them over.”

“Mmm,” Nana Mama said. “I get honors, speak, graduate.”

I remembered all of Nana’s stories and was able to fill in the blanks. My grandmother had refused to settle when it came to her life and her son’s. She’d told me that in too many ways to count, her life was a miracle because of that.

“No forget dreams,” she said hoarsely now. “You become dreams because believe. Up to you. Say life no good? Up to you. Make life masterpiece.”

Silence fell over the room. Finally Damon said with shining eyes, “As far as I’m concerned, Nana, your life was and is a masterpiece.”

“Amen to that,” Aunt Hattie said, and Aunt Connie seconded her.