Single Parenting in the 90s

I distinctly recall moving into Castlewood Apartments around 1997. The apartments we lived in then were nothing compared to what they are today. Our previous one-bedroom home, where my father had taken us after a neglectful transition from Virginia Beach, was cramped. I remember sleeping on a sleeping bag on the faux wood floor of the living room during third grade. The place was near a wooded area, and occasionally, a massive cockroach would appear, sending shivers down my spine. I had to part with my beloved Christmas gift, my first dog, which was taken away and handed to the ASPCA—an unwelcoming start in what we called “Hood Castlewood.”

Upon arriving at the new apartment complex, my father dropped us off and disappeared. We were left without a vehicle or food.

A side note: I’m about to disclose some truths about my father that may paint him in a negative light. He was merely human, and this reflection honors my mother, not him. While I can recount his story later, this narrative is centered on her sacrifices and the significant impact she had on my life.

Within the walls of that apartment, we were fortunate to have our old furniture. It marked a fresh beginning for my mother, who had endured countless arguments about finances and infidelity. She found herself on the path to divorce and faced the challenge of becoming a single mother. After years of raising children at home, she had to dust off her degree and re-enter the workforce urgently.

Finding employment proved challenging. Despite the low unemployment rate during Bill Clinton’s presidency, being a Black woman made it difficult for her to secure a job in her field.

The poverty rate for Black single mothers stood at a staggering 40.8% in 1998, a reality far worse than today.

Despite the odds, like many mothers of her time, she set aside her pride and took whatever jobs she could find—working at Blockbuster Video, Harris Teeter, and Home Economist among others. Each day, she walked to work, enduring long hours on her feet, her soles calloused and swollen. I often massaged her feet while she sipped on Diet Caffeine Free Coke and watched T.D. Jakes or Joyce Meyer on the Trinity Broadcast Network. Her dedication and faith were unwavering; she promised me we wouldn’t have to mix powdered milk with tap water for much longer.

And she was right.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Eventually, we stopped relying on government-issued food. Instead, we shopped for groceries at Harris Teeter—the same store where she worked. Each shopping trip involved pushing our cart over the crabgrass-ridden hill back to our apartment, a small victory we celebrated. Despite our progress, my mother was still struggling.

To pay rent and put food on the table, she often withdrew cash from multiple credit cards. The divorce attorney's fees added to her financial burdens. When she couldn’t afford consultations to build a fair case in court, she turned to nine-year-old me for help. I vividly remember sitting at our old IBM desktop creating court documents with our names on them. My sister was away at college, but I was her only hope.

Looking back, I can only imagine the desperation she felt asking me for help. All she desired was a fair trial and adequate child support to care for me, requiring a fierce fight in court.

And fight she did, with my assistance. We printed necessary documents at the local library, where the first five pages were free, making every penny count.

Reflecting now, I realize she had numerous options that might have made things easier. She could have sent me to live with a family member or pushed me onto my father, but she chose to keep me. She refused to back down; no challenge would separate us.

Brighter Days Ahead

Through the thick fog of debt and a challenging divorce, my mother persevered. We eventually got our Dodge Caravan back, eliminating the need for long walks to the grocery store. She returned to social work after years of working various jobs to keep us fed.

In retrospect, I feel a sense of selfishness. I didn’t fully appreciate the lengths she went to ensure I had a stable home without hunger. When Air Jordans were priced at $100, she bought me a pair because I had good grades, even if my clothing came from layaway at Value City or TJ Maxx. While I may not have had everything I wanted, I always had what I needed. I didn’t get regular haircuts until high school, as the cost was simply too much.

Despite the challenges, my mother was resilient. She provided me with a loving home, instilled discipline, and equipped me with essential life skills. She taught me the value of hard work, the importance of faith, and how to treat others with respect.