Nick by Brittany Bellevue My mother, Marie-Nicole Bellevue is a beautiful 41 year old single parent to four (in her opinion)

hard headed children that she undoubtedly adores. She is kind, compassionate and loving, slightly open minded, very stubborn, and although it may sound odd to say, at the moment the love my life. Like most children I have always thought of my mother as my role model and a great exemplifier of what should and shouldnt be done. Since I can remember, I have always viewed her as someone I can look up to, go to for words of wisdom and/or advice, and basically lead me in the right direction during my many sidetracked wonderings. However, I understand there isnt too much I know about her, at least personally when I really think about it. My siblings in I view her as mom, mommy, mother, madre; possibly just like one would view a teacher as simply...teacher. Does a personal life and history actually exist for these authoritative figures in our lives? One of the biggest questions Ive always wanted to know is exactly how she met my father and built a relationship with him. They have always seemed like polar opposites to me and since his passing in December of 2001, there hasnt ever been much said about him besides the oh so once in the blue moon general blas references. So one evening I sat down with her in our chilly living room, scented with burned blueberry incense and decided to try and get some answers out of her. Marie-Nicole or as Ive referred to her ever since I can remember, Nick, was born on January 21, 1971 in Eight Mile Rock of Nassau, Bahamas. She tells me about growing up there on the Islands until she came to Miami, Florida at the age of six. Although this I already know, Nick, like my younger brother Johnnian, enjoys setting up the dramatics and backdrops, so I let her continue. She recalls running around with her brothers and sisters in the small house they shared with other relatives and long ago memories eating conch on the beach. I listen to her continue to talk about fresh seafood, playing in the sun and sloshing in the rain without a care. You have never seen clear water until youve seen the beaches of Bahamas, she tells me. You can actually find a penny in the water, its so clear, she assures me. Although I have never been to her homeland, I believe her. Resorting to our always playful behavior towards one another, with a circular winding dance of my right wrist, I motion for her to move the story along. Ignoring the push she continues her little stories of what she remembers of the Bahamas. Although Ive heard them a thousand times, I listen to her tell them as if its all news to me. Secretly, I love hearing about her childhood, but I really want to know about her and my father.

Soon enough, Nick begins telling me about how after her mother died when my mom was thirteen from cancer, she was forced to stay with her emotionally abusive older sister, Joanna. Scrunching up my face, I cant help but order up feelings of disdain and resentment for the woman; for my oldest aunt, but I let her proceed with the story. At the age of sixteen, my mother mentioned how she left Opa Locka, where she stayed with her sister, for Miami Beach. She left everything behind: school, friends, family, and the job she had at 163 Street Malls food court. There she stayed in Miami Beach for a few years with an older friend she made along the way. Two and a half years later, she met my father, Johnnian Eugene at a get together of a friend of a friend (Apparently my father seemed to have known everyone!). He was a 26 year old refugee from the Bahamas. Ironically, they both--my mother and father--were from the same town and even born in the same hospital. He was seven years her senior and in her words a smooth talker. He was quite charming for a man who spent most of his life in poverty until coming to the States at seventeen. He had a gold tooth on the side and boy did he know how to dress!, Nick says. Me, myself I find that hard to believe when I think of the long untouched old pictures of him in the back of my closet hidden beneath copious amounts of dust. Johnny was probably the most caring man that I had ever met at the time, my mother adds, looking somewhat thoughtful. I know he was not the love of her life, but I cant help but wonder if she ever misses him even though they hadnt been together since my youngest brother who is now fourteen was born. She continues, What attracted me to him the most was his willingness to give without any reciprocation. I found that wholeheartedly admirable about him. With very little money, my parents built a rocky life together. At 19 years old, exactly two weeks before her twentieth birthday and three days before my fathers, my mom gave birth to me on January 3, 1991 at Jackson Memorial Hospital on a Thursday morning. She tells me how much he fell in love with me and thought I was the most beautiful thing with my big oddly black, curly hair. My mother went on to have three more children with my father who desperately loved the next child as much as the one before. I wanted to know about my parents relationship but I feel as though my mother gave me the watered down version of it all. I feel as though I have gaped through a crack of her history with my father, but I havent learned much. I know she doesnt want me to think ill of him for what he did and didnt do, but one day Id like to learn and know more than what she thinks I should. Shes a beautiful strong woman that I adore and that I would like to really know. I dont want to always think of her simply as...teacher.