My Leadership Shero

My Aunt Alfredine

It was the summer of 1984, a sunny day filled with hope for what the fall would bring as a ninth grader at Detroit’s Cass Technical High School. Excited to be joining my sister, Sharon, and cousin Lillian, I still had some angst about being a “Freshie.” “Be careful of upperclassmen trying to sell you elevator passes; hide your Men and Nations book; and don’t look scared or lost,” they warned. Though I knew I wouldn’t be a sucker and buy a pass and was confident that I could keep my freshmen government book in my bag, I wasn’t so sure about not looking lost in this school of a few thousand. So on this sunny day, Cass’ guidance department head at the time, Mrs. Wiley as she was known to most—but my Aunt Alfredine because she was my mom’s best friend from college—invited me and another nervous would-be freshman to tour the halls of the eight-floor magnet school for the academically gifted. Because each floor’s design was basically the same, I was able to make mental notes of paths to the easy to find rooms and those in the dark, dreaded back hallways. I don’t remember having any anxiety the first day of school and I wasn’t targeted as a Freshie. My freshman experience was pleasant, and this was due in large part to the opportunity Auntie gave me that summer day in 1984. My continued confidence in life, especially in the area of leadership, comes from several opportunities from my awesome auntie, Alfredine Jordan Wiley.

Those who know Aunt Alfredine know that you truly believe you can fly when she talks to you. Always speaking in terms of “we,” you know she will have your back in whatever joint endeavor. But the event doesn’t have to be joint; if she knows she can help you and is available, she’s there, with a word, an action or a referral. In high school, she gave me my leadership start by allowing me to be an office aide and encouraging me to run for senior class secretary and president of AKA Teens (which I won), but she also encouraged me to try out for cheerleading and to run for Pep Club president (which I didn’t make). Whether good or bad she’s always made me feel I could achieve. As she moved her pointer finger slow like a gavel and her head shaking the same way with one eye closed and telling you her truth through pursed lips, she would always say something like, “You can’t win them all, but you know you’re good, Rhonda. You know you’re good.” And because she believed I was a good leader, as president of our sorority’s chapter she appointed me as co-chair and then chair of our founders’ day celebration, encouraged me twice to run for our chapter’s executive and foundation boards (which I won) and had me serve on a bunch of other committees. Often we were roommates (sometimes without my mother) at sorority conferences. We talked, shopped and dined together during these times and outside of them because our love for one another extended beyond leadership. She just knows how to make people feel special, and this she has done for me.

I thank her for teaching me how to mobilize and motivate people and love them unconditionally. And she taught her daughters to love that way, too. Never once did Lillian or Jennifer, my cousins and my sisterfriends, make me feel that I didn’t belong to their mother. They always called me the third daughter. I love Lillian and Jennifer because of our own bond but I appreciate them for sharing their mother with me and always knowing she had enough love for us all. Their capacity to love and share comes from a mother who has always wanted the best for all, even if that meant her going without. This educator, friend and leader is my Aunt Alfredine and I am proud to call her my shero.

Copyright by Rhonda J. Smith

Your Sweetness

Granny hosting a birthday party for a relative

For Brunice Lewis, Granny, on her 78th birthday
December 12, 2004

She is high and lifted up
Because she looks down, picks others up
You know who I’m talking about
Granny, Bern, Sybil, Ma, Auntie
No matter what the name
They are all the same
We talkin’ ‘bout Brunice Lewis
Cooking pies and cakes
Making dinners
Keeping dates
For Rob and Holmes
Whatever event
Call her home
She is there to make others happy and f(ph)at
Fortune and far-reaching fame
Aren’t her claims
Though money could be
If she didn’t share it with you and me.
She’s a saint
A local queen
Sits enthroned on Marlborough street
reigns supreme to meet your needs
You know who I’m talking about
She is your sweetness
The neighborhood piper
The wet eye wiper
You need a place to stay
You need an ear to hear
You need a voice to speak
You need a word to keep
You need cash in hand
You need a ride to get there
You go to the throne of sweetness
My sweetness
Your sweetness
She is royalty
Queenly inside and out
A heart overflowing
Hands and feet showing lots of love
She is your sweetness
My granny, your granny
Everyone’s sweetness
And we praise her
Your sweetness.

Copyright 2004-2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

My Hustler Granny

We’ve all heard the saying, “They don’t make them like that anymore,” talking about some appliance or person whose value is great because of perfection or endurance. This is what I can say about Granny, formally known as Brunice Lewis. I wrote about her when I started this blog in 2008. Granny was my husband’s grandmother but she was my granny too.

Granny, Andrina and Me, 1998


Granny liked me from the start, offering me her bed the first time we met, which was during the hour of my afternoon nap. I liked her, too, lying on her linen with little fear of saliva-scented and otherwise soiled sheets. From the beginning, being with Granny felt like home, and she taught me how to make a better one.

She came to Michigan from Alabama when she was 15, finding day work with a rich family in the old money city of Grosse Pointe, Michigan. Her day work often turned into night work, cleaning, cooking and caring for her employer’s business and children. She wasn’t ashamed of her work but let it work to her advantage. Though she was hired to cook, she learned additional culinary skills and put them to use as a caterer. Granny learned how to invest her money and used it and her time to invest in people. She taught me how to garden; I know when to plant what, how to dead head and pull weeds, and how to separate overgrown plants and transplant them and other plants. And because of Granny, I know how to make homemade sausage and Red Velvet cake. I met Granny because of my husband, but our relationship went beyond him.

Like with her daughter, Andrina, my mother-in-love, Granny and I shopped, talked on the phone and dined together. Most times it was Granny, Andrina and me. And sometimes they would call me on the three-way and say they wanted to buy me an outfit, just because. Other times Granny would just make me some beans and cornbread or a Red Velvet cake, just because. But I know her service wasn’t just because, it was because she loved me. And, oh, how I loved her.

I admired her for her grit and her wit and for just being an all around hustler. She knew how to make a dollar because she couldn’t depend on any industry. She was her own industry, making and selling pies, cakes, single dishes and whole dinners, and cleaning homes. Even with her busyness until her ailing days, Granny had a tremendous capacity to love. Her memory challenges me to step it up, keep it up and never forget about people. And for that she was truly my shero.

Copyright 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

The Greatest Mother-in-Love

My mother-in-love, Andrina, and me

She cooks and cleans for him, calling him daily to make sure things are going okay. She helps with his bills and cares for his children. He’s spoiled. And each calculated act is meant to show him how much he needs her. This is not the woman of a single dad’s dreams, but the woman in a wife’s nightmares: the mother-in-law from the crucible below. I have heard this story about the antagonistic mother-in-law and the outraged daughter-in-law and the clueless son who just wants peace. I thank God that my mother-in-law is not my nightmare but indeed one of my really good friends. Andrina Smith, my mother-in-love, has been a good friend of mine for a while, but in the beginning I had my concerns.

The first time we met was at her church. She was in the choir so I would meet her after the service. She and her girlfriends seemed to be in a competition about who would meet me first so a few ran to introduce themselves and then with satisfying smirks turned to the choir to chide Andrina, who frowned back at them. All the jockeying seemed to be more about them and less about me. During our second encounter, she continually spoke to me about this Christian conference she intended and focused heavily on the evangelistic information. She didn’t catch my ‘don’t bother me’ cues so she kept sharing and sharing even though I wasn’t looking at her, my body was turned away from her, and I was trying to listen to the host who was beginning the program we were attending; she carried on, only stopping when someone needed her. And another close encounter was her trying to convince me of theological views regarding women that I believed to be untrue. All this was before I married her son. And I still did because I knew God sent him to me and I eventually figured Andrina was just being Andrina.

More talks, prayer and grace got us past these tough spots. I realized Andrina and her friends were happy to meet someone her son thought was worth meeting and she wanted to make sure that I wasn’t a heathen who would try to run him. I don’t know what made her believe I was okay, but when she invited me to a conference with her and her friends and to share a room with all of them, she won me over. I wasn’t even married to her son but with three days and two nights with her, there was no doubt that her expression toward me was real.

She is a take charge kind of woman, my kind of woman, and I love her so dearly. My mother-in-love is a fun-loving, soul-caring, powerhouse of a Christian woman who loves me like I came from her womb. We’ve traveled together, shopped together, prayed together, warfared together, cried together, laughed together and have totally disagreed. She is definitely someone that I would have chosen as my friend. I’m so glad God sent her to me, giving me another mother and another shero.

Copyright 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

Main Attraction

A Tribute to My Grandmother, Verlenia Thomas
For her homegoing service—February 22, 2005

She’s a star
Shining real bright
Beyond celestial clouds
Penetrating life
Making light from darkness.

She is there
Watching, waiting, hoping, praying that we get it
Understand the seasons of things:
A time to live and a time to die
A time to build up and a time to break down
A time to straighten up and fly
Fly right
Fly right
Get it right to meet her in glory.

She’s watching, waiting, hoping, praying
Beyond celestial clouds
Penetrating life
Making light from darkness
Waiting to be that angel who rejoices when a sinner becomes a saint.

She doesn’t just want you happy you knew her.
She wants you to know him.
She wants you to know Jesus.
Not a said faith. Not a going to church faith. Not an unsure faith.
A real faith. An intimate faith.
A faith like I know my career.
A faith like I know how to shop.
A faith like I know how to negotiate.
A faith like I know how to hustle.

She wants you to get to know him in the pardoning of your sins
To help you do away with your sins
To walk like her
To walk like Christ.

You’re not too young to do it
Not too old to change
You’re not all right just because you tithe or your name is on the roll.

She wants you to get to know him in the pardoning of your sins
To help you do away with your sins
To walk like her
To walk like Christ.

She was a classy lady, full of grace, a sage, organized, an administrator, great storyteller, a clown, recycler, dollar stretcher, fancy hat and shoe wearer, cook extraordinaire, loyal friend, full of common sense, a tower of physical, mental and spiritual strength. She was all that through God’s grace.

You want some
Come and get some.
Come to Jesus while you still have time.
And when it’s your time you will see her and all her watching, waiting, hoping and praying won’t be in vain.

Copyright 2005-2010 by Rhonda J. Smith