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getting some sense, she thought. She’s finally managed to keep something from Jackson. Yes, that child is getting more and more like me every day.

3

    For Once in My Life
     
    Thinking over her mother’s words, Ginger headed for the bathroom. She knew that the only thing that would take her mind off Jackson was a trip to the mall. She placed her cosmetic tray next to the sink and began applying her makeup. As she reached for the translucent powder, she studied the large veins in her right hand for the second time that day.
    She turned her attention back to the mirror and used a thick sable brush to stroke her face with a thin layer of golden flecked powder. Ginger looked younger than she was, but after seventeen years in a factory, her body didn’t feel youthful.
    Jackson’s reaction earlier bothered her more than she cared to admit. She wanted his approval. She needed his approval, and his unconditional love. If she accepted less from life, how could she expect her kids to make that giant step and struggle for independence? She had drilled it into their heads for years: “After college, work at a place of business for a couple of years, then strike out, after you’ve learned the tools of the trade, and work for yourself.”
    Ginger wanted to set an example for her children. To teach them the importance of education. Especially for her two sons, who thought athletes were it. Though she loved sports, and had nothing but praise for superstars like Magic Johnson, Isiah Thomas, Shaquille O’Neal, and Clyde Drexler, she wanted them to understand that sports couldn’t always secure a future. She’d told Jason and Christian that though she took pride in watching the Black male superstars excel in their chosen fields, she wanted her sons to be able to fly not just in a game, like Michael Jordan, but to fly in life.
    Most children desire to do things for themselves. Ginger knew that it was up to her to instill in her children a strong sense of self-knowledge and an understanding of the power of God. So much to teach them in so short a time. Would they listen? God willing . . . Would they trust in her learned knowledge about life? God willing . . . Would they respect her decisions as a parent, as their mother? God willing.
    Children . . . her children, the living art of God and man, a product of nature. Like a web of God, spinning out of itself — a pattern, a design, a geometry, a journey back to God himself. Oftentimes we see ourselves better through our children. We connect with our feelings. These feelings become knowing . Ginger knew her life was not the example God wanted her to set for her children. How could she expect so much of them if she didn’t fulfill her own destiny?
    She knew that she had to trust in the power of God that was within her. Ginger crossed her palms over her chest. Her spirit and part of her blood were running through each of her children’s bodies. She felt the deep beat of her heart. Time . . . life . . . love . . . children.
    Jason stood outside her bedroom door and tapped twice before he entered the room. Peeping around to see what his mother had been doing in there so long, he stared wide-eyed into her sad face. “Mama, Kim’s on the phone,” said Jason. “You want me to tell her to call back later?”
    “No, that’s all right, Jason.” She forced a smile. She hated for her son to see her so depressed; she always wanted to project a positive attitude. “Tell her just a minute.” Placing the unused Q-tips and sponge wedges back in their containers, she wiped away the traces of powder staining the white porcelain of the sink. “Jason,” she called out, after he’d left the room. He poked his head back around the door. “Are the kids okay?”
    “Fine, Ma. I fed them some pizza downstairs. They’re watching cartoons.”
    “Pizza for breakfast, Jason?” She picked up the receiver.
    “Yo, Mama. Chill. It won’t hurt ’em.” He bounded from the room, before