be so angry at me. As the sun descended on the best and worst day of my life, I had never felt more confused. Maybe Mikey and Traci are right , I thought. Maybe I should just take the deal. After rehearsing the episode over and over again in my head, I cried myself to sleep.
At ten the next morning, I finally called Greg.
“How did it go with your mother?” he asked.
“Not good,” I said.
“I told you it wasn’t going to be good, Toni,” he said. “So what are you going to do now?”
I drew in a breath. “I’m going to sign,” I finally said.
That was the beginning of my guilt. In the coming years, I did everything I could to help my sisters get their big break. I took them along with me to events and award shows. I hired them to be my background singers. I introduced them to other artists and music execs. I even helped them secure their own record deal on LaFace records. Yet in spite of how much I invested, they never experienced the same level of fame that I did. So I carried that weight through every part of my career. Through six Grammy Awards. Through sixty million records sold around the world. Through two humiliating bankruptcies, a heart-wrenching divorce, and an illness that still threatens my life. And at every major milestone along my path, my mother’s admonition echoed in the background: “Don’t forget your sisters.”
I didn’t. In fact, since the day Mommy made it clear that my success was to always be split five ways, I’ve fought to be sure that my sisters could share their voices. What I didn’t expect is that I’d somehow lose my own.
Until now.
My answer was yes to the solo deal—but it was the saddest yes I’ve ever given. Exactly one week after I signed, I traded the only home I’d known for an unfamiliar world just over the horizon. What I’d discover during my journey would change me forever.
CHAPTER 2
Country Life in the Suburbs
M y mother, Evelyn, was barely thirteen when her own mom sent her off to a new world. “You’re going to stay with your aunt Juanita in Severn,” my grandmother Beulah Jackson told her. Juanita—Beulah’s sister—had tried for many years to have children with her husband, Roland, but the couple was infertile. So in the summer of 1962, when Aunt Juanita drove down to visit her sister in Cayce, South Carolina, the two made an agreement: My aunt would take one of Beulah’s nine children back to Severn to raise. My mother—who was the second youngest among her siblings—was that child.
Mommy actually wanted to go. You’d think she would’ve been reluctant to leave her family and live in a different state—but she was eager to experience some freedom. Aunt Juanita had always been particularly fond of my mother, so it wasn’t all that surprising that she chose her to adopt. “You’re so lucky,” said Mommy’s sister Vernaree, who’d wanted to be picked. Earthaleen, who, unlike my mother, had actually visited Aunt Juanita in Severn, seemed unimpressed. “It was just okay,” she told Mommy when she returned from a trip there. But Aunt Juanita described her home so beautifully: “There’s a big house and a white picket fence, with red roses cascading all around it,” she said. Mommy couldn’t wait.
When my mother showed up on Queenstown Road in Severn, the “big house” turned out to be a small trailer. Aunt Juanita and Uncle Roland (I called him “Ro Ro”) had inherited a few acres from my uncle’s family right after they married, and on that land, they lived in a two-bedroom trailer; Mommy moved into their second bedroom. Though the surrounding neighborhood was mostly filled with Caucasians, all of Queenstown Road was owned by traditional African-American families—and many of those families were somehow related to each other. Like my family, a lot of them had moved to Maryland from down south. When they showed up in Severn, they brought part of their Southern lifestyle with them—the traditions of canning and
At ten the next morning, I finally called Greg.
“How did it go with your mother?” he asked.
“Not good,” I said.
“I told you it wasn’t going to be good, Toni,” he said. “So what are you going to do now?”
I drew in a breath. “I’m going to sign,” I finally said.
That was the beginning of my guilt. In the coming years, I did everything I could to help my sisters get their big break. I took them along with me to events and award shows. I hired them to be my background singers. I introduced them to other artists and music execs. I even helped them secure their own record deal on LaFace records. Yet in spite of how much I invested, they never experienced the same level of fame that I did. So I carried that weight through every part of my career. Through six Grammy Awards. Through sixty million records sold around the world. Through two humiliating bankruptcies, a heart-wrenching divorce, and an illness that still threatens my life. And at every major milestone along my path, my mother’s admonition echoed in the background: “Don’t forget your sisters.”
I didn’t. In fact, since the day Mommy made it clear that my success was to always be split five ways, I’ve fought to be sure that my sisters could share their voices. What I didn’t expect is that I’d somehow lose my own.
Until now.
My answer was yes to the solo deal—but it was the saddest yes I’ve ever given. Exactly one week after I signed, I traded the only home I’d known for an unfamiliar world just over the horizon. What I’d discover during my journey would change me forever.
CHAPTER 2
Country Life in the Suburbs
M y mother, Evelyn, was barely thirteen when her own mom sent her off to a new world. “You’re going to stay with your aunt Juanita in Severn,” my grandmother Beulah Jackson told her. Juanita—Beulah’s sister—had tried for many years to have children with her husband, Roland, but the couple was infertile. So in the summer of 1962, when Aunt Juanita drove down to visit her sister in Cayce, South Carolina, the two made an agreement: My aunt would take one of Beulah’s nine children back to Severn to raise. My mother—who was the second youngest among her siblings—was that child.
Mommy actually wanted to go. You’d think she would’ve been reluctant to leave her family and live in a different state—but she was eager to experience some freedom. Aunt Juanita had always been particularly fond of my mother, so it wasn’t all that surprising that she chose her to adopt. “You’re so lucky,” said Mommy’s sister Vernaree, who’d wanted to be picked. Earthaleen, who, unlike my mother, had actually visited Aunt Juanita in Severn, seemed unimpressed. “It was just okay,” she told Mommy when she returned from a trip there. But Aunt Juanita described her home so beautifully: “There’s a big house and a white picket fence, with red roses cascading all around it,” she said. Mommy couldn’t wait.
When my mother showed up on Queenstown Road in Severn, the “big house” turned out to be a small trailer. Aunt Juanita and Uncle Roland (I called him “Ro Ro”) had inherited a few acres from my uncle’s family right after they married, and on that land, they lived in a two-bedroom trailer; Mommy moved into their second bedroom. Though the surrounding neighborhood was mostly filled with Caucasians, all of Queenstown Road was owned by traditional African-American families—and many of those families were somehow related to each other. Like my family, a lot of them had moved to Maryland from down south. When they showed up in Severn, they brought part of their Southern lifestyle with them—the traditions of canning and
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