I started dating a new girl in March of 1968. We met at the White Rose for my fraternity. Our chapter was being installed as Lambda Chi Alpha’s Lambda Tau. I had pledged the prior fall, and after almost getting black balled, I was assigned to help guys who didn’t have dates get dates for our induction ceremony and White Rose. I didn’t have any spare girlfriends, but I knew how to get things done.
My date, Maryann, came from Central Michigan. I met her while she was a student at Kalamazoo’s Nazareth College. I knew that she and another friend, Sue, from Nazareth could help me find single women who’d like to go to such an event. Nice dinner, dancing, and an after party at my apartment. They found the girls and I paired them up with my dateless fraternity brothers. I based my matches on information I receive from Maryann and Sue, because I didn’t have another means at my disposal. Part of the deal was I’d find dates for a similar number of girls the following week when Nazareth was having a big dance. It was one of those you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’s kind of deal.
One of the single girl’s name was Aleta. I had matched her with a guy name Todd. I didn’t meet her at the dance, but she and Todd came to our after party. That’s where we met, and I decided that night to assign myself to her for the Nazareth dance.
After the Nazareth dance she and I became an item. In May she drove with me on Mother’s Day to see my mom. Mom, my dad, and my youngest sister, Jackie, drove up to Mt. Pleasant to visit my sister, Sharron, at Central Michigan. On the way from Kalamazoo, I stopped and bought my mom a plant at a flower shop. It was an African violet.
I didn’t know anything about violets except that my mom’s mom raised them. I made the connection when we stopped at the florist. The connection to my grandmother, and the fact that it was an inexpensive purchase, guided my decision.
Grandma and Grandpa Barner had a large back room in their home on Detroit’s Phillip Avenue. Grandma filled the room with at least nine large fish tanks full of guppies. She needed several tanks for her fish because her guppies ate their young. She sorted the babies from their parents until they were able to survive on their own.
The tanks were surrounded by dozens of African violets that Grandma raised. It seemed like an unusual combination, but Grandma had a lot of hobbies. I saw her take cuttings from mature violet plants, place them in a small glass of water, and wait for the roots to emerge. When the roots were stable, she’d transfer the plant into a pot.
After I bought my mom her plant in 1968, she revived the hobby her mom had started. When I’d go home to visit, it wasn’t unusual to see three or four African violet plants developing their roots in “shot glasses” in the kitchen window. Once they were stable, she’d transfer them to a flowerpot. She had several on a multileveled plant stand that she proudly displayed in her home.
When my oldest son, David, was in college, he decided to get a tattoo. It was his name, Tebo. The O in the artistry, was a basketball going through a basketball net. He displayed it proudly after Ruth and I had our chance to declare our dismay with his decision. It was one of those, you raise them to be independent and then they decide to do things that you don’t like moments.
I’m not sure what guided his decision, but for twenty-plus years, it sat alone. Not long ago he decided to expand his artwork. He’s done it in stages. He started by paying tribute to his grandparents. His salute to his Grandma Tebo was African violets with all their purple splendor. A couple a weeks ago he added a bee near the violets to salute his sister, Elizabeth, aka BZ. The bee was added by San Diego’s tattoo artist, Arturo Laparra. Arturo illustrated BZ’s book, The Elephant on Aaron’s Chest.
Life is a series of seemingly unrelated connections, but I can’t help but wonder if my new girlfriend hadn’t suggested that we stop at a florist on our way to Mt. Pleasant on May 12, 1968, if African violets would have still become such an important part of our family’s life. I also wonder what this May 12th Mother’s Day blog would have been about if I hadn’t purchased that violet fifty-six years ago.
Today.