No Matter When You Are - - There Was A Beginning by realstone20018

"Mama! Mama!" The tone of voice became more urgent with each word.

"What is it little man?" Patience annoyance could be heard in the second voice.

"I need you to tell me who we are."

"What do you mean, who we are?"

"Mama, you're not listening."

"Yes, I am. Help me to understand what you mean."

The seven-year-old, tall and lanky for his age, at least taller than most of his classmates, carefully placed a piece of paper in front of his mother, shaking his head. A gesture that she thought mimicked his father's so well. It was the Tate men's non-verbal way of saying that whomever they were talking to, should understand what they were communicating without a long drawn out explanation. "In class we have to draw a family tree. So you have to tell me who we are."

Rose Murphy-Tate, harried mother smiled down at the handsome, brown face staring so seriously at her. It didn't matter how busy she was, how frustratingly long her day had been, that she had forgotten to select some type of meat for dinner or that dinner was going to be much later than normal. What did matter was that as a family they kept their word to each other.

She often preached, as her husband commented only once, about how important an education was in the world they lived in. The large brown eyes staring at her expected her to do as she had taught. Rose understood that her child may not completely understand how attending class everyday was going to make his life better, but the determined look on his face let her know that he knew that completing a task you set for yourself or given you was important. And to her that was the start of a life long process.

"Okay, get another sheet of paper for your first draft and we'll get started."

The adolescent hurriedly pushed aside several cereal boxes, a closed half loaf of bread and a used jar of peanut butter. Pencil in one hand, paper held tightly in the other, he waited for her to sit down next to him.

"Mama, we have to start here at the top with me, my name and a short scription."

"De...script...ion." Rose corrected.

"Okay, d-scription." He drawled in irritation. "My name is Stephen...Peter...Tate, the third. I'm seven years old." He proclaimed proudly. His tongue flicked about his lips as he carefully printed each letter. "On the next line...write your...mother and father's full name," he read carefully.

"Rose L. Murphy-Tate." Wondering eyes stared up at her.

'What's wrong?"

"Trying to think of a de...script...ion for you." He paused then began to write.

"What did you decided?"

"She has a very important job, being my mother."

Rose smiled down at the head bowed in concentration, feeling suddenly better. "Your father's name is..." she teased.

"I know, you don't have to tell me. Daddy's name is Stephen Peter Tate, Jr." The tongue was wriggling once again.

"Mama, what should I say?"

"Think about it."

Stephen looked at the page for several moments then back at his mother who now stood at the kitchen isle, stirring in a large black cast iron skillet.

"Mama."

"Yes?"

"Who is older, you or daddy?"

"I am by eight months."

"I could say younger than my mother."

They both giggled. "No, I don't think your father would appreciate everyone in your class knowing that."

"Okay." He paused before beginning to write again. Rose lowered the amount of heat under the skillet and walked to where she could look over Stephen's shoulder. After reading his description of his father she returned to the counter with a slight smile on her face.

"Write the name of both sets of your grandparents. There's just my paw, paw. I don't have any grandmothers."

"Yes you do, but they are no longer living."

"They all died."

Rose looked at her son, glad for his innocence yet sad that he did not have the opportunity to meet the women who had taught her so much. "Yes baby. Before you were born. Let's start here, with you your daddy's mother and father. Their names were Della and Stephen Tate." She waited patiently as little fingers worked at forming the letters. "My mother and father's names are Peter and Destiny Murphy."

"I'm through." Rose walked to the table to see the results. It wasn't as neat as she would have liked, but the look of accomplishment on Stephen's face was enough. She wasn't up to facing a frustrated seven-year-old, having to redo homework he thought was perfect.

"Is that all the homework you have?"

"Yes."

"Make sure you put it up."

Stephen grabbed the sheets of paper and left the table. Rose sat down in the seat Stephen had vacated, enjoying the silence surrounding her. She laid her head on her outstretched arm, her eyes closing for a few moments.

"Mama, are there a lot of people in our family?"

Rose sat up a little surprised at the question. Usually, Stephen stayed in his room, playing his interactive video games, until his father came home or she called him for dinner. "Yes and no."

"Huh."

It's time for that history lesson I thought he was too young to understand. Rose's mind filled with that thought and more as she checked the food simmering on the stove. As she washed her hands, her mind sorted the various memories of her childhood.

"Watched the food. I have something that will help." She walked down the hall to her bedroom; there she pulled from her closet a large book covered in fabric that was soiled on the edges from handling. Taking the book back to where Stephen waited, she opened it. Encased in plastic were pictures yellowed and cracked with age along side, pictures taken recently.

"Little man, this picture was taken at our last family reunion your father and I were able to attend." Stephen moved closer to his mother, his face resting against her arm. "These are your uncles, James, Phillip, Tolla."

"There is paw, paw." Stephen pointed to his mother's father, sitting in a chair in the middle of the large group.

Rose smiled at the image of her father. At eighty-four he was still a vigorous and independent character. She missed seeing him on a regular basis. "Most of the people standing on this side of him are your father's people. The group on the other side are my peoples." Rose started naming each various ones, but stopped when Stephen began to wriggle a sign that his attention was waning.

"Where am I?"

Rose pointed to herself standing near a large tree. "I was pregnant with you when this was taken and next to me is your Aunt Lily."

"She doesn't look like you."

"Sometimes twins don't. Mama, says she took after great grandmother Lily."

"Grandmother calls her the crazy driver."

Rose laughed as she flipped several pages. "This is a picture of your great grandmother Lily. My mother used to say that her mother loved traveling and fast cars, more than eating. She was one of the first women in her town to learn to drive. One family story says that granny was flying down some country road in her family's first car and she hit a steer. The steer's hooves came up through the cloth floorboard. When she finally got the car stopped, she got out to see the steer shaking its head and walking away. Granny had a hard time explaining to big daddy how she damaged his car."

"You're making that up." Stephen interrupted.

"Am not. True story." Rose drew a cross over his heart and kissed him on the forehead. "There are so many other family stories I'll tell you one day."

"What kinds of jobs did the old people have?"

"Do you mean people in our family or people in general?"

"Our family."

"They had many types, professional and non-professional. Some were doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs." She smiled at her joke.

The eyes looking at her held a puzzled expression.

"I know bad joke. People in our family have been teachers, housekeepers, cowboy and cowgirls, even a mayor. Your father's great-grandfather..." Rose flipped several pages in the photo album. When she found what she wanted, she tapped the picture with her finger. "Loved to build, he was one among the thousands of people of color who helped to build the Union Pacific Railroad."

"Steam engines." Stephen added excitedly. "Did daddy ever meet him?"

"No baby, but his grandfather made sure your daddy never forgot, who made it possible for his family to survive."

"We're special."

"Yes Stephen, very special. I want you to remember that, everyone begins with a promise from the generations who lived before. Remember that each of us starts from someone else's beginning."

"I'll remember." A loud chime sounded throughout the room, breaking the moment between mother, son and the past. Stephen picked up an oval object and pointed it at the imager. Masculine features filled the small square that popped up in the bottom right corner of a large silver-gray rectangle floating between the floor and ceiling. "It's daddy." Stephen trotted toward the door.

"Who is it?" Stephen spoke into a narrow grid, etched into the door.

"Stephen, let me in, my key is at the office."

"I'm not permitted to let anyone end without an introduction."

A bump could be heard against the door panel. "Not tonight, Stephen. Give your old man a break."

Stephen hearing the tiredness in his father's voice punched in the key cord to unlock the door. "I'm sorry daddy."

A tall, broad shouldered figure filled the doorway for a second before stepping inside. Stephen Tate, Jr. looked down into the face of his duplicate. "Me too, I like our game. It's just that tonight, I'm too damn tired."

"Ohhhhhhhhh." Stephen looked back to where his mother stood hands on her hips.

"Stephen Tate," Rose's tone held a note of censure.

"Hi, yourself. How was your day?"

"As long as yours it seems."

"Yeah, well." Throwing his jacket on a chair, he sat down at the bar. "We're still having problems with the upgrades. Part of the team wants to completely revamp, part can't understand why the upgrades are necessary and several, well we've decided they are only allowed in the room after they've provided proof they've taken their meds."

"You did have a sucky day." Rose's upper body fit snuggly against her husband's back as she wrapped her arms around him. She placed a kiss first on his ear and then the part of his chin that she could reach. "Maybe tonight we can think of something to rid you of all those bad experiences." She let the joy she felt each time she saw her mate of twenty plus years fill the space around them.

Stephen looked over at his parents from his seat on the large sofa that divided the living area from the kitchen. "You said you were tired."

"I'm never too tired for a hug from your mother." Stephen, Jr., beamed at his son.

"Little man, set the table for dinner." With a frown and a quiet groan, the seven-year-old switched his attention to the large fish tank surrounded by plants and pottery. He wished that his older sisters and brother were home. When they were he never had to do kitchen chores. Hearing his father clear his throat, he got up before the sound was followed by a response from his father.

"Captain." A voice echoed from a jacket on one of the chairs at the bar. "Captain, this is Lt. Banner. The second asked me to notify you that the on your list have been notified about the briefing."

Rose gave a quick glance at the skillet and pots on the stove before walking to where the voice was emanating. She touched a thin strip of molded plastic on the collar of her jacket hanging from one of the chairs. "Lieutenant, make sure everyone has a copy of the scans of the planet's atmosphere and topography. I'll be there in ten."

"Yes sir."

Both adults smiled wistfully at each other, while the child looked disappointed. "You won't get to eat with us."

Rose kissed first son then father. "This briefing shouldn't last longer than usual. Keep a plate warm for me and Stephen," at the door Captain Tate of the star freighter Eagle-Standard One turned to her son, "make sure your father sees your homework."

 return to original works