My mother preferred boys over girls. She frequently said, “God gave me a boy, because He knew I’d throttle a girl.” Everybody would laugh and pretend like she didn’t really mean what she had just said.
Margaret meant exactly what she said.
It began with Richard Newman. Hair Bear. He was the first boy. Terry Bowman. Mike Wilson. Junior Clyburn. Zeke. And a million more. The list went on and on and on.
Girls were a bit different. Margaret didn’t like the drama. Or the trauma. The crying. The whining. The complaining. She had the patience of an eight year-old on Christmas Eve when it came to girls.
For a brief while, Margaret was the sponsor of the Valkyries. For the uneducated, the Valkyries was the dance team at North Forsyth, back when the school colors were still crimson, Columbia blue and white.
That didn’t last long. Fun times for everybody watching from a distance!
There were a few gifted, outspoken ladies who escaped her wrath and earned a seat in the inner circle.
Rose Bruscia. Ginger Edwards. Judith Tuttle. Janet Clyburn. Marsi Hellard. Kristen Dobbins. (Some of the names are different, now. Some grew up and got married. Some may be in the Witness Protection Program. I know better than to ask.)
And Susi. Susi Holladay. Susi Hamilton.
When other girls would pitch a fit and ask, “Why Susi?” My mother invariably replied, “Whatever Susi wants, Susi gets.” That response always garnered looks of disbelief from the wannabees.
Susi was brash. Beautiful. Smart. Ridiculously talented.
Boys are stupid. Not men. Boys. Girls like Susi are one in a million. (Cue the 1980 single by Larry Graham.)
Every boy that walked the halls of North Forsyth during the Susi Era, myself included, was stupid. She was the one.
Susi. Red hair. A voice like Katherine Hepburn. Looks that could have landed her on the cover of any magazine. I was smitten.
I’m not easily intimidated by women. I asked a student teacher for a date in the library at North Forsyth on her first Friday in the building. (She said, “no,” but that’s not the point.)
I’m not easily impressed. I’m rarely dazzled. Susi has impressed and bedazzled me for more than thirty years. It takes all of my bravado and self-confidence to not be intimidated when we’re together.
I instinctively knew I was not in Susi’s league. I didn’t know any guys in Susi’s league. She was, and is, in a class of her own.
As it turned out, Gretchen (our choreographer extraordinaire) chose me to be Susi’s dance partner in shows and recitals. Thank you, Gretchen. I was the envy of all of masculinity.
Beyond everything else (and there is a LOT to love and admire about Susi) she was invariably kind. She tolerated me. And Beau. And Donald. And Oliver. And Jamie.
She played with us. She ate with us. She danced with us. She hugged us. She forgave us. (Many times.) She loved us. We never wanted to fail Susi.
Our relationship is not like that of an old married couple. I love my wife. Vikki is the icing on my cake. My partner. She balances my perspective and keeps me grounded when the world spins wildly out of control.
My relationship with Susi is different. Not better. Different.
I love Susi. I trust her judgment. She is brutally honest, for which I’m eternally grateful. She doesn’t accept excuses. She challenges me to be better than I imagine. She laughs loudly. Susi is the best of the best.
Here is the difference… If I suggest an outrageous idea to Vikki, my wife will likely respond, “OK. What do we need to do?” Most men would do anything for that kind of unwavering support. I’m fortunate.
If I share the same suggestion with Susi, she will probably say, “Alright. We can’t do that. But… we can do this. I think it should be bigger and louder and faster. Can you make that happen?”
“Yes, ma’m!”
If you don’t know… Susi is the Secretary of Natural and Cultural Resources in Governor Roy Cooper’s cabinet for the great state of North Carolina. Yes – she is in line to be governor. I think, one day, she WILL be our governor.
I’m addicted to applause. I thrive in the spotlight. I like center stage. The bigger the crowd, the better.
Susi is one of the very, very few for whom I would step aside and follow. I’d put all my eggs in Susi’s basket and sleep peacefully.
Sophia is my daughter. She is the spittin’ image of her mama. In every way. Outspoken and opinionated. Italian attitude and Irish temperament. Vikki and Sophia can tangle. Maybe it’s a mother-daughter thing. I don’t know.
That said, it has become obvious that Sophia will have to learn some things the hard way. Vikki will tell her one way and Sophia will insist on trying it a different way, despite her mother’s time-tested wisdom and experience.
I don’t think Miles and I behave that way. Again – mothers and daughters.
If Sophia feels convicted that she must test everything her mother says, I am left with the hope that perhaps she will have the opportunity to watch a woman like Susi. There is no better role model for any young woman, especially one with my last name.
To be in Susi Hamilton’s inner circle is one of THE privileges of my life.
When it’s time to die, I want to go first. I don’t want to be here without my wife or my children or my friends. I hope my grandmother will be standing at the river, next to my mama and holding a piece of cantaloupe pie. And I hope Susi will be my next-door neighbor.
Susi, you are loved. Thank you for being my friend. Always loved.
Jeffrey Griffin 