S1E1: "Who's Your Daddy?" - [Part 1]
Come Sunday, [Season 1]: The Early Years (1958-1962)
Episode Overview: Nine-year-old Isaiah Johnson lives in a Christian, matriarchal household with his mama, his old-school Grandma Betsy, his witty Aunt Betty Jean, and his quiet and reserved Aunt Susanne. With so many women around, he feels out of place. Getting older in age, he wonders about his biological father whom he doesn't know too much about and asks the townspeople about his legacy to discover if he's anything like him. To his delight, stories have spread like wildfire about Ike Johnson, his daddy, giving Isaiah big ideas.
Summer of 1958
There were two main reasons June was the best month of the year for Isaiah Darius Johnson. For one thing, it was the time when the last day of school arrived, and for the other, it was his birthday. Today he turned nine-years-old, his last single-digit age. He figured it was time he knew about his father. Because he was never around; at first, he thought his Daddy was an honorable soldier fighting overseas in the Korean War like Mr. Luther Savage, his best friend's father. But when he finally built the courage to ask around town, he learned the bitter truth.
Word got around about his father's doings, but until then the only thing he knew about him besides his surname was his first name was Ike. Ike . . . you know, like the Mike and Ike fruit-flavored candy he bought for a nickel at Mr. Davidson's downtown store. His mama didn't like talking about him, nor her former days as a hussie and card dealer before she got saved. Whenever he asked her, she got upset, screwed up her face, and shrieked in her small, high-pitched voice, "Boy, what did I tell you about asking me about your Daddy?"
From the sharp tone of her voice, he cringed and buttoned his lip, but his Grandma Betsy, (his mother's mother) said often she'd better get around to it before he'd find out from somebody else. Well, that's exactly what happened. After the last day of school let out, Isaiah made up his mind to ask his neighbors about his father. It all started after he had breakfast with his family.
"I-saiah! Breakfast is ready!" Mama called from the kitchen.
“Coming, mama!” Isaiah fastened his short-sleeve, button-down shirt and leaped from his bed. He walked into the small kitchen and sat at the table where his grandma and his two aunts—Aunt Betty Jean and Aunt Suzanne—were sitting and eating together.
“Good morning, Birthday boy,” Aunt Suzanne said with a little smile, slicing her pancakes.
Isaiah grinned. “Morning, Aunt Suzanne.”
His mama slapped a glob of lumpy grits on his plate.
Isaiah grimaced and jerked back. "Grits! I don't like grits, mama."
"You eat what's on your plate, boy," Grandma Betsy snapped in her deep, husky voice. "We ain't got food to waste around here."
"Yes, ma'am," Isaiah said meekly. He picked up his spoon and cautiously ate a scoop, frowning as if it were a teaspoon of cough medicine. Yuck! This stuff is nasty. He forced down his swallow and sipped from his glass of orange juice to quell the taste. He cocked his head, looking at his mother as she took her seat. "Can I have a chocolate cake for my birthday?"
"Sure, honey," Mama said, "but you ain't getting nothing if you don't eat your food. So, stop flapping your gums and finish your breakfast, all right?" She lifted her brow.
"Yes, ma'am," Isaiah replied.
His smile faded as he watched everyone eating and thought about his father again. Living in a home with four women wasn't easy, and lately he couldn't quit wondering where his Daddy was, what he was doing, and if he was anything like him. Surely, someone around town had to know about Ike Johnson. Of course, his mama and grandma would never let him wander around the neighborhood of Saint Vincent by himself. That would be too dangerous. Saint Vincent was the close relative to Harlem, a congested area of mostly blacks and Hispanics bordering the Hudson River, and a place like living with a troop of fighting baboons. Maybe his best friend Benjamin Savage could go with him.
"Mama, can I go play with Ben today?" Isaiah asked, helping to put the dishes away in the kitchen. He stood on a chair so he could reach the top wooden cabinets.
"That's fine," Mama said, "but make sure you get back before dark."
"And y'all stay together, ya hear?" Grandma Betsy added from the living room. "Them muggers will be roaming about like buzzards by nightfall."
Aunt Betty Jean giggled, sweeping the kitchen floor. "You got that right—looking for dead meat." She paused and glanced at Isaiah. "Y'all best be careful."
Isaiah smiled. "I will. I promise." He took a wet dish his mama handed him, dried it with a cloth, and stacked it on top of the others in an open cabinet. Then he hopped down from the chair, scooted it to the eating table, and raced out the front screen door.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Hey, Isaiah," Ben said, riding up on a shiny, blue bicycle.
Isaiah gaped at his friend's bike. "Whoa! Where'd you get the wheels?"
"From Mr. Farnsworth's pawn shop. I saved every penny from doing my chores. He helped me make a few repairs and give it a paint job."
"Gee, I wish I had a bike." Isaiah jammed his hands in his tan trousers’ pockets.
Ben shrugged. "Maybe your mama, one of your aunts, or grandma will give you one for your birthday."
Isaiah screwed up his face. "Nah, they'll probably get something simple—like a mitt and baseball." He kicked a stone down the chalk-scribbled sidewalk. A group of three little girls with ribbons in their hair was playing hopscotch in the distance from his brick rowhouse.
"Probably." Ben chuckled.
Isaiah squinted from the June sun and cocked his head. "Hey, you think you can help me with something?"
"Help you with what?"
Isaiah glanced up at the second-floor window and saw his mother peeking at them through the curtain. She shook her head at him and yanked it back across the window. He sighed, looked at Ben, and whispered, "I wanna ask around about my Daddy."
"Are you sure about this?" Ben asked.
Isaiah pouted, folding his arms. "Grandma Betsy told Mama to get around to telling me, but if she won't, I'll just have to find out for myself."
"Who do you think you should ask?"
Isaiah thought. "We'll try Mrs. Woods, our old teacher. She knows a lot about history and people's lives anyway."
"Good idea," Ben said.
Isaiah walked with his hands in his pockets as Ben rode his bike to their third-grade teacher's apartment farther down the block.
"I'm sorry, Isaiah," Mrs. Woods said, holding open the screen door. "I haven't been in Saint Vincent long, so I've never met your father."
Isaiah dropped his head. "Oh, okay. Thanks anyway."
"Have a good summer, boys," Mrs. Woods said, smiling.
"You too, Mrs. Woods," Ben replied.
The screen door squeaked and closed.
"Well, who's next?" Ben twitched his mouth and turned to Isaiah, gripping his handlebars.
"I guess, Mr. Davidson." Isaiah trudged down the concrete stairs, watching his every step as if the whole world came crashing down on him. But when they met with Mr. Davidson at his candy shop, things weren't too much better with him either.
"I'm sorry, boys, but I don't know Ike Johnson very well," Mr. Davidson said. "We rarely talked when he was in town."
"Do you know where he went?" Isaiah asked.
Mr. Davidson shrugged and wiped his countertop with a white rag. "Some folks say he left for Brooklyn, but others have said he's not even in New York." He frowned at Isaiah. "But why do you ask me? Haven't you asked your mother?"
"Mama doesn't like talking about my Daddy. Every time I ask, she gets upset." Isaiah shrugged, holding out his hands.
"Hmm . . . well, if anybody knows about your father, it's most likely Mr. Dewey Blues."
"Where can we find him?" Ben asked.
Mr. Davidson inclined his long face to Isaiah and Ben. "Over at the bar on 2nd Street. You can't miss it, but if I were you, I wouldn't go there alone."
"Can't you come with us?" Ben said.
"I would boys, believe me, I would. But I can't. I have to keep watch of my shop," Mr. Davidson said. "Maybe I'll take y'all there when I'm off tomorrow."
"Tomorrow's Sunday, and we have church," Isaiah said.
"Oh, well, how about Monday then?"
Isaiah nodded. "Okay, that's great. Thanks, Mr. Davidson."
"You're welcome, kid, but I can't promise what you hear will be good news."
"It doesn't matter," Isaiah said, "for Mama not to want me to know, I figured my Dad did something naughty anyway."
Mr. Davidson chuckled and shook his head, cleaning off his cash register.
Gold bells jingled as Isaiah and Ben exited the candy shop together.