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Virginia Hamilton: Her Influence, Her Words, Her Love
An essay by Jaime Adoff
Reprinted by permission Penguin Putnam Books for Young Readers.
From the
Spring 2003 Ohioana Quarterly
One of my earliest memories was curling up underneath my Mom and
listening to her read one of her books to me. My favorite, Time Ago Tales of
Jahdu. I swear for years, I really thought she was Mama Luka. Whenever
she read that book to me I became Jahdu. I was transported right into the
book, into the story, my mother’s voice guiding me through. That is the
power of words, the power of a masterfully written story, told by a master
storyteller - told by my Mom.
I think her greatness as a writer was only eclipsed by her greatness as a
mother. Raising both me and my sister Leigh to be truly free thinkers.
Fostering our creativity at every turn. Our house buzzed twenty-four hours a
day with imagination, Mom and Dad each going into their respective study to
work in the morning, my sister and I playing in our fantasy worlds, around
the house. Then at dinner, Mom and Dad would talk about the day’s writing,
how each of their
projects was going.
Leigh and I would talk
about our day, too,
what we learned, what
games we played, the
meal always ending
with lots of laughter.
I think of all that
creativity, swirling
between father and
mother, brother
and sister.
And the magic, to
me, it was all
magic . . seeing my
mother go into her
study with nothing
but a cup of coffee,
coming out hours later with pages of writing. This amazed me. Every day
she did it. Sometimes I would watch her work, listen to her read her manuscripts to my Dad, watch them discussing
ideas, characters, plot.
All of this I soaked up into my imagination;
it became part of my upbringing, part
of who I was, what I would become. Of
course as a child I didn’t know the significance
of watching the creative process up
close. To me it was just cool to be there - to
be watching my parents do their job,
together, this job that to me was as mysterious
as any mystery novel.
As I got a little older my Mom would
make a point of telling me that her job was
just like any other. She just worked at home,
her tools her typewriter, paper, and Wite
Out™ (Do they even make Wite Out™ anymore?). She always instilled in me
an incredible work ethic - making sure I really understood that to be a creative
artist was work. You just didn’t sit down and write a perfect novel, or a perfect
song. It took time, and work, and years of dedication to learn your craft, a
lesson that was never lost on me.
My path was music and I approached it with the dedication and passion
I had seen, as a child, in my parents - receiving a Bachelor of Music degree
from Central State University in Ohio, where I studied drums and percussion.
Then going on to study voice in graduate school at the Manhattan
School of Music in New York City. My mother was so supportive during this
time, watching me perform with my Top 40 cover band at Holiday Inns
across southern Ohio. Coming to all of my recitals in college. When I
fronted my own rock band for eight years in New York, she would come see
me perform whenever she was in town, going to some clubs that my Dad
likes to say, “you didn’t even want to put your coat down they were so
slimy.” But she was there.
When I called her a few years ago to say I was joining the family business,
she took an uncharacteristically long pause, and said, “What’s the family
business?” I had shocked my Mom. For those of you who knew her , this
was not an easy feat. After a few minutes, she realized I wanted to write
books, and this is what I meant. She was overjoyed. From that moment on,
our relationship went to another level.
Over the next few years we would talk for hours about writing, our favorite
authors, how they wrote their books. My mother knew it all. I would ask a
question about writing, and she could answer it ten different ways. Some of
her writing wisdom I have saved, in the form of e-mails she wrote me. Some of
what she shared with me, I am not even ready to grasp yet, but she told me
anyway. I suppose I have the rest
of my life to try to begin to
understand the genius that was
Virginia Hamilton.
How she did what she did will
probably remain a mystery. She
told me on many occasions she
didn’t know. Ideas would just
come to her, characters, plot. I
would often ask her if she always
knew what was going to happen
next in the book she was writing.
“Sometimes,” she would say,
“Sometimes I don’t have any
idea what’s going to happen.
I just write and see where it takes
me.” That would always make
me feel good, since as a new writer I rarely knew
what was going to happen next. If that’s how the
Mighty Hamilton (as my father called her) works,
then it’s good enough for me!
My mom’s greatest gift, I believe, was her love, her
unconditional love for her children, her husband, her
family. I think of all the books she wrote, the
thousands of miles she traveled, the many accolades
and awards she received. The public person that she
was. Through it all she was always Mom, always the
one who was there for me when I needed her.
Always the one who would make everything okay.
Always the one who knew just what to say, just at
the right time. She did it all, had it all, and never sacrificed a thing. She always
put family first, her children always came first, no matter what was going on
in her professional life. This, I will always be thankful for.
Although my mom is no longer with us, you can still hear her voice. Just
pick up any one of her books and open it to page one. Read her words, and it’s
her voice you will hear reading them back to you. Shut your eyes really tight,
and you can see her sitting there, her beautiful smile lighting up the room.
Her words full of magic,
Her life full of love.
She will live forever in our hearts . . . .
 Jaime Adoff is a musician and author and the son
of Virigina Hamilton.
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