On July 2, 1956, in Harris County, Texas, Evelyn Jean Jacquot arrived quietly but with unmistakable presence. Texas back then was booming—7.7 million people, lots of oil, even more heat, and a state-wide attitude that everything had to be bigger, bolder, and louder. Evelyn, born to 22-year-old Irma and 20-year-old Willard, was about to show Texas that sometimes the most powerful force is the calm in the middle of the storm.
Within the first six years, her family expanded like a full football team with the births of brothers Willard Jr., Michael, Ronald, and sister Laura. If you think four kids in six years sounds chaotic, imagine Evelyn trying to get a minute’s peace while siblings tested every limit. She quickly learned that being the quiet one meant she got to be the referee, the secret keeper, and the boss all at once. Lesson one: Sometimes the best way to win the game is to stay cool, watch carefully, and never get caught.
Tragedy struck when Evelyn was nine with the death of her baby brother Willard Jr. The family felt the loss deeply, but Evelyn learned early on that even the hardest storms eventually pass, and it’s how you hold your family together afterward that counts. More siblings followed, with Gerald joining the crew around 1968, and Evelyn’s role as the calm center only grew stronger. She mastered the art of the perfect side-eye, which in her family was basically a secret weapon. Lesson two: Sometimes, peace means knowing exactly when to speak—and when to shut up and let your look do the talking.
By age 21, Evelyn was managing a gas station and convenience store—a task far bigger than it sounds. She balanced cranky customers, inventory, staff schedules, and the kind of people who thought gas should be free. Her Texas-sized grit and impeccable attitude made sure everything ran like clockwork. Lesson three: Leadership isn’t about shouting the loudest; it’s about getting things done and making it look easy (even when it’s not).
At 23, she took on administrative and ministry roles at Mount Zion Baptist Church. She wasn’t just a member; she was the backbone who kept programs organized, events smooth, and spirits lifted. Faith was action for Evelyn—it meant showing up, doing the work, and loving without hesitation. Lesson four: Faith isn’t just prayer; it’s the quiet work you do when no one’s watching.
At 24, she gave birth to me, her “only baby in the whole wide world,” and added “mother” to her list of superpowers. She balanced motherhood, work, and family with a fierce love and just enough stubbornness to get through anything. Lesson five: Love fiercely, protect fiercely, and never let anyone forget who you are.
By the early ‘90s, Evelyn was behind the wheel—driving taxis and vans to get the elderly and disabled where they needed to go, rain or shine, with a patience only she could summon. Lesson six: Sometimes service means putting others first, even when you’d rather be home with your feet up.
Her family life saw its share of sorrow over the years, losing her mother, siblings, and father. But Evelyn’s spirit stayed unbreakable. She taught us that grief changes you but also reminds you what really matters: love, legacy, and living your truth. Lesson seven: Life will test you, but the true measure is how you keep loving through the pain.
On March 28, 2025, Evelyn passed from this world, but not before leaving behind a legacy of faith, strength, laughter, and more colorful clothes than you could shake a stick at. She lived loud, loved louder, and never missed a chance to tell you to pull your shoulders back and walk like you mean it. Lesson eight: Live your life in full color, on your own terms, and always with a side-eye ready to keep folks in check.
So today, on what would have been her 69th birthday, I invite you to celebrate Evelyn by putting on something bright, laughing a little louder, loving a little harder, and owning your path like the boss you are. Because that’s exactly what she would want.
Happy birthday, Mama. Your light still shines bright in all of us.
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