1 Family
I was born in the summer of 1959; I weighed about 7 pounds at birth. I was the 5th child out of seven. I was told that I walked at seven months old. My favorite hangout was the chicken pen, playing with the chickens. We stayed in a two-room shack with no running water in the house. We had a hydrant in front of our porch and that was our source of water. We had to carry water into the house and out of the house for bathroom purposes.
My first memory was when I was real young. My mother was changing my diaper. I didn’t like wearing diapers or the way they made me feel so I was quickly potty-trained. I didn’t like laying on my mom’s lap in front of her friends. I guess I was ahead of my time.
My grandmother, my mom’s mother, lived about 100 yards from us. During that time we had to farm to feed our livestock and ourselves. I was so eager to be able to do things like everyone else. Less than a year old, one day I decided to walk from our house to my grandmother’s house. In order to do that I had to walk downhill through a field that was grown up with weeds and a crop. There was a small pass that led through this area with a ditch to cross. Once I got in the ditch, that was my first real big struggle in life. I struggled for a long time to get out of that ditch. I had to climb out of it with all my might. I can still remember that feeling today.
I was afraid of the dark at night because of the stories our parents told us about being out after dark. Also, during that time we had giant field rats that would bite you when they were trying to get food. Therefore, I wet the bed at night because I was afraid to get up and use the pot. I hated that pot because we all had to use it at night and take it out the next morning and wash it.
My first bad encounter came when I was about one. I wanted to be like my father and drive the disk. The disk was a machine that was pulled by two horses to break up the ground to plant seeds. I managed to climb up into the seat of the disk but my arms were too short to reach the handles to operate it. I fell headfirst out of the seat and busted my head in the center. Why I have the scar between my eyes. After the fall, my memory starts again when I was in kindergarten. My last memory was when I had a bad headache and it was like I went to sleep for a couple of years.
Around the age of 4 or 5 I was back to myself again. I wanted to be a part of the family by working around the house and doing what everyone else was doing. I started out carrying the pot outside the house. My brother, who was three years older than me and twice my size, would put a stick between the handles so I could help carry the bucket. I started out with two hands, barely could tote it. As time passed, I was so eager until I could tote it with one hand on the stick and later carry a certain amount by myself, until I could carry the whole bucket full. During that time our mindset was to be strong and fast. It was a competition at times, to be the best at whatever we did.
My parents and grandparents were descendants of slaves. My mom worked in the school system, sang in church, babysat, and cleaned houses for white people. My grandmother was a maid and worked for one of the richest men in our county. This is my mom’s mother. Her father left when she was about three weeks old, in 1926. He never returned until about 23 years later. My mom was a good mother and with the resources that we had back then they did a wonderful job raising us during the post-slave era and the Jim Crow laws.
My grandmother met my step-grandfather, I guess he was a biracial man because he was so light-skinned. He had light-skinned brothers and dark-skinned brothers. My grandfather carried me with him everywhere he went. I was with him when I was hit by a car. I ran in front of the car crossing the road downtown, eager to cross. I was lucky that the wheel didn’t run over me. I climbed from under the car feeling scared because I didn’t see the car. Another great moment for me was when we had to ride in the wagon to the feed store to pick up feed for our animals. I felt so proud when my daddy and grandfather let me ride on the seat with them on the wagon to go get feed. I just loved being a part of the family at that time, doing my part.
My grandfather introduced me to guns. He took me with him one day to kill hogs. I paid close attention. I watched the hogs before they were shot. The hogs were afraid and knew they were going to die. They would turn their heads when my grandfather pointed the gun at them, but when they would turn back around and look, he pulled the trigger. The pen was about a 10X10 square with about fifteen hogs in there on a wooden floor ready to be slaughtered. I will never forget the look on those pigs’ faces when they looked up and their lives were taken away from them so quick. The hogs were so greedy to eat that they would come to the trough and attempt to eat their last meal because it was like they knew they were going to die. As a result of this, my little brother and I were playing cowboys and Indians. I knew where Grandpa kept the rifle. So I got the rifle and I had to cock it with my teeth. When I pulled the trigger, I didn’t know it was loaded and it nicked my little brother’s ear. We were both scared to death and this is one day I wanted a whipping because I had done something so wrong, but wasn’t aware of the circumstances of playing with guns. A lesson well learned.
Before my grandfather passed, he would let me shave him and cut his hair. He couldn’t move around. I was acting up one night and attempted to frighten him, and he hit me behind my ear with his walking stick, laid me out. I learned that lesson quickly, not to be bad toward grandpa. One night grandpa got sick, it was a Saturday night, and his mouth was crooked and he couldn’t speak, just slurred. He left and never returned. He died. I missed my grandpa and I put some flowers on his grave that lasted for a long time and came back every year. I was eight years old when he died. I walked about a mile from our home to the graveyard where he was buried, dug a hole and planted the flowers there.
I was familiar with the graveyard because my dad and grandpa used to dig graves on the side for a living. They would let me throw the loose dirt out because I was too little to dig. I remember old bones were dug up, and jewelry. After digging the grave, the bones and the jewelry were placed back in the grave before the box or vault was put in. One night, my two older brothers and my dad and grandpa were digging a grave. My brothers and I decided to go walking around in the dark in the graveyard. The only light was a lantern we had. This light was kept on site where the grave was being dug. An ole white man named Mr. Ben Franklin ran the 5-10-cent store in town. He had a black crow that could say a few words: “Come here boys, let me talk to you,” and “N— stealing.” He lived by the graveyard. His crow had gotten out and flown to an old cedar tree in the graveyard. As we wandered through, we heard a voice that said, “Come here boys, let me talk to you.” During that time, one of the first things we were taught was to run home. We started running and my older brother ran over a tombstone and hurt his leg.
Some of the time it was cold, hot, raining, no matter what, my dad and grandpa dug those graves. Some of the graves were out in the woods in the country. Dad managed to work his regular day job and dig graves at night. They were two hard-working men.
We also had livestock to tend and were small farmers. My parents didn’t have all the up-to-date equipment, but managed to take care of all needs for survival around the house. The majority of the chores were done by hand, such as milking the cows and killing chickens, cows, and hogs. We had a smokehouse and a salt house. I loved it when daddy smoked those hams, they smelled and tasted so good. The salt house was kind of scary. The whole room looked like a large coffin. The meat was covered with salt. I noticed that there were holes in the salt. They were made by those large field rats that would burrow their way through the salt to get to the meat. Daddy would cut that portion of the meat out that was damaged by the rats.
My grandpa made sure our fields were planted and harvested in order for us to survive. I remember when we had to pick that dry corn off the stalks and put it up in the barn for our animals to eat. That was some hot hard work, along with the itching from the cornstalks and plants. There never was a day when we didn’t have to work around the house. We had three fields and three large gardens to attend to. The vegetables were of high quality because of the care we put into them. My grandpa was a well-respected man, he and his siblings. Those men in those days worked together to survive. When you don’t have the equipment to handle heavy loads of work, you have to have teamwork. This is one of the most important things I learned at an early age.
In kindergarten I discovered the beauty of other children. I loved to play and make friends with other children. At an early age I noticed that there were boys and girls. I can still remember the first girl I ever saw, to notice that we were different. We were playing in the yard and her underwear went to one side. Later on, in about the first grade, we were some curious kids, and some of us showed our stuff to one another. I remember our teacher caught two of us looking at each other, and told them they weren’t supposed to do that. We never did that again.
My teachers were my mom’s friends. Back in those days, if you did something wrong and were told on, you would get a double whipping.
My mom was real strict in school and at home. She preached to us all day daily on what we had to do in order to survive. My mom was an only child except for her stepsister. She was a large, dark-skinned woman about 5’10” tall. She loved sports and singing for church. She also was the coach for the girls’ and boys’ basketball teams before we integrated in 1970. When we had home games at school she would sit as close as she could to the team and tell the players what to do. She also gave the referees a run for their money when they made a bad call against our team. She had a loud, deep voice that echoed throughout the building. Sometimes I felt sorry for the referee because mom wasn’t playing. Everyone loved her for this, and our girls ended up winning state championships three years in a row. My mom would be one of the first on the court to congratulate them.
My mom had seven kids. One set were twins. My grandmother got the oldest boy and the three girls to live with her. My mom’s name was Alma Jean, grandmother Henrietta, daddy George, grandpa Douglas. My older sister’s name was Annetta, older brother George, twins Janice and James, younger sister Deborah, and younger brother Ellis. I was a floating child. I stayed in both houses from time to time. If I got in trouble with mom I would go to grandmother’s house. If I got in trouble with grandmother I would go to mom’s house. I thought I was smart at the time even though I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Sometimes it was all a part of growing up.
I remember one time, my grandmother’s niece was getting a new house built and I was a curious child, so I walked down the road and watched the men pour the concrete for the car porch and garage. Later that evening, I decided to go back down there to do my inspection. I walked in the wet concrete all the way into the garage and out. My footprints are still there today, nearly 60 years later. Also, I noticed a sack with contained some type of powder, and I threw it all over the side of the house. This was concrete mix. I made a big mess thinking I was having fun. My older brother was supposed to be watching me, but he wasn’t around. My grandmother whipped his butt for this, and not me. The last time my grandmother whipped me, I was mad and did not cry. She thought I was lying to her about something I did not do. Back then we had to go and get our own switch. I made several trips that day. I was getting the largest one I could break. She finally got tired and I guess she knew I was telling the truth. She never whipped me again. She loved all of us dearly. None of us got over three whippings from her. My sister Janice, I can’t remember her ever getting a whipping. I guess we were some pretty good kids, because our parents didn’t have to discipline us a lot. Most of the time we were all on the same page doing the right things. Matter of fact, one whole neighborhood and community was about living the right way.
My daddy was the oldest of about fourteen children. He had to drop out of school in the fourth grade and go to work. He is my idol today. Even though he didn’t have book sense, he knew how to do just about everything around the house. He could fix anything and could build anything. He was the type of person who knew everything. He knew all the different plants, trees, and animals. He could cook because his mom had taught him—I guess because he was the oldest child. Later, he had to go in the military. He was in the Army, where he was highly recognized for his service. After, he worked at furniture factories until his health failed. He would be one of the first persons at work and the last to leave. Working at that place was hard, hot, cold, and real dusty. He also was our church janitor. I remember when he used to let me go work with him several times, to clean up offices at night and on Saturdays, help clean up the large, white people’s church. The white people’s church had a room for children with real toys, toys that I had only seen in stores. I played with them for a few minutes one time. After that, the preacher locked the door and I couldn’t play with them again.
When the car was broken and needed fixing, I would be under the car with dad, helping him by holding the flashlight or passing him different sizes of wrenches. I learned about tools at an early age. I could go on and on about how hard my Daddy worked for us to be able to eat and sleep. Getting up at 4:30 in the morning, milking the cows and feeding the animals, before his main job. Getting off work, working on various chores, was truly dedication to his family. He didn’t care about watching TV because when he came in the house he would bathe, eat, and go to bed.
My first rebellion against my father came when I was eleven. It was on a Sunday morning. We were getting ready to go to church. My mom had picked out some clothes for me but I decided that I wanted to wear a different pair of socks. My dad came around the corner from their bedroom. I became afraid and ran out the back door down the driveway I looked back and dad was coming out of the house. I had about a 20-yard head start on him. As I ran down the road, I thought I was safe. I looked back and my dad was right behind me. He was super-fast. I knew then that I couldn’t outrun him. I took a quick right through the fields that had blackberries, briars, and all kinds of thorns and weeds. I knew my dad had tender feet so I kept running through the field. When I looked back this time, he was about 50 yards behind me. I saw him grabbing at his feet and knew I was safe then. Consequently, I didn’t have any place to go. I had run away from home. When I exited the woods, I walked to the school and sat in the football stands.
Later that day, about one o’clock, a lot of white people came to the football field and started playing football. Some were around my age and some were much older and had played college ball. I asked them if I could play and they laughed at me. I guess they thought I didn’t know how to catch and run. Needless to say, I ended up being the fastest one out there. No one could catch me but I could catch them and tackle them, even though some were huge grown men. But as the day was coming to an end and all the people left the football field, I found myself alone, scared, hungry, and with nowhere to go. I started walking down the street, afraid to go home. As I was walking, my grandmother pulled up beside me on her way to evening church. She encouraged me to get in the car and assured me that I was going to be o.k. and could spend the night with her. I got in the car and she told me to stay in it until church was over, because I was too dirty to go in, plus I didn’t have any shoes on. I had run out of the house with what I had on. My grandmother didn’t have much to say to me. She fixed me something to eat and went on about her chores.
I knew I had done something real bad toward my parents. I was afraid that I would be punished for my actions. Discipline in our family mostly consisted of lectures that seemed to last forever. However, I was punished by my father in a way I’ll never forget. He ignored me for about two weeks. He knew that would hurt me more than anything in the world. He knew I was a child who always paid attention and was eager to learn about things of the world. Furthermore, I felt so lost during that time. For these reasons, I managed to respect my parents and appreciate everything they did for me or were teaching me.
My father was only 5′5″ tall, and weighed about 150 pounds. He was extremely strong for his size and had a chiseled body with no fat. He was so tactful. He loved to explain things to us the right away. I only received three licks from him because he caught me and my brother fighting. My brother got his licks and got on down. Me, on the other hand, I tried to cry my way out of it. My dad explained that it would hurt him more to whip us than it would us. My father loved to talk. He knew just about everyone because if you spoke to him, he had a conversation for anyone about anything. That is what they wrote in his obituary. My father never broke the law. He never got a parking ticket. He was able to live seven and a half years after mom passed. He was a real proud man and he was clean and well-groomed all the time.
