God Used Holes In My Son's Shoes to Change My Life

Many kids can remember a lot about their childhood. Me? Not so much, but I do remember bits and pieces. I remember enough that we lived on C Street in J Town. I was the fourth child; I had three older brothers from my mommy’s first husband and I had three younger brothers, so I was the middle child and the only girl. My father was a construction worker and, when he came home on weekends, he didn’t do much more than drink and fight mommy. I didn’t understand that because, when he was sober, he was a totally different person. My oldest brother, Otis, came home one day and begged mommy to sign some papers so he could go into the army. He just couldn’t take any of the drinking and fighting anymore. My second oldest brother, Earl, left and went to The Big City. My mom made all my clothes. They were nice. She made me a dress and a bonnet to go with it. She took us to church every Sunday at the Baptist Church. My daddy didn’t go with us. Instead, he drank and gambled and chased women all weekend. Despite all of his faults, I often preferred to be with my dad over my mom. My mom didn’t like that, but I wanted to spend time with him. He always gave me what I wanted: he let me take tap-dancing lessons, ballet lessons and I even learned the violin. It wasn’t expensive. I dreamed of being a dancer or a nurse one day. I dreamed of going to college and getting out of j town. We didn’t have much money. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment. I slept with mommy and dad and the boys slept in the living room. Mommy would bathe us in a washtub. I can’t remember why. I do remember that white folks didn’t like us much and my daddy didn’t have no great love for them either. My Crazy Aunt took me downtown, where we had to ride the bus. When we got on we had to ride in the back. I asked, “Why are we back here?” She said, “That’s the way it is. Colored people sit in the back and whites sit in the front.” “Why?” “You ask too many questions.” I liked my Aunt, but she was crazy. She had two boyfriends living with her at the same time. She wasn’t married to either one of them but she told me to call them both uncle ~ Uncle M and Uncle Rabbit. She was violent towards them. One time she beat Uncle M with a cast iron skillet in order to make him give me some money. I don’t even remember what for. I knew she was full of demons. One time I went to her house. Uncle Not so smart was in the house while she was on the porch screaming, “You better not come out of there!” I walked past her into the room where Uncle Not so smart was. He was bleeding all over the place. She had stabbed him with a pair of scissors. I was only eight years old and I couldn’t help him. He died of his injuries. She threw hot grits on Uncle M. She used to beat them men for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She drank that corn liquor and, believe me, she didn’t need that. Dad never whipped me but one day My Crazy Aunt did and daddy got 38 hot. He didn’t want mommy to whip me either. She did it because I took a dime from Little Joe. She made me give it back. She said, “Take his money and, one day, he’d be asking you for something.” I had no clue what she was talking about then but I am well educated about it now. I was so spoiled that my brothers couldn’t stand me. I told daddy every time they beat me so he would beat them. My life was already in trouble. White folks started blowing up churches and killing black people. My mom was scared ‘cause I wanted to be with the Freedom Riders. They were a different kind of white people. They actually cared about the black people. They were from up north and they came to J Town to help us, but the KKK got mad. I made friends with a white man. He loved corn bread and black eyed peas so that’s what I called him: Corn Bread and Black Eyed Peas. He was from The Windy City and he gave me a fur coat. It was too big but I loved it anyways. J Town was a nightmare. Even little white children threw rocks at you and call you nigger. You weren’t even allowed to look them in the face it would be considered disrespectful and that alone could get you lynched. How can a child understand what it is like to be raised up around such violence? It is by the grace of God that I didn’t end up a serial killer. The years went by and I turned eleven. Every year on my birthday my dad would buy me a watermelon. No matter how drunk he was he always brought that watermelon home. This was to be the last one and one of the saddest of my life.