My Father

This is a story about my father. Born in a small town in Alabama into a poor working-class family. The family had to move around in search of work. Farm labor mostly. The family had to chop and pick cotton on these farms they moved to. It was said that there were even times they had to live in tents, cook from an open fire and make their own lye soap. Washing dirty clothes in a large caldron using a wash board to scrub the stains out. Even though the family was from Alabama they finally settled in a small town in Arkansas. This small town was a farming community with promise of work nearly year-round. In this town there was a school and the only way to get there was to walk nearly five miles both ways. This put a lot of pressure on the knees and the mother had to rub them every night to help ease the pain. The family would go to bed early, before the sun went down to getting up at four in the morning to start the next day's work scheduler. The job was easier to do in the early morning hours just before sunrise than to wait until the sun was high in the sky to start the day. Wearing straw hats to shade the face and long sleeve shirts to protect the arms from the burning sun. This was the job they were getting paid for and they made sure the job got done. It was hard, tedious, sweaty work, swinging a hoe from sun up to nearly sundown, only stopping to sharpen the hoe when the blade got dull and for lunch. Once you are in the middle of that cotton field and thinking you are going to die before you reach the end just to be able to get that cool drink of water. Once your thrust is satisfied you start again headed for the other end that seems like it is going to last forever, but this was all they knew. They had done it with their parents and now they were now doing it as parents. Times were extremely hard and school came in second place. If you were able to go to school it didn’t last long because the money was needed more. A person isn’t going to get far with only a fourth-grade education. The only way out was to get married if you could find someone which was hard to do when all you see is a cotton field every day. But love did come and life got a little better. The first few years was spent travelling away from Arkansas to Oklahoma, Delaware, South Carolina and sometimes back to Arkansas. In the beginning it was a good life until the kids started coming. Four in all, two boys and then two girls. Then death. Cancer took my father out at the age of sixty-two. You see, my father died when I was just three years old. I never got to know him or his family. All I do know about him is that he was born in Oklahoma, was married before and had a daughter, worked as a welder, graduated the eighth grade and was part Creek Indian on his mother's side of the family. After his death my mother became both my Momma and Daddy at the age of thirty-one. She had no way of going back to the cotton fields because of us kids. All she had to survive on was my Fathers Social Security she received after his death. My Mother never took was camping but she did load us up in the old station wagon, buy two dollars' worth of gas, buy us an ice-cream cone from Faye’s Fine Dinner and ride to the river and watch the barges go by. When we got older, she would take us back to the river and we would bbq, hamburger's, wieners and drink coke. Afterwards we would make our way down to the river to fish. Sometimes we would catch a fish and sometimes we didn’t. She showed us how to make a small fire and roast marshmallows and wieners on a stick. Bring out a sheet so we could lay on it and look up at the stars until it was bed time. Other times she would drive out towards a small neighboring town called Wilson after we visited my father's grave. She loved driving out there and seeing the nice big houses. Some brick, some wood, but very beautiful homes. I was wise enough at that time to know she wished she lived in one of those beautiful houses, but it never accrued to me just how hard my mother's life was and had been for her to wish that. She had to buy for four kids, keep a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes and shoes on our feet and not to mention the other bills. Once the boys were old enough, she had to teach them how to shave and tried her best to make them understand things in life that a man should know. Then when was girls were old enough, she had to teach us how to cook and clean. The number one thing she tried to tell us was how important school was. Momma let us be kids also. We played in the dirt, ran in the rain and skip rope. She always said a dirty kid is a healthy and happy kid. I never seen her cry even though I know she did and maybe a lot. When us kids was around, she was always smiling and laughing. She told us in later years to never make fun of people no matter how they looked because it could happen to us. She made sure we didn’t care what a person skin type was we had to accept them as they were because we don’t know their story. My Momma seen beauty in everything, no matter how ugly it was she could see the beauty in it. My Momma deserved more in her life time than any other person I know. She was sweet, kind, happy, wise and the friendliest person you would ever meet. She loved the holiday’s, Christmas the most of all. She loved live Christmas trees and the decorations. She done her best to raise us kids being that she was our mother and Father. My momma passed away at the age of fifty-four. As her daughter I wish I could have done more for her. The trails and tribulations of fear inside her having to do this on her own had to be scary for a woman. To me I think she did a Hell of a good job at something she wasn’t prepared for and raising up to do what she had to do to raise us right. Thank you, Momma for giving me a loving, happy, healthy childhood and thank you for being my father when daddy passed away. father. Born in a small town in Alabama into a poor working-class family. The family had to move around in search of work. Farm labor mostly. The family had to chop and pick cotton on these farms they moved to. It was said that there were even times they had to live in tents, cook from an open fire and make their own lye soap. Washing dirty clothes in a large caldron using a wash board to scrub the stains out. Even though the family was from Alabama they finally settled in a small town in Arkansas. This small town was a farming community with promise of work nearly year-round. In this town there was a school and the only way to get there was to walk nearly five miles both ways. This put a lot of pressure on the knees and the mother had to rub them every night to help ease the pain. The family would go to bed early, before the sun went down too getting up at four in the morning to start the next day's work scheduler. The job was easier to do in the early morning hours just before sunrise than to wait until the sun was high in the sky to start the day. Wearing straw hats to shade the face and long sleeve shirts to protect the arms from the burning sun. This was the job they were getting paid for and they made sure the job got done. It was hard, tedious, sweaty work, swinging a hoe from sun up to nearly sundown, only stopping to sharpen the hoe when the blade got dull and for lunch. Once you are in the middle of that cotton field and thinking you are going to die before you reach the end just to be able to get that cool drink of water. Once your thrust is satisfied you start again headed for the other end that seems like it is going to last forever, but this was all they knew. They had done it with their parents and now they were now doing it as parents. Times were extremely hard and school came in second place. If you were able to go to school it didn’t last long because the money was needed more. A person isn’t going to get far with only a fourth-grade education. The only way out was to get married if you could find someone which was hard to do when all you see is a cotton field every day. But love did come and life got a little better. The first few years was spent travelling away from Arkansas to Oklahoma, Delaware, South Carolina and sometimes back to Arkansas. In the beginning it was a good life until the kids started coming. Four in all, two boys and then two girls. Then death. Cancer took my father out at the age of sixty-two. You see, my father died when I was just three years old. I never got to know him or his family. All I do know about him is that he was born in Oklahoma, was married before and had a daughter, worked as a welder, graduated the eighth grade and was part Creek Indian on his mother's side of the family. After his death my mother became both my Momma and Daddy at the age of thirty-one. She had no way of going back to the cotton fields because of us kids. All she had to survive on was my Fathers Social Security she received after his death. My Mother never took was camping but she did load us up in the old station wagon, buy two dollars' worth of gas, buy us an ice-cream cone from Faye’s Fine Dinner and ride to the river and watch the barges go by. When we got older, she would take us back to the river and we would bbq, hamburger's, wieners and drink coke. Afterwards we would make our way down to the river to fish. Sometimes we would catch a fish and sometimes we didn’t. She showed us how to make a small fire and roast marshmallows and wieners on a stick. Bring out a sheet so we could lay on it and look up at the stars until it was bed time. Other times she would drive out towards a small neighboring town called Wilson after we visited my father's grave. She loved driving out there and seeing the nice big houses. Some brick, some wood, but very beautiful homes. I was wise enough at that time to know she wished she lived in one of those beautiful houses, but it never accrued to me just how hard my mother's life was and had been for her to wish that. She had to buy for four kids, keep a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes and shoes on our feet and not to mention the other bills. Once the boys were old enough, she had to teach them how to shave and tried her best to make them understand things in life that a man should know. Then when was girls were old enough, she had to teach us how to cook and clean. The number one thing she tried to tell us was how important school was. Momma let us be kids also. We played in the dirt, ran in the rain and skip rope. She always said a dirty kid is a healthy and happy kid. I never seen her cry even though I know she did and maybe a lot. When us kids was around, she was always smiling and laughing. She told us in later years to never make fun of people no matter how they looked because it could happen to us. She made sure we didn’t care what a person skin type was we had to accept them as they were because we don’t know their story. My Momma seen beauty in everything, no matter how ugly it was she could see the beauty in it. My Momma deserved more in her life time than any other person I know. She was sweet, kind, happy, wise and the friendliest person you would ever meet. She loved the holiday’s, Christmas the most of all. She loved live Christmas trees and the decorations. She done her best to raise us kids being that she was our mother and Father. My momma passed away at the age of fifty-four. As her daughter I wish I could have done more for her. The trails and tribulations of fear inside her having to do this on her own had to be scary for a woman. To me I think she did a Hell of a good job at something she wasn’t prepared for and raising up to do what she had to do to raise us right. Thank you, Momma for giving me a loving, happy, healthy childhood and thank you for being my father when daddy passed away.