Vivid Memories of Life - Autobiography by Lola Maria (Hilliard) King
Memories are a bouquet of sweet fragranced roses gathered during
joyous or melancholy times, a God given comfort in the winter of our
lives.
God gave us memories that we might have roses in December.
Introduction:
Life is a dramatic screenplay, a carnival
of tender and tragic moments, a vivid collage of comedy intertwined with
drama, and laughter intermingled with tears. A bittersweet beginning
filled with emotion. My story is a jumbled collection of memories with no
option of separating them into chapters. My life has never been organized.
Therefore, how could I organize my memories into chapters? Poetic
non-fiction touches my heart and soul, bringing forth a feeling that I
have yet to convey through words alone. My ability to express myself
through writing has, at times, caused me much trouble. I have learned that
some people do not want to know what you are really feeling. To them,
words are better left hidden within. Writing non-fiction and poetry are a
medicine and a balm to my soul, soothing and drawing out the blues from
within me. This is survival. Life is a roller coaster with many ups and
downs. I have been to the heights of joy and to the depths of sorrow. Even
though it seems that sorrow prevails, still I would not exchange it to
stand safely on the ground. However reckless it may seem, the Coyotee
still has dreams...
Vivid Memories of Life
It all began on Father’s Day, June 17,
1956, in Abilene, Texas. James Alford Hilliard and Edith Mae (Ward)
Hilliard brought a dark-haired, brown-eyed, 6-pound baby girl into the
world. He named me Lola Maria.
Daddy used to tell me how much he had
wanted a son before I was born, that he would have named Sidney Eugene,
after his father, Sidney Christopher. However, he was blessed with a
daughter instead. He said he never was sorry about that. He told me that I
was the best Father’s Day gift he ever received. I used to tease him by
saying that I was the worst gift he ever received! He never agreed. He
told me how he walked into the nursery of the Abilene General Hospital
that day looking for his little girl. Every baby in the room was crying,
except one little dark-haired baby. He went right over to her, knowing it
would be his child. Sure enough, the identification bracelet on her tiny
wrist said “Baby Girl- Hilliard”. Tears of joy trickled down his cheeks
and he was proud that his child was the only one not crying. I had his
eyes and the Hilliard chin. I stared right into his eyes, and he felt as
if I was thinking, “I know you are my Daddy, and you are responsible for
me.” He took my little hand in his, and I wrapped my tiny fingers around
his index finger. He told me this story many times and with so much love
in his voice. And you know what? Every since he held my tiny hand in his
on that first day of my life; from then on, I have always been a “Daddy's
Girl”.
My life has not been the same since I lost
him on May 8, 1993 to brain cancer. Eight days later, on May 16, I lost my
Mother to a heart attack. You know, life can really deal out some heavy
blows at times; however, God gave us memories that we might have roses in
December.
Daddy and Mother were married on March 17,
1949. I had one full blood sibling born in 1950. She would have been six
years older than I was. Her name was Linda. She died from
a heart condition. My Daddy and Mother had trouble over this. He felt that
she might have caused Linda’s condition. When she was pregnant with Linda,
she would have temper tantrums, throwing herself onto the floor and
flailing about. He would tell her to stop it, because she might harm the
baby. She wouldn’t listen and continued to have these tantrums. Then Linda
died at two days old in the hospital. No one really knows what caused her
heart condition. I can see now that it may have been hereditary, since
Mother died many years later from a heart attack. But back then, Daddy had
no way of knowing that she would later develop heart problems. All he knew
was that she had thrown herself all over the floor during the pregnancy
and that he had pleaded with her to stop it. So he had suspicions and
blamed her. I can’t blame him for those thoughts, because I may have felt
the same way in his shoes. Losing a baby, especially your first, would be
drastic. I also feel sorry for Mother. She must have felt such guilt and
remorse at the possibility that she might have been the reason for Linda’s
condition. This is a very sad subject for me, because Linda was my only
full blood sibling and the only sister I would ever have. I regret never
having known her. I was born into this world with a loss already awaiting
me. I feel that I missed a lot by not having her in my life. Even now, as
I write, my lips tremble and my eyes cry. What more can I say? Other than,
I will meet her someday... in Heaven.
I have a half-brother, Jimmie, who was born in 1952.
I was born in 1956. Then they separated for the last time when I was about
a year and a half old. Daddy met a woman in a bar, named Helen, in 1958.
She was a bouncer and would throw people out of the bar when they became
drunk and causing too much trouble. Helen moved in with Daddy and took
over the role of my Mother. Mother had Rex, my second half-brother, in
1960.
Mother wrote me a letter when I was 15
years old. Along with the letter was a copy of her Life Story. I no longer
have it, because Helen took it away from me. In the Life Story, Mother
said that when she met Daddy she was a virgin. Daddy liked her very much
then, and she was a very pretty young woman with beautiful light blue eyes
and reddish-brown hair. It must have also intrigued him that she was still
a virgin. He was only 17 years old, and she was 19. He wanted to make love
to her, but she was a good girl and said she was saving that until she was
married. He promised her that if she would make love with him, that he
would marry her. So she made love with him. He was always a man of his
word, and he married her. I can still remember him telling me throughout
my life, that a man is only as good as his word. If he told someone he
would do something, he would do it. He hated dishonesty. That’s why when I
got spanked for something I did wrong, I would get another spanking if I
had also lied about it. I learned to be honest with him, because he could
always tell by my eyes. The eyes are the mirrors to the soul.
I believe that Daddy did love my Mother;
but when she gained weight, he was very unhappy about it. Once, when I had
only put on about five extra pounds, he noticed and said something about
it. I was always slender throughout my life, until I was about 33 years
old. My weight always ranged between 110 and 125 pounds. Now I look in the
mirror and all that I see is a fattening hog. I truly hate it! People say
you must love yourself, and I think I do. However, I definitely do not
love what I see in the mirror and never will. It is totally unacceptable
to me. Daddy is probably part of the reason I can’t accept it. Daddy’s
idea of an ideal woman was a slender one with just a bit of cushioning on
her. Daddy probably should not have told me how my Mother was, because it
was painting a negative picture of her for me. He said she was lazy and
had a whining voice. He said that she was very jealous, but I can
understand that! Daddy was a Ladies Man. So, like all of humanity, they
both had their faults. They separated the last time for a stupid reason.
She wanted to go stay with her mother for a while and help her. Daddy was
not against her going, but they only had so much money. He gave her money
for the ticket, money to spend while she was there and money for a return
ticket home. He told her, “Now use your spending money wisely and do not
spend your return ticket money, because I have no extra to send to you.”
She said she understood. However, she spent it all when she was there,
assuming that he would somehow come up with more. He was so angry that she
had done this knowing what he had told her. He felt that she should find
herself a job to earn the money to come home on. She felt that if he loved
her, he would find a way to send her more money for a ticket home. Neither
one ever compromised. So, the two stubborn mules never got back together!
I blame them both. They were equally at fault. Actually, to be totally
honest, Mother was more at fault. She had agreed to the money plan and
promised to abide by it. Then she disobeyed. Then she refused to try and
make any extra money. Daddy should have tried to be a little forgiving
though. Oh well, it is all in the past; and I am the only one that truly
paid for it! I paid for it by never having the privilege of having both of
my parents together as I was growing up. I have always regretted that.
I thought Helen was my mother until I was 6
1/2 years old. My Mother always sent cards and gifts on my birthdays and
at Christmas-time, but she had been instructed by Helen to only sign them
“From the Lady in St. Paul”. I don’t know what the motive of that
instruction was, other than Helen’s jealousy. I always knew that there was
some lady in St. Paul, Kansas that loved me very much, and I wondered why?
Then I began to suspect, because like most children, I liked to plunder
through drawers and closets. One day I found some cards and letters that
had been written in cursive handwriting to Daddy and Helen. I could only
read printed words at that time, but I could make out a few important
words. I saw the words “Mother”, “Daughter”, “Love” and “Lola”. I think I
knew at that point, but my young mind did not understand or grasp onto it
fully; or maybe, I just did not want to. So I tucked it away in my mind
and never said a word to anyone. Then for Christmas of 1962, she sent me a
little, blue Bible. It was a gift presentation Bible with special pages
for my parents’ family trees. There was a picture of Daddy on his family
tree page and a picture of Mother on her family tree page. There was a
section with a picture of me, their child. She had signed the gift
presentation page to me from my Mother. Daddy had not told me who she was
before for two reasons. First of all, Helen was a very jealous woman who
wanted to claim me as her own blood child. I believe that if it had of
been left up to her, I would have never known the truth. The other reason,
you will soon see from my Daddy's words of explanation to me. I can see
the wisdom of my Mother in the action of sending that Bible. She
undoubtedly knew that I would possibly never know. So, she sent a gift
that would reveal the truth. Knowing that they would both have to give it
to me and explain, or withhold my Christmas gift from her and bare the
guilt. Helen would have felt no guilt; however, my Daddy was not that kind
of man. He was faced with a hard decision, and he made the only choice
that an honest man could make. After Helen had gone to bed on the night
before Christmas Eve, Daddy sat me down on the couch and told me that he
had something very important to tell me. He said that he had wanted to
wait until I was older to talk about this, but that he was forced to tell
me now because of a gift I had been sent by the lady in St. Paul. He
explained that the lady loved me very much, because she was my real
mother. He said he had not told me before, because I was too young to
understand. Then, he handed me the gift and told me I could open it now;
and that we could look at it together. Together we looked at the pictures
and the family trees. All the while, I had been quiet. He asked me if I
understood; and I merely said, “Yes”. This memory is so vividly clear, as
if it had only been last week. It is hard to believe that it was over 56
years ago... Impressions of life and tears of pain never really leave you.
They remain there, hidden deep within the soul, only to surface again and
again. After I told Daddy that I understood, we went to bed. I went into
my bedroom and cried in the darkness. Funny, but I never wanted anyone to
see my tears. I have been like that all of my life. Maybe, deep in my
mind, I remember how proud he was on that first day of my life in that
hospital nursery, when I was the only baby not crying. He always wanted me
to be brave, tough, never show weakness, never lose a fight, or at least
to go down swinging. Being a Daddy’s Girl, for me, was not about being a
sissy or a crybaby. However, the night Daddy told me who my mother really
was; I lay alone in bed and cried. I cried for different reasons. I think
the main one was that I knew then, without a doubt, that Helen was not my
mother. That seemed a loss to me. She had been with me since I was 18
months old. I also knew then that I did not have my true family together,
like most other children. I spent the rest of my life regretting that I
never really got to know my Mother. When she died on May 16, 1993, I felt
another loss also, other than her death. I knew then that I would never be
able to bring her to live with me and care for her in her old age. I knew
then, that I would never get to build the bond that I had been denied.
Well, I can say one uplifting thing about my losses... my losses are
Heaven’s gains.
I didn’t get to meet my Mother until I was
12 years old in 1968. We lived in Tennessee at the time, and we were on a
trip out to Sweet Home, Oregon to visit my Daddy’s parents. We drove
through St. Paul, Kansas to visit my Mother. Helen was not happy, but
there was nothing she could do about it. We met, visited relatives, and
took pictures together. Helen has the pictures, of course. We had a good
visit, but it was strained. I could tell that Helen was jealous. If I
could tell, then I am sure that Daddy and Mother could too. I got to visit
her once again on the trip back from Oregon to Tennessee. Those were the
only two days in my life that I remember seeing my mother in person.
During one of the visits with my mother in 1968, I
got to meet relatives on her side of my family. I got to meet my older
half-brother, Jimmie. Jimmie was a nice looking young man. He was 16
when I met him. I got to meet my mother’s sister, Ellie Ward-Lindsey and
her children. Other family members were there also. Many years later, on
November 16, 2018, I was able to re-connect, on Facebook, with one of
Aunt Ellie’s children, my cousin, Tom Lindsey. I got to chat with
him for a little while that day. It was wonderful.
I have met more of my cousins from Mom’s side on
Facebook too. Laura Lindsey-Birks and Nancy Kennedy-Threlfall are two to
mention. These ladies are both very helpful, because they are both into
genealogy!
Daddy used to tell me lots of stories when
I was growing up, that I would cherish for the rest of my life. There were
lots of stories about me, things I did that made him laugh or made him
proud. Daddy was an excellent storyteller, enthralling his listeners with
hand gestures, mischievous smiles and hypnotizing eye contact. Those warm
brown eyes of a man who had an even warmer heart. I believe his story
telling is what inspired me to be a writer. His stories were always about
real life, true things that had happened to him and his experiences of
living. This is possibly why I prefer non-fiction.
My first memory is of being in trouble!
Surprised? I have been told that trouble does not follow me around, but
that it is already there waiting for me. I was about 2 years old at the
time, and was hiding under a small kitchen table in a tiny trailer house
where we lived in Texas. I knew I was in deep trouble, because I had just
finished cutting all the long, beautiful hair off of my bride doll. I was
always fascinated with my dolls’ hair. They used to tell me that I should
become a beautician, since I was always fixing or trimming my dolls hair.
I got in trouble, but I don’t remember the punishment.
When I was 3 years old, we were living in
Coos Bay, Oregon. Daddy had a beard for as long as I could remember. One
morning I woke up and his beard was gone! It scared me. I knew it was
Daddy, but I was too shy to go to him. He had to do a lot of coaxing to
get me on his lap. I kept crying when he would try. Finally, he got me on
his lap and everything was all right again.
I remember following him through the woods
and all the lovely fragrances of nature. Life was so aromatic and pleasing
to all the senses. I especially liked the fern plants with such intricate
shape to them. I remember an audio book I listened to a few years ago. The
name of it was “Where the Red Fern Grows”. I still get misty-eyed just
recalling it. It made me think of my Daddy and so many of our precious
memories.
Another plant I am fond of is cattails. I
first saw them on Courtney Creek Road, where we lived in Brownsville,
Oregon. I am a nature lover and a country girl at heart.
When we first moved to Oregon in 1959, we
stayed with Grandma and Grandpa Hilliard for a little while. Then we moved
up on Elm Street into a little shotgun house. We had a small, shiny, black
dog. I loved him. His name was Cooney. Some sick individual poisoned him.
I remember the day that my stepbrother found him out on the sidewalk.
Cooney was dead, and I was only 3 years old! I kept petting him and
saying, “Cooney! Cooney!”, until they finally made me go in the house. I
didn’t really understand death. I only knew he wouldn’t move. After
someone explained a little bit about death, I remember thinking, “What
kind of place is this, where they kill your puppies?”
We didn’t have a bathtub in that little
house. I remember being bathed in a small tub out in the front yard.
When we were still in Texas; Daddy bought
me a little, realistic, white jeep. I was 2 years old at that time. He
said I loved it and pedaled it around all day long. Then when it was time
to go to bed, I would drive it under the kitchen table and park it for the
night. The table was my garage.
This is a funny story that Daddy loved to
tell. When I was a baby, but big enough to crawl around, he let me sleep
with him. This was when he and my mother had separated. He would hear
something rattling in the middle of the night. He would get up and turn
the light on and find me with his alarm clock completely disassembled. He
got so tired of putting that thing back together again! I guess I have
always liked working on things. Later when I was a teenager, I would take
my tape recorders apart and repair them. I love to see what makes things
tick. This has double meaning, since it all started with a ticking
clock!
He said I loved jelly. I would go to the
refrigerator and tap on the door with my finger, before I could even talk.
He knew what I wanted, so he would open the door. I would stand there
looking at all the jars of jelly, trying to decide which flavor I wanted.
This was quite time consuming, since it was such a big and important
decision! Finally, after much contemplation, I would tap my finger on the
top of the lid of the jar of my choice. At first, he would give me a slice
of bread with the jelly on it. I would lick all the jelly off and take the
bread back to him for more jelly. I would do that over and over again. He
said I would wear a slice of bread out! So, he finally started putting the
jelly on a saucer and giving it to me with a spoon, since all I wanted was
the jelly anyway! He always smiled and laughed as he told these stories;
and I heard them all several times, never tiring of hearing them
again.
Once, when I was learning to talk, he was
sitting in the living room reading something. I wanted his attention and
was trying to ask him something. He had a habit of tuning you out when he
was busy. I kept tapping him on the arm and saying, “Daddy!” He kept
saying, “In a minute.” This went on for a while, until I got angry and
loudly said, “Inny meeny, inny meeny! That’s all you ever say!” He busted
out laughing and could barely stop. What I had said tickled him and also
that I had gotten so mad. Every time he remembered that, he would get so
tickled. Needless to say, I got his attention; and he didn’t tune me out
as much after that.
A scary memory I have is of a snake chasing
me all over the yard. I was about 4 or 5 years old, and we lived in
Brownsville, Oregon at that time. I was screaming bloody murder, as the
snake was right on my heels. Daddy came out just in time to blow it away
before it got me.
One night, I had another scare when I had
just gone to sleep. We had a jackass named Jack. Jack came right up beside
my bedroom window and brayed loudly. I came out of a deep sleep to hear a
braying ass. It nearly scared the life out of me. I started screaming
too!
While I am on scary memories, I will tell
about two recurring nightmares that I used to have. The first one was
simpler, and the second one was more complicated being recurring and
progressive.
The first nightmare was when I was about 4
years old. When I would first fall into sleep, I would see a lion with his
mouth wide open coming towards me. He would get closer and closer until my
head was in his mouth. I could see his teeth, tongue and tonsils. Then I
started going down his throat. His throat was like a tunnel, and I just
kept falling, falling, falling. Then the nightmare would end. I hated
going to bed, because I had that dream every night for a long time.
The other nightmare came to me sometime
after I stopped having the other one. This nightmare did not occur every
night like the first one did. It happened randomly. I consider it a
progressive nightmare, since there would be a little more to the story
each time. We lived on Courtney Creek Road, which ran in front of our
house and all the way up onto the mountain. The first time I had this
nightmare; it started with me hearing footsteps echoing down from the
mountain. Click, click, click... coming towards me. After that, the dream
would start out the same, except she would get a little closer each time.
I somehow knew that it was a she, and she was old. Every dream I hated,
because I knew she was coming for me. I feared her arrival. This nightmare
tormented me for years, and it slowly progressed, building my tension. She
had finally, after some time, made it to our driveway. I still get chills
when I relive it! Then one night, she made it to the porch. Another night
she made it to the front door. Then into the kitchen. Then to the small
hallway. Then to my bedroom door. Then into my bedroom. In these dreams, I
would see her dark form coming towards me. I could see her arms
outstretched and her hands reaching for me. Finally, one night, she was
right by my bed and reaching for me. I screamed and awoke. The next time,
she was even closer, almost to grasp me in her clutches. I always told
Daddy and Helen about these nightmares. They always said, “It’s just a
dream, no one is there!” Well, one night she almost had me. I jumped up
and ran into Daddy and Helen’s room, screaming to them that she was trying
to get me. They said, “It’s only a dream!” Then she appeared in their
bedroom doorway. I said, “See! There she is!” She started coming across
the room, reaching for me and getting closer and closer. I was screaming,
“Don’t let her get me! Please help me!” They kept saying, “It’s just a
dream, there is no one there!” She got up to me, and her hands almost
touched me. Then I awoke as the nightmare ended. It was the last one, and
it never happened again. I still think, to this day, that it was very
strange. The detail of it bothers my mind. I am glad it finally ended.
Otherwise, I would be crazier than I already am!
Now, some happy memories again! I remember
when I was about 4 or 5 years old, small enough to stand in the seat as I
rode with Daddy in his jeep. We were driving from Brownsville towards
Crawfordsville, Oregon. He would let me sit on his lap sometimes while he
was driving. Back then, there were no seat belts or kids car seats. The
good old days! This day, he let me stand between his legs and steer the
jeep down the road for what seemed like quite a way to me. In reality, as
an adult I now see that it was only a short distance. He thought it was
funny that every time we would come to a roadside pull off, I would drive
in and out of it. That was the very first time I “kind of” drove!
He used to have a red, Ford pick-up, but
before that he had an older, gray, Ford pick-up. We used to stop at the
old gas station in Crawfordsville, and Daddy would let me pick out candy.
He always thought it funny that I would take so long figuring out what
kind I wanted. I guess I always take things too seriously, but picking out
candy and jelly were always serious matters to me! We used to always stop
there for a soda pop too. We both had the same favorite, Strawberry Crush.
My heart is still broken over my Daddy’s death. Time can not mend some
heartaches.
When I was about 5 years old, we had a cow named
Boss. She was an ornery, mean cow. She was always trying to bite me. One
day, I was sitting up on the gate to the pen she was in. She headed right
for me with her teeth bared to bite, when Daddy came up just in time. He
took me by the back of my shirt with his left hand and lifted me up and
over the gate, dangling me in front of her like bait. Every time she tried
to bite me, he would slug her in the face with his right fist. This seemed
like it went on for quite a while, until Boss finally decided that it
wasn’t that much fun anymore. She backed off. I don’t remember her ever
trying to bite me again. Daddy had a way with animals!
When I was 8 years old, Daddy bought me a black
Shetland pony with an attitude. Her name was Dixie. She was a stubborn
little outfit with a mind that was totally her own! The very first day he
brought her home, she was acting up and trying to bite him. He told her,
“I’ll just slap a wart on your nose!” Then he lightly slapped her on the
nose. My mouth dropped open, and my eyes bugged out when I saw the wart on
her nose! Daddy bust out laughing and could barely stop. He knew that she
already had a wart, but I hadn’t noticed it yet. He played a real good
funny on me that time!
The worst trouble I ever got into with Daddy was when
I was about 8 years old. My friends, DeAnna and Dickey, were visiting at
our house. We went out walking around in Daddy’s pasture. He had a few
cows and horses in the pasture. We found some cow-pies and dropped them
down Daddy’s well, that he had paid $1,800 to have drilled. He was always
struggling for money, and it wasn’t easy for him to pay for that well. We
were kids and not using common sense, we were only thinking that we wanted
to hear what the cow-pies sounded like when they hit the water at the
bottom of the well. The well was so deep, we couldn’t hear them when they
hit the water; but excuse the expression, the shit hit the fan when Daddy
found out his well was ruined! I got a big talking to about it when he
first found out. He told me that my punishment would come later, when the
friends and their parents were visiting again. Daddy and Helen wanted my
friends to be punished by their parents also. They thought it only fair
that they be spanked too. Well, they showed up one day, and Daddy told
them about the well. He told them how much it had originally cost him, and
what it was going to cost to have one re-drilled. There was no way of
cleaning and sanitizing one that had been contaminated with feces. He told
them what the three of us kids had done, and that I was going to be
punished now. He said that he did not expect them to pay for part of the
new well, but that he thought it only fair for them to at least punish
their children too. Then he took me by the hand and led me off into my
bedroom and closed the door. He told me to take off my pants and to lie
down on my stomach on the bed. He took off his belt and whipped me hard on
one cheek of my butt. He told me that was for what I had done. Then, he
whipped me on the other butt cheek and said that was for lying, when he
had first questioned me about it. That was the worst whipping I ever got.
I had whelps on my butt for a while. I did deserve it, though. Daddy was
not a rich man, and I had cost him a big bundle of money. Anyway, while we
were in my bedroom taking care of business, Helen was in the kitchen with
the parents and their children, my two partners in crime. They could all
hear me bawling. Helen told the parents that she and Daddy still expected
them to punish their children too. The mother refused! Then Helen told
her, “If you don’t whip their asses, I am going to whip yours!” They all
ran out to their car and split the scene. I think it may have been the
last time they came over, and they had been pretty close friends before
that. I remember that Helen had threatened to whip Darlene’s butt one
other time also. Darlene was the mother of my friends. Darlene had been
ignorant enough to tell Helen that Daddy had “bedroom eyes”! Helen was mad
as a wildcat that time!
Roy was my stepbrother. His name was Ernest Roy; but
for me, it was easier to call him Ernie. I couldn’t pronounce the name Roy
very well at that time. I called him Ernie for years until, as an adult, I
discovered that it embarrassed him in front of his friends. I then started
calling him Roy, but it felt odd. He had always been Ernie to me. He was
my stepbrother, but even though we were not related by blood, he was more
like a real brother to me. He was my protector during my childhood years.
We grew up together and had lots of wonderful memories. We laughed and
cried together. We were each other’s own personal clown! I love and miss
him terribly. He was born August 4, 1949. I lost him on August 12, 2012 at
about 3:45 PM. He was 63 years old. He lived in Sweet Home, Oregon at time
of death. May the Lord rock him gently in the cradle of His loving
Arms.
When I was about 9 years old something funny
happened. Daddy, Ernie and I were all at home. Helen had gone to town. She
had ordered us not to eat any of the peaches in the pantry, because she
was going to can them. Well, she was gone and the coast was clear! We
slipped into the pantry and each one of us got a big, ripe, juicy peach.
We stood gathered around in a small circle with peach juice drooling down
our chins, as we smiled in heavenly bliss at the taste of our forbidden
fruits. Such tasty morsels they were. All of the sudden, our peach party
was crashed! We heard the car pull into the driveway, home early! We
scattered like a bunch of scared chickens! I went running into the living
room, and I started choking on a piece of peach that had lodged in my
throat. I couldn’t breathe, because my airway was blocked. I went running
back into the kitchen, where Daddy was standing. He was trying to look
innocent, as Helen was just coming in the door. As I was pointing at my
throat, all I could say was “Aaack! Aaack!” Daddy slapped me on the back,
dislodging the peach. Needless to say, I got us all busted! We laughed
about that a lot throughout the years.
Daddy was quite a character, laughing most of the
time, always loving and honest, and a man of his word. He was a handsome
man with eyes that a lot of women described as “Bedroom Eyes”. I don’t say
these things just because he was my Daddy, but because all of these things
are facts.
He had a lot of funny stories about his childhood
too. Some were about his mother trying to correct him. She was a smart
woman. When he had done something bad, she would tell him to go and cut a
switch for his whipping. While he was gone, it gave her time to cool down
some, for his own good. He was always trying to out-fox her in the
“whipping business”, but she was not easy to out-fox! Once, when he went
after the switch, he cut a club. He thought that when she saw it, she
would feel sorry for him and not whip him. She acted like nothing was
unusual. She whipped him with the club! Another time, he got a real long,
skinny switch. He was thinking that it would break when she began
switching him, and that he would get out of the whipping. When the switch
broke in two, she just doubled it over and continued whipping. Each time
it broke, she doubled it over again. It turned into a club also! One day,
he had done something that made her really mad. When she tried to grab
him, he ran from her. That made her even madder. She hollered, “James,
come back!” He kept on running down the dirt and gravel road. She started
running after him. Then, all of a sudden, she fell. He glanced back, and
she was lying, face down, in the gravel. Her arm was up around her head.
He stopped and said, “Mother, are you all right?” She didn’t answer. He
asked again getting no response. He crept back and kept saying, “Mother?
Mother, are you alright?” He came right up to her, and her hand shot out
and clutched him around the ankle! Mother was all right and madder than a
hornet! She was not to be out-foxed!
Well, when I was 11 years old and lived in Redmond,
Oregon; I had done something that needed punishment. Daddy decided to go
the way of his mother this time. He told me to go cut a switch and gave me
his pocketknife to cut it with. I didn’t know what size of a switch to
get. I had heard his stories about his switch adventures, and this was
sagebrush country, anyway. I went searching and was having trouble finding
a switch. Finally, I settled down to cut a limb from some sagebrush. The
limb was about one inch in diameter and very tough to cut. I was sawing
away at it with his pocketknife. The knife slipped and I cut myself. It
wasn’t a bad cut, but I was bleeding. I continued to saw at the limb. He
came looking for me to see what was taking so long. There I sat, bleeding,
with a half-severed club of a switch. He saw me and started laughing, then
crying. The size of the switch I was cutting is what made him laugh, but
he cried when he saw that I was bleeding. I hadn’t even tried to out-fox
him, and he didn’t whip me for whatever I had done wrong. Daddy had a
tender heart.
All throughout my childhood, I hated green peas.
Daddy always tried to force me to eat them, but the sweet and putrid taste
literally gagged me. So, I would try eating them one at a time to be able
to get them down my throat. One night, when he and I were home alone
having dinner, peas were on the menu. I was sitting there eating them one
at a time, pea by pea. Then as I tried to swallow one, my throat closed up
like an hourglass. The pea shot out of my throat, through my mouth, and
hit him square in the chest! Daddy got so tickled. He never again tried to
force me to eat green peas. He finally realized that they literally made
me sick. Now, I love green peas. I learned to like them, after seeing
someone in the high school lunchroom mixing them with mashed potatoes. I
tried it like that and it was good. From then on, I could eat them when
they were mixed with mashed potatoes. Then later, I could eat them alone.
Now, I have grown to love them. Imagine that! However, I still hate liver.
The taste of it turns me inside out!
Daddy told me about how he went to prison once. He
had loaned out his big truck to a couple of guys. He didn’t know it, but
the guys were planning to use it to steal cows. They stole the cows,
delivered them to their destination, and then returned the truck to Daddy.
The truck had been seen during the crime and was identified as Daddy’s
truck. Daddy went to court and was hung with the crime. Daddy was framed,
and the criminals got off free! Daddy spent time in prison! He had
several, funny, prison stories. Daddy always found the “funny” in most
circumstances. However, if he ever caught up with those guys later on, I
doubt that there would have been any funny in the circumstance for
them!
In prison, Daddy was on Kitchen Patrol a lot. They
called it K.P. He had to bake bread, cook and do dishes. Sometimes, if
there was extra stuff, he and the other cooks would give it to the other
prisoners who stopped by wanting something to smuggle to their cells for a
treat later. One night, there was nothing extra. However, there was a
whole lot of eggs in the storage room, crates of them. A couple of
prisoners came by asking if there was anything tonight. Daddy knew all
their names, but I can’t recall them now. Daddy told them that there
weren’t any leftovers, but that they could get some of the eggs if they
wanted. They went in and got a couple each and left. I don’t know what
they were able to do with raw eggs in their cells. I never thought to ask,
and I don’t recall if Daddy ever said. Anyway, this one prisoner was a
little off his rocker, a total nut case. However, he was very friendly and
had a big smile like Dom Deluise, the famous comedian. This guy would try
to smuggle as much as he could at one time. They had to be really careful
down by one elevator, because there was a very mean, strict guard there.
If he caught you with something, it could mean 3 days in the hole. The
hole was a dark prison cell used strictly for extra punishment. Well, this
guard was really strict, but if he could get a laugh out of you, he might
just let you go without being sent to the hole. Daddy said that he had a
great big, toothy grin. I can’t remember who he compared him to. I now
picture him as a Jim Carey in comparison from the description Daddy gave
of him. Daddy probably thought of him as a grinning jackass! Well, the
nutty prisoner came by and asked what was free tonight. Daddy and the guy
on shift with him told him that there was only some crates of eggs and
that he could get him some. They expected him to get a few, like everyone
else in their right mind. The nut smiled real big and went in and
proceeded to load up. He put eggs on his body everywhere! When he got
through putting every egg somewhere on his body, he looked like Santa
Claus! Daddy and the other guy with him were really worried for him. They
knew that he was bound to get busted. There was no way that he could get
by Sergeant Dickey. I remembered the guard's name, finally. Daddy told him
that there was no way he could get by Dickey with all those eggs. The nut
said with a big smile, “Oh, I’ll make it!” Then he waddled down the hall.
When he got within Dickey's line of vision, he tried to walk on past him
nonchalantly. He said to Dickey, “Howdy, Sir!” Dickey said, “Howdy!” He
let him pass on by just to let him think he had gotten by with something.
The nut got a little way down the hall. Then Dickey called out to him,
“You’re looking a little plump tonight! Come back here!” The nut crept
back to him. Dickey asked, “What you got there?” Then he reached out with
both hands and gently patted the nut's body. Then, a big toothy grin began
to spread over his entire face. He started patting all over his body with
just enough force to break each egg. He was laughing as he crushed every
last one of them. The nut looked so sheepish, as he stood there oozing egg
whites and yolks from the cuffs of his sleeves and trousers and from the
tail of his long jacket. By then, Dickey was laughing hysterically. Dickey
said to the nut, between laughs, “Now, go on home and get yourself all
cleaned up! You’re a mess!” The nut slithered down the hall like a whipped
puppy with eggs dripping and leaving a trail all the way to the elevator.
The nut didn’t have to go to the hole after all, because he had given
Dickey a very big laugh!
When I was little, Daddy bought some new World Book
Encyclopedias. There was also a set of Childcraft Books
included in the deal. I loved them! There were fairy tales, poetry, songs,
and paintings! I spent many hours with these books. I read about great
painters and loved the paintings. Something funny happened one day! There
was a game show on television. They were asking the contestants to give
the name of the famous painter, who painted the artwork
being shown. None of the three contestants
were getting the answer, and I knew who the painter was. I had
a problem with pronunciation. I always pronounced things the way they were
spelled, because I was good at spelling. I was about 6 years old. I got
frustrated wanting the people to get the answer, and I started jumping up
and down yelling, "Picasso! You dummies, Picasso!" To Daddy, it
sounded like "Pick Ass Hole”. I didn't pronounce it correctly. Daddy
started laughing at what it sounded like I was saying. Then after
none of the contestants got the answer, the
host of the show said "It's Picasso"! Daddy was
proud of me for knowing, and still tickled at how I had
said it.
One day, Daddy and I went to visit some
friend of his. The friend had a daughter about my age.
Her name was Cheryl. She and I hit it off pretty good. We went out walking
around their property. We stopped on some railroad tracks, and I looked
down and saw a grasshopper with a broken leg. I felt so sorry for him. We
looked around until we found a matchbox, so I could take him home and try
to make him well. She thought I was kind of silly. I took the matchbox,
and I gently put him in it. I took him home and kept him on the
windowsill of my bedroom. He stayed there for several
days, and I would check on him often. Then one day, I came home from
school, and he was gone. A few days later, a
lot of grasshoppers showed up on my windowsill! I
believed that he had gone and made a lot of friends, and
told them all about me helping him. So, they all showed up to see me or to
thank me. I'll never forget that!
My Dad and Helen split up a
couple of times over the years.
One of those times, Daddy started living with another
woman. We were in Sarasota, Florida at that time. Helen showed up in
Jean's driveway one day, threatening to shoot into the
house if Daddy and we kids didn't leave with her!
Finally, the Police came and forced her to leave us alone. She was staying
in a motel in Sarasota. Daddy, Bobby (my adopted half brother), and I went
over to visit her several times. One day, when we were getting ready to go
visit her; Jean called me into her bedroom, she was lying on her bed. She
wanted me to get some hair out of Helen's hairbrush when
we went to see her. I thought that she must have been into witchcraft or voodoo. She grinned, and
said she could take care of Helen ever bothering us
again! It freaked me out! I refused to do it, because I didn't want to be
a part of something like that.
I heard later, that once Daddy went over to see Helen
without Bobby and me with him. They got into a big fight over him being
with Jean. Daddy was trying to drive away in his pick-up, and Helen was
firing shots at him with her pistol! They always carried guns, like the
Old West! She was a "Pistol packin Mama"! I never cared much for
guns. Wonder why?
When Daddy was living with Jean in Summerville,
Georgia; we went through another ordeal! Helen came there to visit, and
she rented a trailer house to use as our visiting place. Daddy, Jean's
daughter, JoAnne, Bobby and I all went together to visit Helen one day.
While we were there visiting, guns started firing at the trailer house!
Jean's sons, John and Chipper, had found out we had gone there; and they
were angry about it. So, they decided to shoot Daddy, I guess! Daddy
yelled at us all to hit the floor. He got out his 45 Pistol and went to
the door. I remember thinking, "My Daddy's going to get shot!" He opened
the door slowly and stepped out on the porch, with the pistol raised and
aimed right at John. He yelled at them, "Drop it, John! Drop it, Chipper!"
It was just like something out of an old Western movie! Oh, the days of my
life, I will never forget!
One time, in Arkansas, Daddy, Helen and I were
driving down the freeway in his red, Ford pick-up truck. Some young punks
kept tail-gating him. Then they drove up beside him, and flipped him the
finger! Daddy got so mad; he pulled out his 45 pistol, and aimed it out
the window at them. He chased them down the freeway for a couple of miles
at high speed! Helen kept yelling, "James! Calm down!" I think he just
wanted to scare the crap out of them, because he could have blown their
tires out had he wanted to. They probably had to go home and clean out
their britches!
When I lived in Summerville, Georgia; I had a
boyfriend that liked to hunt. One day, he wanted me to go out in the woods
to "Twist-out Squirrels". I didn't know exactly what he meant. He wanted
to share the experience with me! We went out into the woods behind his
parents’ house. He took a long branch with him that had a crook on the end
of it. He found a tree with a hole in it, and stuck the stick down in the
hole. I heard the squirrel cry out when the stick touched him. Then
Wendell started twisting the stick round and round, entangling it in the
squirrel’s tail. He said he planned to tangle it up in the critter’s tail,
then jerk him out of the hole and club him to death! It was so prehistoric
and barbaric to me! The poor squirrel was crying and screaming! I started
telling Wendell to let him go, and he wouldn't listen. So, I started
screaming at him to let him go. Finally, he stopped, unwillingly. He was
so angry with me; he said he would never take me with him again! I told
him, I wouldn't go with him again, even if he begged me to!
When I lived in Coldwater, Mississippi; I went to a
school that was predominantly black. I rode on a school bus that was
over-crowded. There were only about six of us on the bus who were white.
They made us sit in the back two seats of the bus! I guess they were
paying us back for the days when blacks were forced to ride in the back of
buses! I have never been prejudiced. I believe that there are good people
and bad people. The color of the skin has nothing to do with it! I had a
girlfriend named Genevieve in junior high school there. She was wonderful!
She was tall, muscular and black as tar. One day, out behind the
lunchroom, three white girls confronted me. They said, "Do you know why no
one likes you?" I said, "No! Why?" They said, "They say that you are a
Nigger-Lover! If you want people to like you, then quit being friends with
Genevieve!" I told them that they may be white, but Genevieve was a much
better person than any of them. I said that if I had to lose Genevieve to
be their friend, then I didn't need their friendship. Genevieve was black
and had a heart of gold. I pitied these white girls in their ivory
towers.
Another day at school, I was in a class room with
those three girls. The teacher was late coming in. The girls started
harassing me. They said they were going to kick my ass and wanted me to
stay after school to fight them. I told them that I would fight them, but
I wasn't going to miss my bus for anyone. They agreed to meet at lunch
time the following day. We would meet out by the big light pole in the
middle of the school yard. They sneered, "Now don't chicken out!" When
Genevieve found out what was going on, she wanted to help me fight them.
She said it was better "2 against 3" than "3 against 1"! I told her that I
would fight them, one at a time; but she could be there to make sure that
they didn't gang up on me. She settled for that plan. So, the next day, we
waited by the pole for the girls. Time passed. Lunch was almost over. Then
we saw them walking by from a distance. They had their eyes downcast to
the ground, like they were afraid we would spot them. They went on,
without stopping. Then, when back in the classroom, where they had
threatened me; the teacher was late again. They started announcing to
everyone; that they had planned to kick my ass, but I chickened out! I
stood up and told the whole class that they were lying. I said that
Genevieve was with me, to make sure that they fought me one at a time and
didn't gang up on me. I said that, when they saw her, they chickened out!
Genevieve's height and build would be pretty intimidating to someone who
wasn't her friend! The whole class room started laughing at them! They
were so embarrassed! They never said another word to me again.
When I was 12, we lived on the Veazy Ranch in
Mississippi. Daddy was a ranch hand in this bull breeding business. He was
a "Jack-of-all-Trades"! We were friends with the family of his co-worker,
Howard. He had two daughters, Carol and Patricia. They were my friends. He
had a son, Lewis. We had a personality conflict. The boy hated me to put
it simply.
One day, Lewis rode his bicycle over to our
house, knowing that I was home alone. He started smarting off and throwing
rocks at my pregnant Chihuahua, Princess. I told him to knock it off. He
ignored me, and kept throwing rocks at her head. Then he hit her! By then,
I was furious. I started searching the ground with my eyes to find a rock.
I needed one the right size for his head, in comparison to the one he used
on her smaller head. He saw what I was doing and the wild look in my eyes,
and he jumped on his bike and flew down the driveway. In the meantime, I
found the rock. The driveway was about 1/8 of a mile long, and he was
about half way down it. I never had been a good pitch, but I threw that
rock with all the fury I had in me. It went sailing through the air like
an old movie in slow-motion. It passed over him, angling down just in time
to pop him right on the crown of the head! Bingo! Bull's Eye! Perfect
shot! His head and body swayed in circular motions, and then he fell to
the gravel in a heap. The bike fell in the other direction. He lay there
about 30 seconds, motionless. I thought I had killed him! Then he stirred
and slowly got to his feet, bawling. He was holding his head, like he
thought he was dying. Maybe he did think so! He picked up his bike and got
on, slowly. He started riding away screaming that he was going to tell my
Dad, and that I would be in a heap of trouble! I told him that he didn't
know my Daddy very well. Otherwise, he would have known that he would
praise me for standing up to a bully!
Another day, I rode my bike over to their house to
visit Carol and Patricia. When I got there, I parked my bike by their
front porch. Lewis came running out onto the front porch with his bee-bee
gun. He raised it and fired. He shot a hole in the seat of my bike! Then
he laughed, dropped the gun onto the porch, jumped down to the ground, and
hopped onto his bike to ride away. I hopped up onto the porch, picked up
his gun, raised it and fired at his bike seat. My aim was a little off,
and I got him in the leg! Of course, he started bawling again.
One night, our family was visiting them. Carol,
Patricia and I were playing pool. They had a room with a pool table in it.
Lewis came in and started trying to hit me with a pool stick. I picked up
a ball and was ready to crown him with it, when our parents came in and
saved him. I guess they knew to keep a close eye on us, so we wouldn't
kill each other!
One day, after school, I got onto our over-crowded
bus. All the seats were taken, and the aisle was full. I had an arm-load
of books to take home for homework. No one offered to hold the books for
me. It was extremely difficult to hold onto them and the back of a seat
for support, as the bus started moving. Standing next to me, was a short
fat boy. The little bully thought it was funny to keep bumping into me and
nearly making me drop the books. I kept telling him to knock it off. He
started punching me in the stomach, hard! I dropped the books to the
floor, and got him in a head-lock. I was rubbing the knuckles, of my right
fist, swiftly over his pig-shaven head. He started bawling like a baby.
The bus driver screeched the bus to a halt, and came back to break up the
fight. He said we would have to go to the principal's office the next
morning; for a paddling, and maybe even suspension. I told Daddy and Helen
what had happened that night. Daddy got mad, and said "They are not going
to punish you for standing up for yourself!” He went with me to
school the next day. The principal told Daddy that I would get a paddling,
even if I wasn't at fault; because I had been fighting on the school bus.
It was the rules! Daddy told him that I had been taught to stand up for
myself; and if I had not, I would have got a whipping when I got home. The
principal said that I still would get a paddling, because it was the
rules. Daddy was smiling as he told him, “You can paddle her under one
condition, Sir; and that is that you will have to whip my ass first!” The
principal decided he would bend the rules that time!
When we lived in Coos Bay, Oregon; I had my
3rd birthday party. I remember that day! I thought it strange to have so
much attention focused on me. We had the party at the house of friends.
The father of the family only had one arm. His daughter Janice was about a
year older than me. She could talk, but not clearly. She couldn't say my
name right, it came out "Biolia". She had been taught to share, and that
it didn't matter who got the most. So, she shared in her own way! If she
had a chocolate candy bar, she would break it into two unequal pieces,
give me the smaller piece, and say "It don't matter who get the most, do
it, Biolia?"
Then, when we lived in Brownsville, Oregon;
they came from Coos Bay, to visit us. We were a couple years older then.
Janice still couldn't speak real plain, but at least knew how to pronounce
"Lola", instead of "Biolia". She was a con-artist at heart. When we were
in my bedroom, and I was showing her all my toys; she reached into her
pocket, and pulled out something. She told me that she had something of
great value, and I couldn't tell her parents that she showed them to me.
She opened her hand, and I saw some sparkling red-orange gems! She said,
"These are priceless woobies!" She meant "rubies", but couldn't say it
clearly. She let me hold and admire them. Then she said, "You could make
your family rich with these!" I looked at her, wondering what she meant.
Then she said, "You could trade all your toys to me for them!" I was
hesitant, but she kept on. She said, "My parents would beat me, if they
knew I was doing this; but I want to help you out!" I thought about how
Daddy was always struggling for money. How we were pretty poor. Then I
decided to do it. We would be rich, and never have to worry about money!
Janice boxed up all of my toys, which had cost Daddy and Helen quite a bit
of money. There was one little porcelain doll, that my great-aunt Edna had
given me. I refused to let it be part of the deal. Later, I found that it
was gone too! After she boxed up all my toys, she said "We will have to
smuggle these out your window and sneak them into the trunk of our car. My
parents would be very mad at me, if they knew that I traded off my
expensive jewels!" So, we smuggled it all out. After they left, I went
into my bedroom and got the rubies. I came out into the living room where
Daddy and Helen were sitting. I had a great big smile on my face, and I
said "We're rich!" Daddy and Helen looked at the plastic bracelet beads in
my hand and asked what I meant. I told them the whole story. I was beaming
and so excited! Their faces fell. Daddy sat me down on the couch and
explained that the rubies were only plastic beads. He told me about
con-artists, and how they lie to you, just to trick you into giving them
something of more value. I had been conned at the age of 6, by a 7 year
old con-artist! I wasn't as upset, as Daddy and Helen, over the loss of
all my toys. I was just heart-broken that I had failed to make my family
rich! Helen wrote a letter to the parents, telling them what had happened.
They said they would refund them shipping money, if they would send the
toys back to us. They had been good friends, but we never heard from them
again!
When I was 11, we lived in Redmond, Oregon.
I had a friend named Roxanne. She used to come up the hill to our house a
lot to visit me. She had very long, wavy, blonde hair that she never
brushed! It was so bad that she had dreadlocks, tangled clumps of hair
that could never be brushed out. It was a shame, because she was a pretty
girl. Daddy and Helen were so afraid I was going to get lice from her,
because I had told them that I saw little bugs jumping up and down on her
head. Finally, her parents cut her hair off real short. That was the only
solution, since it had gotten in such bad condition. We couldn't
understand why they hadn't made her brush it, in the first place.
I remember when I first transferred to the
school in Redmond. The other children were so mean. My very first day was
horrible. I was shy, because I was the new kid in class. The teacher
introduced me, and all the kids just stared at me. Then later, I looked
over at some girls shyly, and they started laughing at me. They said I
looked like a hoot owl, and told me to not look at them anymore. I told
them that I could look anywhere I wanted! They didn't like that much, but
I wasn't going to take their bull, and they may as well know in the
beginning! It took a while, but finally I fit in. I made a friend. Her
name was Susan. We got along great. We would trade shoes during the day,
because we wore the same size. We both liked each other’s shoes better
than our own! Then one day, we were out by the monkey bars during recess.
Some other girls came up to us, and started telling me that Chuck had a
crush on me. I was only 11, and shy. I started laughing, and tried to play
it down. What was funny was that I had a crush on him too; but I wasn't
about to tell anyone! I wasn't ready for that kind of relationship. I was
used to fighting with boys. If I had a crush on them, I became incredibly
shy! Someone else came up to Susan and me another day, and said that Chuck
really likes me and wanted to go steady with me. Boy, I was really under
pressure now! I wanted so bad to be his girlfriend, but my shyness
prevented me! Susan seemed a little jealous now, but I wasn't sure. Then
when she and I were playing tether-ball (a ball tied by a string to a
pole), she said "Why don’t you go with him? He is cute, he likes you, and
I think you like him!” She was hitting the tether ball a little too hard.
She seemed mad at me. I told her that I do like him a lot, but I wasn’t
ready for that kind of relationship. She blew up, and told me how stupid I
was! She said she wished that she could have him. I didn't know what to
say, so I just said "Well, take him then!" So, she took that to heart. She
let him know, somehow, that she was interested. He still wanted me,
though, and it made her even madder at me. My friendship was going
downhill. Then one day, she told me that he wanted to talk to both of us,
and that we would meet outside the door at the end of the building. I was
frightened and nervous. I still liked him, but could not control my
shyness. He stood there, with her at his side. He looked so forlorn. He
explained that he liked us both, but that I was his first choice. He still
wanted to go steady with me, and he said if I didn't want to, then he
would go with Susan. Stupid and shy, I said it was fine for them to go
together. She was grinning like a jackass, and I was a fool! Normally, I
prefer brunette guys, but he was the prettiest blonde boy I ever remember
seeing! I have always regretted my actions concerning him. I still wonder
how life might have turned out, if I had followed my heart and not my
mind. I lost both of them, because after that; Susan would not even speak
to me. I guess she hated me, because she knew I had been his first choice.
Chuck was his nickname, his real name was Charles. A lot of times, I have
thought of them and wondered how it turned out for them. I wonder if they
ever got married. Something bad in me hopes they didn't! Why is that?
I don't know why I had to be so shy at 11;
because when I was only 6, in the first grade, I had a boyfriend! His name
was Jack. He sent me a note saying he loved me, and that he wanted to
marry me someday! I wrote back to him, I said I loved him too, and I would
marry him someday! Isn't that cute? Two first graders in love and
discussing marriage! We walked around holding hands during recess. One day
he wanted to kiss me. So I let him. He gave me a peck on the cheek. He
talked about forever, and how much he loved me. Funny thing, I can't
remember what happened between us! Where did we go wrong? I wish I could
remember the rest of the story.
When I lived in Redmond, Oregon, where
Chuck and Susan were; I made another friend after Susan. Mary was her
name. One time, some girl invited us to come to a G.A. (Girl's Auxiliary)
meeting with her at the First Baptist Church. We got there early, because
we walked from the school on a Wednesday. When we got there, someone told
us that a few of the girls were there early too, and that they were in
another room upstairs. She said to go on up. So, we went upstairs and
found them. Of all things to have in a church, they were playing with a
Ouija Board! I had one at home, but in a church? Two of them would sit at
it, and ask it personal questions about the other person. Finally, they
talked me into sitting down there. I did so, reluctantly; because I didn't
want it blabbing my secrets! The very first thing she asked it was "Does
Lola like a boy?" It moved to "Yes". Then she asked, "Where is he?" It
spelled out “School". Then she asked, "What is his name?" It started to
move towards the "C", when I jumped up and said "Enough of this!” I wasn't
about to let that thing tell them what only I knew!
When I lived in Coldwater, Mississippi; I
still had my Ouija board. My friends, Leavia and Cathy and I didn't really
believe in it, but we had fun playing around with it, until one night. My
friend, Cathy and I were messing around with it; asking it random
questions about people at school, and who they liked. It wasn't responding
very well. So we started asking it what songs were going to play next on
the radio. It started telling us! We got excited. We kept doing this,
until it started acting weird. It kept trying to spell out a sentence,
"Come to the graveyard". There was a graveyard on down the road about a
mile. It was just past Cathy's house. We didn't like this topic, so we
kept trying to change the subject back to songs on the radio. It was
stubborn, and kept insisting "Come to the graveyard"! We asked it "Why?"
It said, "Just come at midnight". We asked it, "Who are you?" It spelled
out "D-E-V-I-L"! We said, "We don't believe you! Give us a sign at
midnight, if you really are the Devil!" Our hair was standing on end
by this point! We were at my house, and it was late at night, and no one
else was home. I had a door that was on the back wall of my bedroom. It
opened to the outside. There was no step. It just opened to the outside.
Later, my Daddy added a bathroom to that side of the house, and it was
then the door to the bathroom. Now, it was only a door to nothing, but the
outdoors. The door was locked, fortunately. Precisely at midnight, the
door knob started to twist and turn about wildly, like someone or
something was desperately trying to get in. We screamed and jumped up. We
ran into the living room. We stayed in there, nervously looking at the
windows; until Daddy and Helen got home. Daddy thought we were silly
girls, and that we were just imagining it. We weren't! It really happened.
Cathy and I were discussing who could have come to the door to play a
trick on us. She thought of her brother, Raymond, who was a practical
joker. So, she asked him what he had been doing that night at midnight. He
didn't know why she was asking, but he said he had been at the skating
rink from 9:00 P.M. until 2:00 A.M. There had been a skating party, and
Raymond loved to skate. I don't remember ever using that Ouija' Board
again! Nor do I know what became of it. Daddy evidently got rid of it!
Now, after all these years, my girlfriend, Leavia (which is Cathy's older
sister) tells me that it was her that was with me that night when the
Ouija board incident occurred. Maybe I am just old and senile now, but I
would swear it was Cathy spending the night with me that night. I have
been wrong before, but I am just writing my life story as I remember it.
Poor Leavia, she has probably heard the story so many times that it is so
vivid in her memory that she thinks she was there!
Leavia and I used to go down to the woods behind her house. There was a dried up creek back there, and trees with hanging vines on them. We would swing from the vines from one side of the deep dried up creek to the other side, like Tarzan!
Leavia and I used to go down to the woods behind her house. There was a dried up creek back there, and trees with hanging vines on them. We would swing from the vines from one side of the deep dried up creek to the other side, like Tarzan!
One hilarious memory with Leavia was when
she wanted to show me a tree house back there. She took me to it and
told me to go ahead and climb up the wooden steps that were nailed to
the tree all the way up. So, I went ahead and climbed up and crawled
onto the plank floor of the tree house. As soon as I got seated, I saw
funk bugs crawling all around me and on my legs. Those things freak me
out, and I started screaming as I was kicking them out of there! Right
on top of poor Leavia’s head and all over her, as she was climbing up
the steps! We have laughed about this memory over the years. They were
stink bugs, but we always called them funk bugs.
Leavia and I had great times together. Leavia was my best friend in Mississippi; and we are still friends to this day! Like Daddy always said, “You can live your whole life and at the end of it, be able to count your true friends on the fingers of one hand and still have several fingers to spare!” Daddy was right. He always was!
Leavia and I had great times together. Leavia was my best friend in Mississippi; and we are still friends to this day! Like Daddy always said, “You can live your whole life and at the end of it, be able to count your true friends on the fingers of one hand and still have several fingers to spare!” Daddy was right. He always was!
We lived near Memphis, Tennessee, in a town
called Sheridan; after my Dad and I followed Helen down South. He had
given her money to pay the property taxes on the place in Redmond. She had
pocketed the money, until she had enough to split and go down South. She
was originally from Louisiana, a Cajun. The taxes went unpaid, without my
Daddy's knowledge; until the day he received a foreclosure notice, after
she had left. He had no way of coming up with 4 years worth of back taxes.
So, he lost the property to the State of Oregon! I don't know why he
wanted her after that. I do know, from my own experiences, that love can
do strange things to you. It can make you blind, forgiving and incredibly
foolish! He should have gone down South merely to kick her greedy ass, and
then come back to Oregon, where he had family that loved him. But no, he
and I moved down South to be with the shrew! When we got to Tennessee, she
was living with her sister, Ethel. Ethel was a man in a woman's body, who
went by the name Jimmy. She had a lover named Latrice. We lived with them
for a while. This was a lifestyle I had never known.
When I started school there, I was again
harassed by the other children. They made fun of my Northern slang. They
said I should go back North, because I was a Yankee. They said they were
Rebels, and I would never fit in. I told them I was there to stay, and
they might as well get used to it! My tone of voice must have been
effective, because they left me alone after that.
When I moved back to Sweet Home, after
being down in the Southern states for several years, I was laughed at for
my Southern drawl. Boy, people are never satisfied, are they?
Now, back to the subject of different
lifestyles. I had a friend named Marty, when I lived in LaMarque, Texas.
She lived in Texas City, Texas. She was married to a man named Butch. One
night, when I was about to leave their house and go home, she walked me to
the front door. I could tell she had something on her mind. She said, "I
would like to ask a favor of you." I said "O.K., what do you need?" She
looked kind of shy, and said, "Well, Butch wanted me to ask you to have a
threesome with us for sex!" That nearly floored me! I was embarrassed. I
told her I was sorry, but I wasn't interested. She kept on and on, with a
note of despair in her voice. She was begging, saying he wouldn't believe
that she had really asked me, if I didn't do it. So, I had to go into
their bedroom, and tell him personally that I was not interested. "Oh,
what fine messes I get myself into, Ollie!"
Then, not long after that; my cowboy
boyfriend, Roscoe, introduced me to his friend, Tommy. His girlfriend was
named Dondy. She was a slender girl with beautiful aqua colored eyes. She
had such a sweet personality, that I liked her very much from the first
day I met her. We would go shopping together and had a lot of fun. One
evening, as she was bringing me home, she pulled the car off the road and
said, "I have a serious proposition for you!” I said, "Really? What?" I
never expected what she was going to propose, until it hit me right
between the eyes! She said, "We get along really well, and I like you.
Tommy has been after me to ask you to have a threesome with us. You would
really be doing me a favor, if you would; because he'll get mad, if he
thought I didn't ask." I thought, "Oh God, why me? Here we go again!” I
told her that I liked her very much, but not in that way! I told her to
tell Tommy that it was a flattering proposal, and that I did find him
attractive; but that I could not accept. I said that I am a "One Man
Woman" and always would be. So, dejectedly, she started the car; and said,
"He's not going to believe me, you know! I really wish you would change
your mind." I told her I couldn't. Not long after that, I received a phone
call from him, asking me if she had really given me the proposal. I told
him that she really had. He had been drinking, I could tell by the slur in
his voice. He said, "Then have sex with me, I really want you!" I didn't
know how else to let him down, so I said, "Roscoe is your friend!" He
said, "He doesn't need to know!”. I told him I wasn't a cheater. He said,
“You are really making this difficult, you know! Damn it, I need you! Come
on, Baby, I'm begging!" I told him I was really very sorry, but I
couldn't. I can't remember who, but one of us finally hung up on the other
one. I told Roscoe about it, and he didn't even act surprised! I think he
knew, all along. He had told me once, how he and his ex-wife used to swap
partners with a couple of their friends. So, I think he wanted to swap
with Tommy, but didn't want me to know it was his idea! So, he put them up
to it, so he could come and join in, after the business got underway!
Anyway, after Roscoe and I broke up, I was still friends with Tommy and
Dondy. Until one day, I went over to visit, and Tommy took off and went
somewhere. Dondy took me in their bedroom to get something. Then she said,
"Oh, I need to change my shirt!" She took off her shirt and bra, and
changed very slowly. I think she was trying to arouse me or something. I
was not aroused! Then she said, "Tommy still wants us to have a
threesome!" I told her that I wasn't going to have this conversation
again! She said "O.K!" She seemed a bit angry as she quickly buttoned her
shirt. Then we went back in the living room. The rest of the visit was
very tense. Then Tommy arrived, and I shortly left. I went to visit them
maybe once or twice after that, but I could tell that the conversations
were strained. So, I eventually lost contact with them. Funny thing is, I
still liked those two a lot, as friends. It's a shame they wouldn't drop
that subject!
I still had my friend Marty, though. She
and Butch had the sense to drop the threesome subject, after I had said
"No." I remember lots of good, clean fun with them. We went to the beach,
went dancing, and just sat and wasted time watching funny movies. They
were a lot of fun! They had a little girl they called "Little Bit". She
looked so much like Marty!
A funny incident happened one night. I was visiting
Marty. At their home, I was like family. If I wanted anything to eat or
drink, they wanted me to feel free to just go in the kitchen and get it! I
spent lots of time with them. This night, Marty and I were just sitting
around, doing nothing, and having fun being together. Then, her sister
Linda showed up with a couple of her friends. Marty was a funny person
with a great sense of humor. She was down-to-earth and laid-back. We were
on the same wavelength. Her sister was totally opposite. She dressed up
all the time and everything had to be just so so. She was one of those
people who thought they had to impress everybody, and she was very hard to
communicate with. She was a real snob, and I wasn't impressed in the
least! I rate people by the love, sincerity and goodness in their hearts.
On that scale; Marty was a "10", Linda was a "2". That's being generous
for Linda! Anyway, Linda strutted in with her friends in tow. She daintily
sat down on the sofa and proceeded to chat with her friends, paying Marty
and I no notice! Marty and I were sitting on the carpet, Indian style.
Linda chatted incessantly with her friends. She was trying so hard to
impress them! After a while, she turned to me, and with the air of a
Queen; she said, "Lola! Would you go get us some soda pop?". After all,
her wish was my command! So, I got up and went into the kitchen to do my
slave's duties. I opened the refrigerator to find that there was one
bottle of soda pop with only about 2 inches of beverage in the bottom of
it. I had a dilemma! What to do? I stood there a minute, contemplating,
and then I picked up the bottle and walked into the living room. I was
going to show her that there wasn't enough, and let her decide what to do.
I stood there by the coffee table, waiting for a chance to get a word in
edgewise. The chance never came; they ignored me and kept on chatting.
Finally, I grew tired of that; so I placed the bottle on the coffee table
and sat down on the floor. Marty had seen my problem, and thought it
humorous. We kept exchanging funny glances with each other. We could say
so much with our eyes! Eventually, Linda paused, and her eyes focused on
the bottle. Then, she said something that I remember to this day, as being
one of the funniest things I ever heard! It still cracks me up! She glared
at the bottle, like it was a piece of dog crap lying on the coffee table.
Her mouth dropped open. Then she glared at me and said, with such
profoundness, "Lola, how uncouth!" Marty and I busted out laughing,
uncontrollably! We were rolling around on the floor! It was absolutely
hilarious, to us anyway. Linda was not amused, however. She got up,
telling us how extremely rude we were, and marched into the kitchen with
the bottle. She searched the cupboards, until she found three tiny juice
glasses. She filled them with ice cubes, and poured a tiny bit of soda pop
into each one. She brought them in, and daintily handed them to her tea
party guests. After they finished their fancy beverage, and were
refreshed; Linda said, "Well, I believe it is time to leave!” They all got
up. Marty walked her sister to the door. Marty was still grinning, and
having a hard time of not busting out in laughter again. She went outside
to see them off, trying to be polite. When she came back in, soon as she
got the door closed, she fell against it, laughing like a maniac. She was
holding her stomach; it must have ached from such laughter! She said,
between laughs, "I've waited so long to see someone do something like that
to her! She needs to come down off of her high horse!" Marty was the
oldest sister, Linda was in the middle; and they also had a younger
sister, nicknamed Punkin who wasn't as relaxed as Marty, or uptight as
Linda.
Years later, I lived in Sweet Home, Oregon. My
step-mother called me at work to wish me a Happy Birthday. Then she told
me, on that day, something that she had known for a couple of years. She
said that Marty and Butch had divorced. Marty had finally found another
man, he was younger than her, and she was living with him. His Mother
didn't like Marty. One day, Marty was found dead. It was apparently
suicide. Helen didn't believe it though, because Marty had always been so
fun-loving and carefree. I can believe it, because I know, from
experience, that people like that hide their emotions. No one really knows
what is going on in another person’s mind. I would rather believe it was
murder, and not suicide, but who knows? My heart breaks all over again,
thinking of that news. What a Happy Birthday message! I'm being sarcastic,
you know? I still cry for Marty, my skinny, funny friend.
I remember working as a Security Guard in Texas City,
Texas. I was in a little guard shack at one of the gates to an oil
refinery. I had to go out and check everyone that came through the gate,
in and out. This cute guy, with curly brown hair, started coming through.
One day, he asked me out. I told him I really liked the offer, but I
already had a boyfriend. I was still with the cowboy, Roscoe,
unfortunately! Then one day, the cute guy came through; and I went out to
check him in. He said, "I have something for you!" He reached down in the
floorboard and picked something up. He handed me a beer bottle with some
wild roses in it! He said, "It isn't much." He seemed a little
embarrassed. I told him they were very pretty. Then he smiled. He had a
beautiful smile! To me, it was so romantic! It came from his heart. He was
so sweet and sincere. I went back into the guard shack and set the bottle
of roses on the desk. Later, as I was sitting there looking at them; I
remembered that Roscoe was coming by at lunch time to visit me. I realized
that he would see the roses and be jealous. So, I did something that I
still regret. I put the roses and beer bottle in the trash. I hated doing
it, but actually, I felt a little guilty. I liked this romantic,
curly-haired guy, with the beautiful smile. I guess, I thought if I put
them in the trash, Roscoe would think it meant nothing to me. Well, when
Roscoe came, he saw the roses. So, I had to explain. He looked kind of
funny, but didn't say a whole lot about it. Then, the next day, he showed
up, unannounced. He brought a dozen roses from a floral shop. He bragged
that he had paid $100.00 for them! Boy was I disgusted with him! We didn't
have much money, and he knew that I was a practical girl. I wore old, worn
out blue jeans, because we couldn't afford to buy me new ones! If he had
done this from his heart, I could have been happy, though. But, I knew he
had only done it to mark his territory. There was no romance in it at all,
and he was an idiot to think I fell for it! He displayed them up on a
shelf, in plain view of the door; so anyone driving through couldn't miss
seeing them. They looked stupid there. I wanted them on the desk. He
insisted they stay on the shelf! I was not impressed! He made me sick with
his motives. Then, later that day, I had to suffer seeing the pain in the
other guy's eyes, when he saw the expensive roses! I think it made him
feel cheap. I was an idiot! I should have thrown Roscoe's stupid roses in
the trash, like I had done the meaningful wild roses! Or at least, I
should have explained to the guy what had happened, what Roscoe had done,
and how I wasn't impressed. His wild roses in a beer bottle had touched my
heart, and I didn't have the sense to tell him. I was a fool to let this
romantic man pass me by. I stayed with the jackass cowboy, who later
dumped me for another woman, he met in a bar! But that's where I met him,
so what did I expect? We make so many mistakes in life! Wouldn't it be
nice, if we always made right choices?
A couple of years later, after I had moved
to Sweet Home, Oregon; Roscoe got my Aunt Margaret's phone number from
Helen. He called her and got my number. Then, he called me, wanting to get
back together. He said he was a fool to let me go. He didn't "Let" me go;
he "Made" me go! I came really close to suicide over that stupid cowboy! I
told him it was too late to love me now; because I was already interested
in Darl. He wouldn't give up. He knew his mother had always liked me. She
had never liked any of his girlfriend's or his ex-wife. She had told me,
when I was still with him, that she shouldn't jinx me, by liking me;
because every girl she liked, he never stayed with! She told me then, that
she saw in me, something special. It was a compliment coming from a
mother! Then, he put her on the phone, and she told me the same thing
again. She was trying her best to talk me into getting back together with
him. She was a sweet woman. I hated to tell her "No". However, it was easy
to tell him "No"! Then, he had Lasha Kay, his daughter; write me a letter
begging me to get back together with him. She and I had been very close.
He made it really hard on me, having to tell these sweet people "No". He
kept writing. Finally, I started sending his letters back, unopened, and
marked "Return to Sender - Refused". So, he finally gave up. Poor Darl was
nervous during that episode, afraid I would go back to Roscoe. I kept
telling him, there was no need to worry, and there wasn't; I stayed with
him, until the Lord took him away from me, after 22 years.
The 3 years I spent in Texas were the
lowest point in my life. I went there from Georgia, after Wendell talked
me into going to live with Helen for a while. Daddy was still with Jean.
Helen always wanted me to come to Texas, and Wendell saw the opportunity
to get rid of me for a while, so he could cheat freely. He had cheated on
me from the very beginning. The first time, with a girl named Karen. She
was loose, and slept with any man. Wendell said she was a nymphomaniac.
She slept with, got pregnant and married my step-brother, John. Later, she
had "Little John". During this time, John held up a Bank in a neighboring
town. Of course, his picture on their surveillance camera identified him.
He went to prison. Karen continued to diddle anything with legs. Wendell
lied to me about Karen all along. Once he went to her house and had sex
with her, when he and I were going together. My step-sister, JoAnn had
gone over to visit Karen, and Wendell was in the house with his pants off.
I questioned him about it, and he made up a story about needing his pants
washed, because he had spilled some messy food on them. I was dumb! Daddy
tried to warn me about Wendell. I wouldn't listen, I was blind! Karen
lived with Daddy and Jean for a while after John went to prison. Daddy
taught her how to work on automobiles. He was a good mechanic. I was a
fool to not show an interest, and let him teach me that skill.
After Wendell talked me into moving to Texas, my life
went downhill for about three years. I was 19 when I moved there, 22 when
I left. I needed a job and couldn't find one. Helen liked to go to bars,
so she talked with Ruby, her friend that owned the Melody Lounge. Ruby
hired me. I will not go into all the hairy details of that life. It's
complicated, time consuming, and really not worth writing about. After I
was there a while, Wendell came to Texas for the adventure. He finally got
a job at a mill. He didn't really like to work, but then, who does? We had
a brand new, little, gold, Datsun pick-up truck. I would drive him to
work, and go back to get him when he was off. Somebody he worked with told
him that there was a white girl in a gold Datsun pick-up that would show
up out there at lunch time to pick up black guys to screw. He swore it was
me! I think the whole thing was a lie, so he would have a reason to leave!
It was just too bizarre! One night, we were arguing over this. He decided
to tell me about Nina. She had been a co-worker of his, when he worked at
Kentucky Fried Chicken in Summerville, Georgia. At the time, I thought
they were just friends. He said she needed a baby-sitter for her three
small children. So, I took the job.
Nina’s husband, Buddy, worked at the McDonald's
right next to the Kentucky Fried Chicken. They said her husband was
physically abusive to her. Wendell always came over to her house to hang
around, when I was babysitting. Nina started chumming around with us, on
our off-time from work. One day, she showed up at Wendell's house with a
black eye Buddy had given her. She hadn't known I would be there, but she
acted like it was me she came to see. She was crying and wanting comfort
from us. On her birthday, Wendell said he felt sorry for her; and wanted
us to buy some bottles of wine, and take her out cruising with us. So we
did. She was guzzling wine like a wino. We stopped by a swimming hole.
Wendell took her into the water, to sober her up, before we took her home.
They went out into the water, and it looked like, to me; that he was doing
more than sobering her up! When they got back in the car, I questioned him
about it. He told me, I was a silly girl, that he loved only me. Then we
took her home. She couldn't even walk! Wendell carried her into her
bedroom, and laid her on the bed. He went out, pretending to be a
gentleman; and I undressed her, and put her nightshirt on her. She was
blubbering about, what a good friend I was. Then, when I went out, Wendell
wanted me to go to McDonald's to pick up Buddy. It was time for Buddy to
get off, and Nina was in no condition to go after him. So I went after
him. He had to work over-time, so I came back sooner than Wendell
expected. They were in the bathroom. I startled them! Wendell said, "She
needed to throw up! So, I was helping her!" But they were standing in
front of the sink! She looked dumbfounded, and she stumbled out of the
bathroom, back to her bedroom. I fell for his crock of bull story, and
never questioned it. Buddy had told me that someone else would bring him
home, so I wouldn't need to go back after him again. So, after we got Nina
all settled in bed, we left.
Well, in Texas, the night Wendell and I had been
arguing; he proceeded to tell me the truth about what had really happened
that night with Nina, in the bathroom! He just wanted to hurt me, so he
could make me mad, and he could leave easier. He said that before I came
into Nina's bathroom, he had her leaning over the sink and was giving her
a good screw from behind! I exploded like a raging Indian on the warpath!
I jumped out of bed, ran over and started hitting the lamp shade with my
fist. I was crying, and I kept on hitting it, until I had it totally
destroyed. Then I walked out of the room, and went into the furthest room
of the apartment. The room was dark, and I just sat down on the cold floor
with my back against the wall. I had my knees up to my chest with my arms
encircling them. I just sat there alone, and cried. Finally, he came in,
trying to say he was sorry. I told him to get away from me and not to even
touch me! So, he went out and left me alone. Finally, after a long time, I
went back into the bedroom. He was asleep.
He finally left me. He wanted to go to South
Carolina, to stay with his buddy, Ray. I started to cry. He made me hold
my tears, and keep it all inside. He told me, that we would get back
together someday. He said, "Like your Dad and Helen! They always split up,
and then get back together!" I told him, I couldn't live like that. One
night, I drove him to the Houston Airport. He wouldn't let me go in with
him. He said it would just be harder. So, I watched him walk away from me.
I sat there in the Datsun pick-up for a long time; one, maybe two hours. I
don't know. Time was standing still, as my heart was breaking. Mickey, my
little Chihuahua, was with me. She kept whining and looking at me. She was
a sweet little dog that knew when something was wrong. I finally left the
airport. I took a wrong turn somewhere, and got lost. I was on a freeway
that seemed not to go anywhere. I was getting low on gas. I saw a sign
that said, "San Antonio- 135 miles". Oh Brother! I knew I had to turn
around! I finally found my way back to Houston. I was in the old section.
I was going up over a small overpass when the pick-up sputtered and died.
Out of gas! Late at night! I let the pick-up roll back down the
incline to the side of the road. I picked up my purse and Mickey,
locked the doors, and started walking until I found a phone booth. I
called my step-brother, Roy. He nearly died when I described where I was.
He said I was right in the heart of "black-town"! An area where whites
were afraid to go! He said it was very dangerous for a white female, with
only a little brown Chihuahua to protect her! He had a great sense of
humor! He told me to go back to the pick-up, get in, lock the doors, and
wait for him. We were both relieved, when he got there! We laughed about
that a lot later! I didn't tell him where I had been that night. I was
still grieving, and I didn't want to talk to anyone about it. After that,
I stayed holed up in the apartment for days. I didn't go out for anything.
I slept on the couch with Mickey. I couldn't sleep in the bedroom. The
rent was going to run out, and I had no money to pay it. I didn't know
where I was going to go. Helen came over to visit, and found me in this
condition. She told me, I should have told her that he left. Then, she had
me pack up, and go home with her.
Several months later, Wendell called me. He
wanted to get back together. I was still free, but I told him, "I still
love you, but I can't go through that again!" He said there was one thing
he wanted to know. Had I, or had I not been picking up the black guys? I
told him that I had not. He said, "O.K." We said "Goodbye." That was the
end of that story.
I love Chihuahuas! I got my first Chihuahua
when I was 5 years old. He was a cute little, black and tan fellow, we
named Spunky. I had so much fun playing with him! He and I used to sit in
the doorway to my Daddy's shop, and eat Cheerio's right out of the cereal
box. These were the innocent days of childhood, so much fun at the time,
so precious to us in our older years.
One time, I did something that I am very ashamed
of. I was playing with Spunky, on the couch. He was lying on his back, and
I was tickling him. He was such a sweet puppy! Then, all of a sudden, I
had an evil thought to pinch him, to see what he would do. I pinched him
on the belly. He cried out, whimpering in pain. I started crying too. I
was so ashamed of myself. I picked him up and held him to my chest, crying
and crying. I told him I was so sorry, and I never did that again to any
animal! It still makes me cry to recall it. I still remember, with sorrow,
the look of shock in his soft brown eyes, when I pinched him. I'm sure he
forgave me, because animals are more forgiving than most humans. But I
will never forgive myself!
We had Spunky for a while, until one of Daddy's
hounds came in heat. Spunky kept going out to her, trying to mount her. Of
course, he was too little to ever accomplish that! Anyway, Daddy had a
hound that he was training to be a coon dog. The hound went out into the
pasture and was chasing a rabbit. Daddy went in the house and got his 22
rifle and came back out. He said to his cousin, Ray, "He makes me so mad,
I ought to just shoot him!" He intended to just shoot over his head to
scare him. He wasn't sure if the 22 rifle would even reach that distance,
so he fired it. It reached the distance, but it accidentally shot the
hound right in the head and killed him! Daddy was heartbroken. He had not
intended to do that! Then he was angry with himself the rest of the day,
and things kept going wrong. Next, he caught the Cocker Spaniel breeding
his female hound dog. He killed it with his 45 pistol. Spunky was out
there messing with the hound too, so he shot and killed him. Then, he went
out to the pasture to feed Jack. He was bent over and tapping the feed can
on the ground, before putting fresh feed in it. Jack came up behind him
and bit him on the shoulder. Daddy was still in a fit of anger over
killing the hound he loved. He went and got the 45 and killed the donkey
too! Helen came running out of the house, and screamed at him, "James,
stop this shit!" Daddy was so mad. He turned to her and said, "Helen, you
get back in the house!" He put emphasis on the word "You". Ray told my
Aunt Margaret about everything that had happened, when she and Grandma
showed up that day to visit. Ray said that Daddy sounded like he would
have shot Helen too, had she not went back in the house when he told her
to. I don't remember where I was that day. I wasn't there when it
happened. I didn't know where Spunky was. All I remember knowing at that
time was that my Daddy was madder than I had ever known him to be. And
that he had killed his hound, the Cocker Spaniel, and his donkey. He had
all the bodies in the back of his truck, covered with a tarp. I reached
for the edge of the tarp, to lift it and look at them. Daddy and Helen
ordered me to get away from there. They didn't want me to see Spunky.
Later, Daddy sat me down, with tears in his eyes, and told me that he had
killed Spunky, because he wouldn't quit messing with the hound. He said
that he was sorry that he did it. The only animal that really needed to be
shot was the donkey. He was so mean, he was always biting Daddy. I
remember one day, when Jack reached over the gate of the fence he was in,
and bit Daddy on the arm. Jack held on to his arm for a long time, biting
and glaring into Daddy's eyes. Daddy just stood there, gritted his teeth
and waited. Finally, the jackass let loose. Then, Daddy reached up, took
hold of Jack's ear, pulled his head down, and bit into his ear firmly. He
held him in that position for a long time. Then, when he let loose; the
donkey reached down and bit him on the arm again, holding for a long time.
They kept taking turns biting the crap out of each other. Finally, Daddy
won the contest. But Jack was determined to get him someday. He probably
would have, if the events of that bad day had not have taken place. This
all took place in Brownsville, Oregon, on Courtney Creek Road.
I remember being babysat by a girl named
Mary Jo. That lived at the beginning of Courtney Creek Road. She seemed
like a really sweet girl, at first. One day, she got mad at me for
something. She gave me a bloody nose. I was only 5 years old, and I always
had problems with bloody noses. Once they started, they wouldn't stop.
Daddy always kept butter knives in the freezer, to use to hold up against
the side of my nose to stop it from bleeding. The cold butter knife was
the only thing that would stop it. Mary Jo had a heck of a time, once she
made my nose bleed. She couldn't get it to stop. I had to sit for hours,
with a towel held to it, and my head held back. She kept telling me how
bad I was, and that it was my fault, that I had made her do it. She
threatened me, that if I told anyone, she would harm my parents. She was
raging, like she was crazy. I believed her threat, and for years I kept it
secret. Daddy and my real Mother were gone now, and Helen lived far away.
So, I could finally expose the secret; and I did eventually when some of
her relatives paid me a visit one day when I lived in Sweet Home, Oregon.
They were shocked and probably didn't believe me. I think they just
thought I was crazy. They left pretty abruptly after I told them the
story.
Have you noticed, I have withheld the last names of
everyone, except my parents? This is done to protect their privacy.
Anyway, back to the subject of Chihuahuas.
After Daddy had went on the rampage, and killed the animals. He decided we
didn't need any more house pets. One day, when I was about 6 years old,
Helen and I went to take a cat to a house where a woman kept animals. Kind
of like a shelter for unwanted animals. We got there and no one was home.
So, Helen put the cat on the porch and left a note, explaining. As we were
driving back down the driveway; a little, black and tan, Chihuahua puppy
started chasing us. It wanted to go with us. I kept saying, "Mama, please,
let me have it!" Helen said, "Your Daddy doesn't want any more
house pets!" I kept begging. Finally, she stopped, just to look at it. I
got out, and it jumped into my arms and started licking my face. She and I
were instantly in love! There was no way Helen would deny me, when she saw
the two of us so happy! She shook her head and said, "I'll take care of
your Daddy! But you have to feed her, she's your dog!" Helen does have a
good heart, and I do love her. I just don't approve of some of the things
she has done, that's all. We took the puppy home with us.
Helen told me I could name her. I thought of "Lady
Bug", because she was so tiny, and I liked Ladybugs anyway. Helen thought
that wasn't a good name for a dog, so she picked out "Princess". I liked
that, and she became my little Princess! I had so much fun with her
throughout the years. I had her for ten years. I was 6 when I got her, 16
when she died. I used to dress her up in dolls clothes, and pretend she
was a baby. I would lay her in the doll cradle on her back, with a blanket
over her, and her head on a pillow. I could tell her to stay, and she
would not move, until I told her she could get up! Sometimes, I would go
off somewhere else playing and forget I had left her there. Helen would
come along and see her there, obediently lying on her back in the cradle.
She would laugh and tell her she could get up. Then Princess would run and
find me. Helen would later scold me for forgetting about her. Princess was
a precious dog. When I would get off the school bus, she would be out in
the yard, so happy, running in wide circles all around the yard yelping.
Helen said that Princess knew when it was time for the bus. She would go
to the door and want out, several minutes before it arrived. The kids on
the bus asked me if I brought treats or something to her when I got home.
They couldn't understand why she was so excited. I told them that she was
just happy to see me, she loved me! I wondered, "Didn't their dogs do the
same?" Princess always slept with me. Daddy and Helen hadn't wanted her
to, in the beginning. They finally gave up trying to run her out of my
bed. I would just smuggle her back in! When we would go on trips, Helen
would try to leave her home. I taught her how to stow-away under the car
seat. I told her to go under there and stay. She learned this fairly easy.
When we started putting stuff in the car, she would sneak out and slip
under the seat and wait. Then hours later, when we got to our destination,
she would come out wagging her tail, happy as a lark! By then, it was too
late to take her home. We got by with this for years. But one day, she
out-foxed herself! We stopped for gas, when we weren't very far from home.
She came out and jumped up on the back of the front seat, wagging and
grinning! Helen said, "You think you are so smart, little lady! Well, I'll
show you! You're going right back home!" She thought we were to our
destination, but she jumped the gun! She didn't get to go with us that
time.
When we lived in Adrian, Georgia; Princess
took off from home one day, she was in heat. We couldn't find her. So,
Daddy had to leave for work, and I had to leave for school. Helen was gone
down South, another time she split. Later that day, I came home from
school. She still wasn't home. I got on my bike and went for a ride to my
friend, Paula's house. About an hour later, I came home. As I was coming
down the road, I saw a black object lying on the side of the road. As I
got closer, my heart broke in two. It was my little Princess. Someone had
run over her. I got off the bike, and picked her up and carried her to the
house. I laid her on the porch, wrapped in a blanket. Good-bye to another
dear friend. I could not even cry then. Now, I do. But then, my sorrow was
too deep for tears. I was numb. Daddy wasn't home yet, so I got on my bike
and went back to Paula's house for a while. When I came home, Daddy was
there. He was in the house. I asked him if he had seen Princess. He said,
"No, she hasn't come home yet." I said, "She's home." He looked at me, and
followed me out to the porch. He helped me bury her that night.
Out of a litter of puppies Princess had,
Chiquita was born. We called her Chee-Chee. She was Helen's dog. When
Helen was friends with Jean, before she left, and Daddy and Jean got
together, she had given Chee-Chee to Jean. Chee-Chee had two litters of
puppies. Out of the second litter, Jean gave me a cute, little, brown
female. She was so tiny, she looked like a mouse. I named her Mickey,
after Mickey Mouse. She was my little buddy for about seven years.
One day, I was driving down a
country road on a hot summer day. I had all four windows in the car down.
Mickey was in the back seat, standing up with her front paws on the
windowsill. She had her nose out in the breeze, like dogs like to do. I
was driving along, listening to music on the radio. All of a sudden, I
heard a high, shrill "ERRRP!" I didn't know what it was. I looked
around into the back seat and couldn't see Mickey anywhere. I called out,
"Mickey?" As my eyes turned back to the windshield, I glimpsed something
in the rearview mirror. I saw her running down the road in the opposite
direction! I stopped the car right in the road and jumped out. I called to
her, "Mickey!" She stopped, turned around, looking dazed, then came
running to me. She had, somehow, fallen out of the window. She had a round
patch of skin, about the size of a quarter, totally missing from her head.
I picked her up, cuddling her. Poor baby was lucky to be alive! Never
again did I leave her alone, in the backseat, with the windows down! She
was alright, but I doctored her wound with ointment for quite a while.
Mickey was quite a dog. She even saved my
life one day! I was still living with Roscoe, at that time. He had started
bar-hopping after work. I knew something was up, because he insisted on
buying a new cowboy hat and boots; when the ones he had were just fine. He
started coming home with a strange new fragrance of perfume on him. Then
one day, I had taken the station wagon to the grocery store. As I was
pulling into our apartment complex parking lot, I looked down at the
ashtray, in the car, to put out my cigarette. I froze when I saw a strange
cigarette butt there, with lipstick on it. The shade was Ruby Red, I wore
Pink Rose'! Sounds just like a Country song I’ve heard! How did that song
writer know my life well enough to write about it? After I parked the car,
I picked up the cigarette butt, and just sat there looking at it. It was
like a nightmare come true. All my worst fears had become reality. I sat
there for a long time. I never confronted him about it. I guess I just
hoped there would be some good reason for it being there. If I didn't ask
him, then I wouldn't have to find out the horrible truth for sure. I was
just in denial. I didn't want to admit that another love was ending. Now,
I don't even understand why I loved him. That's what I meant, when I said
that "love can do strange things to you. It can make you blind, forgiving
and incredibly foolish!"
One day, he came home and told me that I would
have to pack my stuff and move out. He had found another woman that would
be moving in soon! For about three days, I would still be there when he
came home. He would ask, "You still here? Try to be out by
tomorrow!" I wish I would have just kicked his ass, like I used to do
to Lewis! But, when love is involved, you have no common sense. I guess I
just kept hoping he would change his mind, and come home and tell me, "It
was all a mistake!" It didn't happen, and I finally realized that it was
over. On the day I came to that realization, I was at rock bottom. I went
in the bedroom to start packing. I couldn't do anything! My eyes were red
and swollen from crying. It didn't even look like me in the mirror! I
remembered that Roscoe had a small pistol in the drawer of the bedside
table. I went and got it out. I sat down on the end of the bed and laid it
down beside me. Then my mind started searching for a reason to live. I
thought, "There has to be just one person that needs me, because I can not
exist without being needed!” I went down a long list of people in my mind,
finding no one. Then my mind settled on my Daddy. I thought, “He loves me,
but he really doesn’t need me.” Then the dam broke. My tears came flooding
down like water. I picked up the gun, held it in my trembling hands,
looking at it. I was contemplating on whether I should put it to the side
of my head or into my mouth; then I heard a tiny, timid whine. I turned
and saw Mickey lying on the bed up close to the pillow. She was looking at
me with such sorrow and fear in her eyes. Then, I thought, “She needs me!”
I put the pistol back in the drawer. I went to her and picked her up and
held her tightly to my breast. I walked out of the bedroom with her. I
didn’t do any packing that day. I just took Mickey, got in the car and
went straight to Daddy. As I drove into the driveway; he came out of the
door smiling widely with that big beautiful smile of his. He was so happy
to see me! I tried so hard to keep my composure for his benefit. Then he
saw the look on my swollen face, or maybe it was my eyes. He could always
read them; but fortunately, he could not read between the lines and know
the whole story. He said, with a sob in his voice, “Oh Baby, what’s
wrong?” We hurried to each other, and I fell into his arms. I told him
that the unfaithful Texan had left me, and that we were through. I left it
at that. I could not tell him what I had almost done. It would have broken
his heart to know that I had thought he did not need me. I am so glad that
I did not go through with it, because it would have been the worst thing
that I could have ever done to my Daddy. I think of it as a miracle that
God used a little dog to save me. However, I also realize that it could
have been a coincidence that she whined at that moment, feeling my sorrow
and condition of mind. However, miracle or coincidence… it saved me. Being
needed is a very important element required for human survival. Otherwise,
we decline into a pit of depression and possibly
death.
I remember Daddy telling a story about him being
saved from death. He was young and had a hot rod car. He took it out late
one night to see how fast it would go. He was on a long, deserted stretch
of country road. He was going really fast, about 80 mph. Then he floored
the gas pedal up to 90, then 100. He was going to see if it would go all
the way up to the 120 mark. When he hit 100, he felt an ice cold hand grip
his right leg, just above the knee. He was startled. He let off the gas
and the feeling disappeared. He pushed back down on the pedal, got back up
to 100, and it happened again! He did it a third time with the same
result. He got goose bumps on his arms, and the hair on the back of his
neck stood up. He realized that God must be giving him a warning. I
wondered if it was the cold hand of death. Whatever, he slowed down to
normal speed and went home.
Another story about death he told me was
concerning my Uncle Jay, my Aunt Irene’s first husband. He was Daddy’s
brother-in-law. Daddy, Jay and Howard, my other uncle all worked on a tank
farm for the Central Spindletop Oil Refinery in Beaumont, Texas. Jay was a
foreman and a welder. Howard was a welder, and Daddy was a chipper. There
had been a field strike for awhile, but the work was starting back up
again. The foremen and welders were the first to be called back to work.
This day was the first day back to work for Jay and Howard. Daddy would be
called back in about three days from then. Daddy went out, at lunchtime,
to find out more about when he would be returning to work. He also took
lunch to Jay and Howard. When he got out of his vehicle, he looked up. Jay
and Howard were up on the tank. Daddy noticed a strange illumination
around Jay’s head. Kind of like a halo or something. It gave him a really
eerie feeling. When he was up on the tank with them, he kept telling Jay
to be really careful. Then, when he went back down to the ground, he
looked up again as he was leaving. Jay still had the illumination around
his head. Daddy went back to his older sister, Margaret's house. His
younger sister, Irene was there also. After lunch time had ended,
Howard came home early. He drove into the driveway in Jay's
rig. Margaret wondered, "Why is he driving Jay's vehicle and not his
own?" She said, when he got out, she could tell by the look on his
face that something bad had happened. Jay was dead. He had been
directing a load of material, motioning for them to "Come this way".
He stepped slightly backwards with one foot stepping off the rail. He fell
into the hole, falling to his death. All these memories are breaking my
heart. This happened in October of 1958. I was only 2 years and 4 months
old, but I remember my Uncle Jay as being a very sweet natured
man. Margaret told me that I stayed with Jay and Irene some, and with
her and Howard some. Daddy and Margaret have both told me; how when Daddy
would have to leave me there, he would wait until I was in bed, so I
wouldn't cry. He would slip quietly out of the house, then when he looked
back over his shoulder; he would see me with my nose pressed against the
windowpane, sadly watching him leave. He said it always broke his
heart.
Now back to Chihuahuas again. I had Mickey with me,
when I moved to Sweet Home in July of 1978. I had her and her puppy,
Leonard, in a little run down house on 2nd Avenue. The neighbor lady
complained about them howling, when I was gone to work. One day, Darl and
I had a Garage Sale there. A lady saw Mickey and wanted her. She
said, her little 7 year old grandson had a little dog with the same
mannerisms as Mickey. His little dog had been run over by a car. She said,
he was so sad and needed Mickey to make him happy again. I could not let
my little Mickey Mouse go no matter how bad the lady made me feel. She
insisted that I take her telephone number, just in case I would change my
mind. One day, I was thinking about her and the little boy, and I called
her and said he could have Leonard, if they wanted him. The Grandson and
his Dad happened to be there at the time. So, they rushed right over.
I showed them Leonard, when they arrived. Leonard was a lively,
rambunctious, little fellow. He was a real "Live Wire"! The little
boy just kept looking at Mickey, with longing in his eyes. Then, the
Dad started in on me. He said, "The little brown dog has the mild
personality of his last dog that he lost. He really needs one like her.
Leonard is too active!" The Dad kept begging, and the little boy kept
looking at me with those big, sad eyes. I thought about all the lonely
hours Mickey spent, when I was at work or visiting Darl or my relatives. I
realized that, the little boy would give her so much love and attention.
So, for her sake; and to make the little boy happy, I finally agreed to
let him have her. I gave them her other collar and her sweater too. This
was tearing my heart out, and she looked nervous. I hugged my little
Mickey Mouse and kissed her "Goodbye". I went to bed that night
crying. I had never been so alone in my life.
I gave Leonard to some nice people that lived in
Sweet Home. A spirited dog was just what they wanted. I saw him
around town, in their car, from time to time. He was always bouncing
off the walls!
I went without another pet for 22 years! That was
almost half of my lifetime! When I lived in the little house on 9th
Avenue, I did have a cat for a while. I had bought a record player at a
Yard Sale, and was out in the back yard cleaning it up. Darl and Laura,
his daughter, came to visit me. They came into the house, and didn't find
me in there, so they came on out the back door and found me. While we
were out there, we kept hearing a cat crying and howling as if in
pain. Laura walked to the back of the yard, and she found a cat tied
to an old broken kitchen chair. He was tied to the leg of the
chair with blackberry vines! Some cruel, sick individual
had sadistically done this to the poor animal. We cut him
loose. He was a large cat, but skinny. We could tell he had once been
big, because he had very big paws. So, that's what she named him, "Big
Paws"! We took him to the back step, cleaned him up, after first giving
him some milk. He was nearly starved. We fed him some macaroni and cheese
too. Later, I got cat food for him. He was a very friendly cat.
Eventually, he gained his weight back. Then he started disappearing,
either tom-catting around, or looking for his former home. He would return
again, and then leave again. Finally, he left and didn't return. We don't
know if he got killed, or if he finally found his old home. We prefer to
think the latter. Big Paws, where are you?
When I was about 5 or 6 years old, when we lived in
Brownsville, we went to visit my Aunt Margaret and Uncle Howard in Sweet
Home. When we got to their home in the country, we got out of the car.
Daddy, Helen and Roy went in the house. I saw that there was a table,
under a tree, made out of two sawhorses and some two by fours lain
across them. On the table, I saw that someone had made some delicious
looking Chocolate Cookies. I love Chocolate! My mouth watered. I picked
one up and took a big bite out of it. YUCK! I started spitting and
sputtering. It was mud-pies! I found out later that my cousins, Charlotte
and Chriss, had made them. They got a big kick out of that! I had dirt all
in my teeth!
I can remember my cousin, Linda, was so funny. She
always had to win at everything! She came up with the most unique ways of
cheating. All of us children would play games at Grandma's dining room
table on Holidays. I can remember playing cards and wondering how Linda
always won! Then one night I saw how! She would sit in a chair away from
the window. Then when it was dark outside, she could see the cards,
of the people sitting by the window, reflected in the glass! Very
intelligent, but sneaky!
Grandpa always used to dress up as Santa
Claus every Christmas. We children would be in the living room all
excited, because Santa was coming! We would hear bells jingling, and one
of the adults would say, "It's Santa's reindeers!" Then Santa would knock
on the front door, and someone would let him in. Santa would talk to each
one of us, individually, and give a gift from him! It was wondrous!
Then one Christmas, my cousin, Linda, was jealous that I still
believed in Santa Claus; but someone had already stolen the wonder from
her. So, she told me that Santa wasn't real, that it was just Grandpa
dressed in a Santa suit. Then, she took me back to Grandpa and
Grandma's bedroom to watch him put it on! We were in there, and then
all of a sudden, one of the adults noticed me, and said "Hey!
What's she doing in here?" Linda proudly said, "She already
knows!" Someone else said, "She does? How?" Linda said, "Oh, I don't
know, but she does!" They looked at her with squinted eyes, and went ahead
with helping Santa dress.
A very funny story about Grandpa Santa was when my
cousin Chriss was a toddler. Grandpa came in, dressed as Santa,
giving out gifts. When he got to Chriss, he said, "What's your name,
little boy?" Chriss bust out bawling, it broke his heart that he didn't
know his name! He said to Santa, "Me ain't got no name, Pa Pa!" Chriss
knew all along that it was Grandpa. It hurt him, when Grandpa asked
his name, like he didn't know him. Poor little guy.
I can remember an embarrassing story about
myself. I was about 7 years old. We had some friend's, DeAnna and Dickey
that used to come over to our house with their parents to
visit. DeAnna and Dickey were my partners in crime, when we threw
cow-pies down Daddy's well. Anyway, one day, Roy, Dickey and I were at the
house alone. I was outside playing. Roy and Dickey came out to me, and in
the curiosity of children said, "If you'll show us yours, we'll show you
ours!" I was embarrassed, but I was curious too! I kept telling them "No!"
They kept on. Finally, I went in the house to get away from them. Then, in
a little while, I had to go to the bathroom. We had a long, narrow
bathroom, with the toilet at the far end. Up near the ceiling, on both
sides, were windows. They must have been there for ventilation. I had just
finished using the bathroom, and was pulling up my pants. Roy and Dickey
had put a ladder up to one of the windows, and climbed up the ladder.
All of sudden, there they were looking in the window, smiling and
saying, "Ah, come on, just one quick look; then we'll show you ours!" I
had to make a quick decision, and I thought, "Oh, why not? Then, I'll get
to see theirs!" So, I pulled my pants down and gave them a quick glance!
They were giggling. Then I said, "O.K., now you owe me!" They laughed and
said, "Yeah, right!" And I knew, in an instant, that I had been taken! It
was the first time in my life; I learned the lesson that "You Can't Trust
Most Men!"
Throughout my life, I remember people
asking me, after they learned my name, "Is it true, that whatever
Lola wants, Lola gets?" I hated that question! They always said it with a
sneer in their voice. Finally, I came up with a good answer! I said, "No,
whatever Lola gets, Lola learns to live with!" I always wanted to add,
"Like, people like you!"
I took Driver's Education in the 10th
grade. We lived in Coldwater, Mississippi. Roy decided to give me some
driving experience. He had a Volkswagen Bug. We left the house one day,
and I was doing great with the stick-shift. We drove on the dusty
roads of the Mississippi Delta. The whole drive went fine, until we
got back to our driveway! We had a wire fence at the entrance to the
driveway. I needed to stop, so Roy could get out and open the gate for me
to go through. Then he would close it and get back in. Well, I hit
the clutch and the gas pedal, instead of the clutch and the brake! I
plowed the gate down! Roy was laughing and saying, "Stop! Stop! Stop!"
After I finally got it stopped. He was laughing so hard. Then he
said, "You did so good the whole drive! But now, how can I prove it?" He
had to repair the gate.
When Roy left home, the V.W. Bug became my first
car. He used to go out with some of his friends, when we lived in
Dundee, Mississippi. They would go to a bar and have some drinks. He
would come home feeling pretty energetic. He would get a can of paint and
proceed to liven up the Bug. He would only get a door, a fender, or
the hood painted before he pooped out. He always had a different
color of paint each time. So, part of the Bug was Candy Apple Red,
part was Bright Metallic Orange, part was Vibrant Sunshine Yellow, and the
top was Flat Black! So, when I inherited it, it was a funny "Clown
Car"! It never embarrassed me, though. I am not one to worry what other
people think! I thought it was "Unique", and that's all that
mattered!
When I lived in Lake Burton, Georgia;
Jean's daughter, Jody, snuck my keys one night and took it out for a
"Joy Ride"! She had been drinking and smoking weed; and she rolled
the Bug, messing up the top of it. It still ran fine, but was a
little crunched. She had someone try to pound out the dents, before she
brought it home. So, it wasn't as bad as it had been! I never told on her.
I just don't understand why Daddy didn't notice the dents! He was
always so observant of stuff like that! He probably knew, but didn't
want to scold "Princess Jody"! Jody always seemed to do what she pleased,
and somehow got by with it! That's one person I would like another chance
at! We got into two fights over the years. She was about twice as
heavy-built as me, but she never "Whipped my ass" like she was always
telling her sisters she should do! We should have fought more! She
truly deserved it! She was a scheming shrew. The first fight we got
into was when I was staying with them in Lake Burton, Georgia. She grew
out of some of her dresses, and Jean had told her to give them to me.
When I was trying them on; Jean, John and JoAnne were saying how good
they looked on me. Jody was green with envy! I wore one to Church, and
someone complimented on how nice I looked in my new dress. Jody stood
there gritting her teeth. JoAnne and I had been going out in the
lake, swimming for several days. JoAnne and Jody could swim, but I
never have learned. So, would wear a life-jacket, and JoAnne would wear a
ski-belt just for a little extra support, when she was tired from
swimming. JoAnne and I had lots of fun together. She was about a year
younger than I. Jody was my age. JoAnne and I were headed out to the
water one day, and John was standing on the porch. When we walked by him,
he looked at my body and whistled. It embarrassed me. Jody was standing
nearby. It made her angry, and she stomped into the house.
Her jealousy was a sickness. JoAnne and I swam in the lake so
much that we got sunburned so bad, we looked like lobsters. After we
came in from the lake one day, I went into the house for a drink of soda
pop and came back out. Jody and JoAnne were out in the water. JoAnne
called to me to come out. I didn't have a life-jacket on at the time, but
I went on in. When I got out there, they started whispering to each
other. Then, they started taking turns swimming underneath the water.
They would swim underneath me and grab me by the ankles, pulling me
under the water. I was getting madder and madder! Finally, when they came
up, I told them if they didn't knock it off, I was going to kick
their asses. I didn't really want to fight them, but I said that in
my anger. They stopped then.
Then, when JoAnne and I was in her bedroom
changing clothes; Jody came in smarting off. She said, "Why don't you go
ahead and try to kick our asses, like you threatened?" I said,
"Jody, I said that in anger, because you two wouldn't quit pulling me
under the water! I don't want to fight, we're friends." Then she started
saying that when she gave me the dresses, it was only because I was a
pitiful, poor girl that needed her charity! That really pissed me
off! The dresses were lying there, folded and stacked. I picked them up,
and said, "I don't need your charity!" Then I threw them in her face!
All hell broke loose! They both ganged up on me. We were punching and
shoving. I did pretty good keeping one at a distance, while I punched the
other one. They were both about the same height as me, but they were heavy
built, and I was slender. I remember one of them kicking me in the stomach
really hard, but I was feeling no pain! I got up, knocked one down into
the corner, and had the other one down on the bed ready to sock her in the
throat; when Nancy, the oldest sister, ran through the door yelling
"What's going on? Knock this crap off!" So, I knocked it off with my final
punch to the throat of the one I had on the bed! She started choking and
gagging, holding her throat and crying. I wish I could remember which one
I socked in the throat! I hope it was Jody! After the fight was over, I
went out into the woods and threw up. I didn't want any of them to have
the pleasure of knowing I was sick! Something else I did out there really
embarrasses me! But I'm telling this story, so here it is! I had been
kicked in the stomach really hard! What do you think that does to a body?
Well, I hate to say, but it emptied my bowels in my panties! It made me so
furious! You always hear someone say that they kicked the shit out of
someone? Well, I was humiliated to realize that it literally happened to
me! There was no way I was going to put those panties in the
laundry, so someone would know what happened! I took them off and
buried them in the woods! I've kept it silent, until now. But I am a lot
older now, and I know what physically happened, but I actually did not get
whipped! I fought two girls, which were both bigger than me. I did great,
and I got in the last punch! What more can you ask? The only thing I
regret is giving up those dresses!
The other fight Jody and I got into was over a rug.
Daddy and Jean were together by this time. Jody and I had the attic
as our bedroom. I was at one end, she was at the other. Daddy had given me
an old, red piece of carpet that needed cleaning. He said I could clean it
up and use it in my bedroom. Jody was jealous when he gave it to me.
Anyway, it was rolled up in a corner of my end of the attic. I
procrastinated, and didn't get to cleaning it right away. I saw no hurry.
Well, Jody kept bitching about it. She kept saying, "When you gonna clean
that carpet?" I told her, I would when I was ready. Then one
day, I climbed the ladder to the attic bedroom. I climbed through the
opening in the floor. I stepped into the room, and the first thing I saw
was the carpet, all cleaned up and spread out on her end of the attic! I
got the carpet and took it to my end of the room. I thought, she had no
right to do that! Then, I wrote a sweet little note telling her so, and
laid it on her bed. I was standing on the carpet, with my back to her end
of the room, watching T.V. She came up. She was there only a
minute, and then she went back downstairs. I looked around and saw
the note was gone. She had taken it downstairs to tell on me. I turned
back to the T.V., and kept standing there. I heard her come back up. She
ran across the room, leaned down and jerked the rug right out from
under me! I fell to the floor on my face! The fight had begun! I got
to my feet, madder than hell. I ran to her end of the room, and we tore
into each other like wild animals. At one point; I saw Daddy, JoAnne, John
and Chipper's heads, all poking up through the opening in the floor. I
still don't know how they all got onto that ladder at the same time!
Jody got me in a headlock at one point. I couldn't get
loose, so I bit the crap out of her arm! She started screaming,
"She bit me! She bit me!" I thought, "Yeah and don't forget it!
Corner me like a dog, and I'll bite like a dog!" What's with
this, "She bit me!" crap, anyway? People act like biting is so
bad, but ganging up on you, or punching your teeth out, or choking
you, or kicking you in the stomach is just fine? I say all is fine, when
you're fighting a larger human being! Then she pushed me down, and fell on
top of me with all of her weight. I was about to make a move, when I heard
Daddy yelling angrily, "Come out of it! Come out of it!" I was confused; I
thought he was telling us to quit fighting. So I gave up. We both just
stopped. Daddy started cussing, and I realized he was mad at me. He had
been telling me to come out of the hold she had on me, not to stop! So,
technically, I lost the fight; and Daddy was ashamed of me. You know, that
hurts more, than losing the fight! He was so mad, he went downstairs and
packed his clothes, and came up and told me to pack mine. Then he went
back down and packed Bobby's clothes. We got in his pick-up and headed
out. I thought he was doing this, because his daughter lost a fight! I was
so depressed. I explained to him about my confusion, over what he had
called out to me. He told me he understood, and that it wasn't just the
fight he was mad about. He said, he and Jean had been having some trouble
over her giving so much of their money away to her kids. He said that I
never asked them for money all the time for senseless reasons, and he was
tired of them using her for a fool. He stopped somewhere and called
Helen. We went back to her. Sometimes, it seems that this life
is just a never ending battle to keep your heart, pride, or
body from being broken into pieces!
Daddy ended up back with Jean again. Helen had taken
Bobby and ran off down South again. Daddy got drunk that night, and he
said something to me, that I'm sure he would never have said to his
daughter, had he not been so drunk. He told me that "Jean had a Million
Dollar Personality and a 10 Cent Pussy, and Helen had a 10 cent
Personality and a Million Dollar Pussy." He laughed sarcastically,
then cried bitterly. What caused him to get drunk, was his grief over
Helen taking Bobby with her. He missed that ornery little guy. I didn't
know what to say, I just held him in my arms as he cried.
He figured a way to get Bobby back from Helen. He
talked her into coming home. Then, he took Bobby and left. They went to
Sarasota, Florida, to Jean. He had planned it all out. The day he left, I
was to go to my friend, Wynette's house; and stay with her, and her Mom,
until school was out. Then, I would go to Sarasota to meet them. Helen
came after me at Wynette's house. She tried to order me to go home with
her. She was planning to take me down South with her. She, evidently,
planned to use me as a pawn in this stupid "Chess game of life", she was
playing with Daddy! I refused to go with her. I told her that I was
going to finish out the 11th grade there, and I would stay with
Wynette. She left angry. She came back that night. She was on Wynette's
front porch demanding to talk to me. Wynette's Mom called me outside.
Helen was drunk. She started ordering me to get in her car. She was going
to force me to go with her down South. I refused. Then, she tried
another tactic. She started bawling, and threatened to kill
herself, if I didn't go with her. I didn't know what to do. I was
crying too, then. I didn't want to be the blame for her suicide! I was
almost persuaded to go, when the Police showed up. Wynette, or her Mom,
had called them. The Officer told me that she was bluffing and trying to
con me. He ordered her to leave, or he would arrest her for
disturbing the peace. She left angry. The next day, at school, I was
called out of class. She had told them, she needed to talk to me, and that
she would be out in the parking lot waiting for me to come out. I
went out, nervously. She was sitting in her car, with dark sunglasses
on. I walked around to the driver's door. She had the window down.
She asked me to get in the car and talk. I told her, I couldn't, because I
had to get back to class soon. She said, "I'm leaving today, I wish
you would go with me!" I saw the car was packed with all her stuff. I told
her I was sorry, but I was going to finish the school year there. So, we
said "Good-Bye", and I wished her luck. It wasn't my last time to see her.
She and Daddy split up lots of times, but always got back together
again. The next time I saw her was in Sarasota, Florida; when she
showed up in Jean's driveway, threatening to shoot into the house! I
already told that story.
Because of my Daddy, my childhood and teen
years were full of lots of love, funny memories, and unique
experiences that most people have not known. I will forever cherish all
the memories he made for me. I will never stop missing him.
There is a song sung by LeAnn Rimes, "Together,
Forever, Always". I dedicate that song to my Daddy. These are the
words: “Life can't put distance between us. Days, even years, could
pass on. But the love that lies between us, will always be worth holding
on. Together, forever, always, from the dawn, till the end of
each day. No matter how far, the way you are, we're together,
forever, always. I could try to forget you, but the memories get
bigger each dawn. And the dreams, I dream about you, they always
keep me holding on. Together forever, always from the dawn, till
the end of each day. No matter how far, the way you are, we're
together, forever, always. Together, forever, always, from the
dawn, till the end of each day. No matter how far, the way you are. We’re
together, forever, always.”
Lorene Williams-Hilliard was in a coma in the Langmack
Hospital. She had a stroke while out in her garden. She never
recovered. She died. I had never seen my Daddy cry like that before. Part
of him must have died; I know that part of me did. I loved Grandma dearly.
I used to have dreams about her coming back; sometimes alive,
sometimes dead. It was sad and scary to me. I remember, at the
viewing of her body, one of the women folk wanted all of us children to
kiss Grandma. I would rather had my last memory of kissing Grandma
been when she was warm and alive, and still in her body. Whoever made us
kids do that, made an error; as far as I'm concerned.
Grandma had babysat me a lot before we moved away
from Sweet Home. She used to play cards and other games with
me. She taught me how to play Solitaire. She used to beat "Old
Sol" a lot! She smiled a lot! She was such a happy, fun-loving
woman. She taught me how to churn milk into butter. I have a scar on
my right thumb from an old, sharp, butter knife she had. I was being a
stupid child, trying to see if I could cut a piece of watermelon with my
left hand. I'm right handed. The knife slipped, and I cut a very deep gash
in my right thumb. When I see the scar, I think of Grandma and all the
good times we had together. Memories are like scars; some good, some
bad, but all worth remembering. She let me help her in her
garden, sowing and reaping. She talked to me about how we could plant
things, but it was God that made them grow. She let me help her feed the
chickens and gather their eggs. Some of those old hens could be pretty
scary, when trying to get an egg out from under them! I remember her
wringing chicken’s necks for dinner! That is a vivid memory for any
child! She rang its neck and dropped the head to the ground, where it lay
with its eyes still blinking. The body was running, in circles, all around
the yard. The severed neck, still attached to the body, was spurting
blood. I still see this vision in my mind, as if it were only yesterday.
Today disappears before our very eyes, and becomes yesterday all too
quickly. Then, she would bring out a kettle of boiling water to soak the
body in. It made the feathers easier to pluck. I can still smell the
stench of it in the nostrils of my mind. Then that night, I would
sit down and try to enjoy a nice chicken dinner! YUCK!
Grandma used to tell me a story about when she lost a
baby. She was laying in a bed that was in the living room of a little
house. She saw a light beam, like a flashlight, come up onto the porch,
just outside the living room window. It came through the door, and she
could see the form of a being behind it. It came over to the bed she
was in with her baby lying beside her. It reached over, lifted the
covers, and looked down at the baby, smiling serenely. It let go of
the covers and backed away, and went back out the door, with the
light following it. That night, the baby died in its sleep. Grandma
believed the being to be Jesus and a warning.
Grandma always crocheted, and she loved to make
doilies for everyone. I can still remember her telling me, it was
my turn, and asking what color I would like. I told her lavender,
because that has always been my favorite color. She laughed, because
she thought that was a unique response. Most people wanted pink,
white or yellow. Mine were the only lavender doilies she ever made. I
still have them, but only because I asked my Aunt Margaret to save them
for me. Otherwise, I believe that Helen would have taken them from me. She
kept them from 1965 until 1968, when we were there for Grandma's
funeral. She reminded me of them and tried to give them back to me
then. I told her to keep them longer, because I still feared that Helen
would take them. So, ten years later, in 1978, when I returned to Sweet
Home; she reminded me that she still had them and gave them to me
then. Those lavender doilies are a treasure to me. They are the only
things I have, besides the scar, to remember Grandma by.
I guess I should be honest and admit that Grandma was
not perfect either, no one is. She had one fault that I know
of. She had a favorite Grandchild. We all knew and felt bad about it.
However, I can forgive her that fault, because she had so many goodnesses
about her! She blessed me in so many ways and with so many memories; that
I can easily live with the fact that I was not her favorite. Anyway,
I realize now, that I would not have wanted to have been her
favorite. I wouldn't want the burden of guilt, of knowing that I had made
the other children feel bad. I was still richly blessed by her
wonderful love, and that is more than enough for me.
Daddy's oldest sister, Margaret, means a lot to me
for many reasons. She was always good to me as a child. She cared for me
as a toddler, when Daddy was working and needed someone to keep me. She
has always been a fun-loving woman, with a great sense of humor, and a
wonderful laugh. However, she does have a fiery temper when crossed! She
is kind of like Daddy in that respect. Except Daddy had a longer
fuse, and slower to ignite. I am like him in that respect. We take
and take; try to keep the peace; we're kicked, spat upon, screwed,
blued and tattooed. Eventually, the fuse ignites, and the fireworks
explode. Like Popeye The Sailor Man, when he says, "I've had all
I can stands, and I can't stands no more!" Then we blow! Toot! Toot!
You better scoot!
Margaret is special for another reason also. She
played a vital role in my salvation. She came down to Texas, in
1978, to visit Daddy and I. I was a non-Christian at the time, even
though I had been saved and baptized as a child. I spent about three years
in Texas in the pits of sin; with the help of my step-mother teaching me
the bartending trade. Drinking and looking for love in all the wrong
places! By the time Margaret arrived, I was well under conviction, with no
way of knowing what to do about it. At that time, I could not understand
the King James Version of the Bible. Margaret gave me a Living
Bible, called The Word. It was written in modern language, and I was
amazed that I could understand it! Then, she encouraged me to go to Sweet
Home with her, to live. I wanted to, but I didn't want to leave my
Daddy behind. I hadn't been with him a lot, in the past few years,
and he had just moved to Texas. He wasn't there during the bar scene, or
he probably would have kicked my butt back into shape! Anyway, I wanted to
be near him, and I was leaning towards not going to Oregon. Daddy asked
me, one day, what I planned to do. I told him how I felt, and that
I didn't want to leave him. He assured me that he would be
alright, and that he would be very happy if I went to Oregon, even
though he would miss me. He knew he would miss me, but he wanted to get me
out of there. He knew my life had become something not to be desired.
He broke my chains loose and set me free to go to a better life. He
was being the loving Daddy that he had always been. Sacrificing his own
wants, to give me something better.
After I got to Sweet Home, Oregon; Margaret let me
stay with her until I got a place of my own. We had a lot of fun planning,
writing and directing Christmas and Easter programs for Church. She even
encouraged me to be a Sunday School Teacher for 4 & 5 year olds.
Later, I taught 2 & 3 year olds. But before that, I had finally
surrendered my life to Jesus Christ. The night I went forward at Church;
August 16, 1978; I was deep under conviction. I had trouble with my hair
that night, it was long and wouldn't do anything right. I almost decided
to stay home because of it, but then I got mad and said "I'm going
anyway!" I put a bandana over my hair, and we left for Church. At Church,
as we were standing in final prayer; and the preacher was giving the
invitation, I was gripping the back of the pew in front of me. I knew the
Lord was calling me, but I was hesitating. My hands were still on the pew,
and my eyes were tightly closed. Margaret, somehow, knew I needed support.
She reached over with her hand, and I felt it lay upon the top of my hand,
giving a gentle squeeze of encouragement. It was all I needed; I went
forward immediately, and gave my life to God, and His Son, Jesus
Christ. Then, on September 10, 1978; I was baptized in the Foster
Reservoir at Foster Lake. I felt The Presence of The Holy Spirit ascend
upon me, as I was raised out of the water. I was cleansed, and I knew The
Holy Spirit was there! Not long after that, I started feeling
convicted about my smoking of cigarettes, which I had done for seven
years, since I was 16. I didn't really feel that it was wrong, but I
felt that it was a bad witness to others. I started trying to quit; but
the more I tried, the worse I got! I went from one pack a day to 1 1/2
packs. I was so frustrated! My heart wanted one thing, but my body did the
other. Finally, one night, all alone in Margaret's home; I was sitting on
the couch, chain smoking! I realized my helplessness. I fell to my knees
in front of the coffee table in tears. I prayed, "Lord, I can not do this!
I want to, but the desire is too strong! If you want me to quit, then
please, just take the desire away!" I got up, knowing in my heart,
that God can do anything; but in my mind, doubting that I would
prevail. However, a miracle occurred! The desire was totally gone! I
only tried to smoke once, when I was mad one day, and asked my second
cousin, Wayne, for a cigarette. He gave me one, reluctantly. I took one
puff, and it tasted so bad, I put it back out. I did not have the desire
anymore! For 23 years, I did not smoke. Now, I am sorry to say, that I
have stolen the desire back, in my own weakness. I lost my special friend
that I had for 23 years; and I use that as my excuse for starting again.
However, it helped me quit the wine! No one knows what the loss of a loved
one will do to you, until they go through it for themselves. So, no amount
of explaining will make them understand. Why try? I am sure that my
Grandpa Hilliard would have understood, though. After Grandma died,
in 1968, Grandpa lived a long, lonely life without her. He died much
later of old age and Alzheimer’s disease. He never did get over her. I
remember him crying once, and I had never seen him cry before! He was
crying and saying that he missed her big "Cow Eyes". He meant that as a
huge compliment! Cows have big, beautiful, brown eyes; just like my
Grandma had.
I have fond memories of Grandpa too. He always had
cough drops, in a can, in his overalls. Even the overalls are sentimental
to me. I thought of his cough drops as candy! He would be lying on
the couch or sitting in his orange recliner. I would slip up beside
him and fake a cough. He always thought that was so funny! He knew I was
just pretending, because I wanted a cough drop. He would say, "That's
quite a cough you have there, little girl! Here, have a cough drop to ease
it." Then he would laugh that wonderful laugh that sounded a
little like a horse whinny. He used to take me out to the barn
with him to milk the cows. Cats would always be bumming
around, knowing that he had milk. I remember how he would be sitting
on the little stool, milking the cow. He would see the cats and smile.
He'd say; "I know what you want!" Then he'd lift one of the cow's teats up
and squirt milk across the room to the cat's wide open mouth! I
thought that was so funny! Then, we would head back to the house.
Sometimes, he would let me carry a bucket, that wasn't real full of milk,
for him. I see it all now; the barn, the cows, the cats, the barnyard, the
milk buckets and the wire fence we had to step over, holding it down for
each other. "Oh how I miss you, Grandpa. The memories make me cry. If
only I had spent more time with you, in your older years. I will
forever regret my seclusion from you, in the winter of your life. Now, it
is too late, and I deserve the pain." We took the milk to the house, and
he would put it into his separator. It would separate the cream from the
skim milk. He would get a glass, and fill it half full of cream, and
half full of skim milk. They call it "Half and Half" nowadays. The
milk was still warm from the cows body heat. He would give it to me and
smile with pleasure, as he watched me enjoy a "Taste of Heaven".
When we are children, we do not realize just how
precious those days are. We just live so innocently, taking life for
granted; not realizing that one day when we are older, we
will remember those times and long for them and the precious
people that were with us then.
Grandpa's father and mother were Jacob Hilliard and
Sarah Taylor-Hilliard. Grandma's father and mother were James A.
Williams and Letha Downing-Williams. Daddy was named after Grandma's
father.
I never met my other Grandparents. Their names were,
Lewis Ward and Annie Kennedy-Ward. I had a great-grandfather
named General George Washington-Ward. His wife was Julia
Brown-Ward. My other great-grandfather, on my Mother's side, was
David A. Kennedy. His wife was Luna Holding-Kennedy.
Grandma Hilliard, Daddy, Helen and I, all went down
to the river behind Grandma and Grandpa's house. Daddy and Grandma decided
they were going to teach me to swim, whether I liked it or not! They took
me out into water that was up to their chests and well over my head! They
stood about 5 feet from each other, and wanted me to swim back and forth
between them. I couldn't do what they wanted, I was too afraid of sinking,
and I did! Of course, they pulled me back up. Daddy got extremely angry
with me; it was an embarrassment to him, to have a tittie baby for a
daughter. He didn't say that, but I'm not a fool, I know what he was
thinking! Helen was standing on a big rock. She didn't know how to
swim either. So, she sympathized with me. She was jumping up and
down, screaming "James, let her come out!" I kept on choking and
sputtering water from sinking, and Helen kept up her vigil on the rock.
Grandma kept telling Daddy to calm down. Finally, frustrated and angry, he
said to me, "If you leave the water today, don't you ever come back here!"
I knew he was disappointed in me, but I left and was very satisfied with
the agreement to never come back! I never did, around him, anyway. I
realize now, that he was just doing it for my own good, because he knew
that I would go down to the river by myself to look for rocks. I used to
be a rock hound. I still do love pretty rocks. He was afraid I would slip
on the big rocks in the river, which did get pretty
slippery sometimes. So, he wasn't just mad about me disappointing
him, he was mainly afraid of losing me to drowning. Around that time,
a boy in grade school, that I knew, had drowned. It's hard to know someone
when they're so full of life one day; then the next, they're dead.
So, I do understand my Daddy's extreme anger. I hope he forgave me.
I'll never know, because it was a subject we never approached. I realize
now, that anytime my Daddy was strict with me; it was always something
that was for my own good. He was a wonderful Daddy, and he never abused me
in any way. I feel so sorry for children who are abused. I can not totally
relate to their grief, because I never experienced that kind of sorrow. I
do know that it must be an extreme emotional and psychological pain that
probably never totally heals. There has never been an abusive adult in my
life, for which I truly can be thankful.
Helen was an ornery, bossy woman. However, I can not
say that she was really abusive. She was a kleptomaniac, but I believe
that is an illness that she could not control. Truly abusive parents,
I can find no sympathy for. To beat or sexually molest a child is
something my mind and heart can not fathom. I know that God can forgive
anything, except blaspheming the Holy Spirit; but we mere mortals
find forgiveness a little harder to practice, when it comes to something
like abuse of a child. Helen was not abusive. She was hard around the
edges; but deep down, she had a good heart. I know that she did love me in
her own way. She used to always tell me how much she had to do without for
me! What a guilt-laden thing to tell a child! It probably was true, but
why did I have to hear that? I was just a child. I did not cause her to
neglect herself! She chose to live with my Daddy! I did not arrange that!
We are all responsible for our own choices. Even women, who are
abused, have made the choice to stay. Whether it be duty of love or
confinement by fear, they have made the choice to stay for whatever their
reason. I can say this from experience. Been there, done that.
However, I will not go into that story; because there is no reason to
bring another person down, for something that I have come to grips with. I
can live with the experience I had and draw knowledge for future
relationships. I am basically a strong person, though; some people
are not. So for them, I feel a deep compassion and wish I could help
them, in some way, to have the strength to do whatever they need to
do.
Helen always wanted me to call her Mama,
which is something I stopped doing when I was about 25 years old. I
still think of her as Mama, and I would like to call her
that. However, when I was 25, I came to the realization that Mama is
a name that should be reserved for my real Mother. My Mother did not
abandon me, like some mothers do. She and Daddy merely separated; Jimmy
went with her, Daddy kept me. Also, she was poorer than we were. She could
not have supported me. She lost Jimmy to her brother, Clyde; because she
could not support him. She wanted him to have a better life, so she
allowed Clyde to raise him as his own son. Then she struggled, the rest of
her life, to support Rex. Even after he was grown, he and his
family were living with her. I used to send Mom money for
holidays, because I knew that was what she needed most; until I
discovered that she would always give it to him! So, I started
sending stamps and stationary that she could use to write to me,
without having to spend money for them. Then, I discovered that they
would use her stamps up! So, I finally sent envelopes that were already
stamped and addressed to me. That worked! There's more than one way to
skin a cat, or catch a thief! However you want to put it. Anyway, back to
the subject of calling only her Mother. Something, deep in my heart, told
me that I should honor only my Mother with her rightful title. After all,
I would not have dreamed of calling any other man, Daddy. So, did my
Mother not deserve the same respect and love? Helen will never understand
that. She believes that since she had a part in raising me, that she
deserves the title. However, I can not agree. To hurt her, is the
last thing I want to do. However, sometimes in life, you have to make
a stand for what you feel so deeply. And sometimes, someone else may get
their feelings hurt; but you must hold onto your principles.
The worst thing that Helen ever did to me physically
wasn't really all that bad. I can say that now, anyway! She had done it
other times; but this particular time, Daddy found out about it. I never
was one to enjoy "ratting on someone", it made me feel low, so I
avoided it. I had a girlfriend over to our house. We were
sitting at the kitchen table, laughing and just having a good time
together, like teen-agers do. Helen came into the room angry with me,
obviously jealous that we were having a good time, and she was not. She
started yelling at me about doing the dishes in front of my friend. It was
embarrassing the crap out of me. She kept on, until I said something about
doing them later. My tone of voice upset her. She used to backhand me in
the mouth for saying something, and I would ask, "What did I say?" She
would always say, "It's not what you said, but the tone of voice you
said it in!" I never liked that stupid retort, because I got the crap
knocked out of me, when I didn't even get the pleasure of saying what
I was really thinking! Now that I am grown, I do understand the
meaning. Experience with people has taught me, that sometimes someone
can say a lot more with their tone of voice, than what their words are
saying! Therefore, she probably knew exactly what I was thinking! She came
over to the table and slapped me very hard across my left check with her
right hand. I was so furious, that I reached up with both of my hands and
pulled out handfuls of my own long hair in front of her. I was looking her
straight in the eyes, with my eyes saying, "And this is what I want to do
to you, Bitch!" She backed off. Later, I was sitting on the couch in the
living room. My friend had gone home long before, right after the
kitchen "battle of wills". As I was sitting on the couch, Daddy came
through the front door. He was home from work, hot and tired. We greeted
each other, and as he passed by me, his eyes froze on the side of my
face. He could plainly see a hand-print there. He said, "What
happened to your face?" I said simply, "Oh, I said something wrong,
and Mama slapped me." She was in the kitchen. He stormed into the
kitchen and lit into her, saying, "If she does something wrong, she
has an ass to whip! Don't you ever, and I mean never, hit her in the
face again! Do you understand me, Helen?" That is the only time I remember
her getting into trouble; and I must admit, I enjoyed it immensely!
She was really angry with me for quite awhile, after her scolding.
She never did slap or back-hand me in the face again, but she could give a
pretty mean ass-whipping with a thong! But her mental abuse could
hurt worse than a beating! What I refer to as mental abuse, would be
more properly described as sentimental abuse! She would steal
precious memories from me! Like My Mother's "Life Story", pictures
that my Mother sent me, pictures I collected throughout the years,
and all my school pictures! If you were not successful in hiding your
prized possessions, she merely took them. You couldn't hide anything from
her. She could sniff it out like a bloodhound! Before my Daddy died, he
told me that he had 4 guns that he wanted to leave to me. He knew I would
take care of them and never sell them. He wanted me to keep them for the
rest of my life, in memory of him. Then have it in my Will, for them to go
to either: the Johnny Cash Museum in Memphis, Tennessee; or the Will
Rogers Museum in Claremore, Oklahoma. He knew that I did not
particularly care for guns, but that I was sentimental and would hold fast
to his wishes. He had a Living Will that stated I would get those 4
guns. His Will and wishes were never carried out! The Administrator of the
Will went to the house, after Daddy died, to collect the things that were
to be distributed; he was met by Helen, Bobby and Roy. They had guns drawn
and told him to get his ass off the property and never return. So, he
left and never went back! He was afraid for his life. He should have
gone to the authorities, but didn't. I tried several times to get a copy
of Daddy's Will from Helen, to no avail. I had asked Daddy for a copy
before he died, but didn't get one then, either. I can not get anyone to
tell me Ashley's last name. Ashley was the Administrator and Daddy's
personal friend. Anyway, Daddy's Will and wishes were trashed. Two of the
guns he intended me to have are rifles, one I don't remember the
make, the last was a very special gun, indeed. It was a 45 Pistol that
Daddy had bought in 1956, the year I was born. He always told me, that it
was his favorite gun, because he had got it then. I want that
gun, even if I never get anything else! There was something else that
was very special, that he wanted me to have. It is a dog calling horn that
Daddy made when I was a child. He carved it out of a bull's horn. He
used to coon hunt with his hounds. He used the dog horn for calling
his dogs back to him, when they were out hunting. When I was visiting
Daddy, about a month before he died, he said I could have it and take
it home with me. Like a fool, I left it there; I wanted him to be able to
see and enjoy it longer. I didn't realize how little time he had
left. So, I left it; and now Helen will not send it to me. She says
the guns were stolen. I do not believe her and never will! I know her too
well. I have nothing that he wanted me to have. However, I had his
wonderful love; and just knowing that, is more than enough to console
me.
Many years later, I did change my way of
thinking on calling my step mother Mama. I began calling her Mama Helen
for years, until finally in her old age (long after my real mother's
death) I started calling her Mama up until the day she died. I had finally
realized it was all right to keep calling her Mama, because after all, she
was my Mama for so many years. I was blessed. I had a Mama and a Mother.
Two women I will always love deeply. She went to Heaven on July 20, 2017.
(10 days after her 85th birthday).
When my real mother died, I felt sorry for my older brother, Jimmie. He is such a sweet man. He had to bear the full financial weight of Mom’s burial on his own shoulders. Rex and I were both broke and unable to help him. This is something I have regretted for years.
I lost Daddy on May 8, 1993. I had no home telephone at that time. I had called him from work, the day before he died. The brain cancer had progressed rapidly, since I had last seen him about a month before. He was so bad, he couldn't even talk. At the beginning of our conversation, I heard him very faintly and softly say, "I love you, too." The rest of the conversation was one-sided, only me speaking to him. After I hung up, I was so depressed; because I knew that my Daddy was a proud man, who always did everything for himself. He was a self-made man. He was a good-looking, hard-working, honest, old-fashioned cowboy. He was born 100 years too late, he used to always say. He was born in 1932, but felt that he should have been born in 1832. He worked on ranches and in the hayfields. He was a mechanic, carpenter, electrician, and well driller. He was a "Jack-of-All-Trades". He was a wonderful Son, Brother, Uncle, Cousin, Friend, Husband and Father. He was a man of his word, ever loving and giving to others. However, he did have a temper that could flare to the high heavens, when pushed too far! He was a unique and funny man, and I am proud to have been his daughter! Anyway, after I hung up that day, I was in a blue mood. My heart was aching, because I knew he would hate being so helpless and unable to speak. I was walking up the hill, at break, to the lunch room for coffee; right after speaking to him. A girl friend of mine was walking along beside me, chattering away about something trivial. My heart and soul were in pain. Finally, she realized my silence, and she looked over at me. She saw the look on my face, and said, "What's wrong?" The dam of tears broke. I tried to tell her between sobs about Daddy's condition, and how I knew he had to hate being like that. Then I said something that I meant well, but that I will always regret having said. I said, "I wish the Lord would just go ahead and take him out of his misery!" I didn't want to let him go, but I didn't want him suffering either. The next day was Saturday, May 8, 1993. Darl was talking to Helen on his home telephone. He had called her to find out how Daddy was, so he could tell me later. Helen told him that Daddy was going downhill fast and probably didn't have much longer to live. Darl asked her to hold the phone up to Daddy's ear, and he told my Daddy that his daughter loved him very much and would really miss him; but that he would take care of her, and that she would be alright. I love Darl for that act of love, for easing the pain of my Daddy's departure, for Daddy and me. Darl hung up and was getting ready to come visit me. His phone rang, and Helen told him that Daddy was gone. Daddy died at 10:13 A.M. (Mississippi time). He was only 61 years old. Darl came to my house, and I was still in bed. He sat down on the bed beside me. He told me in such an easy, gentle way. He was good at that kind of thing. We were just talking about Daddy and how sick he was, and then Darl said, "He's in Heaven with Jesus now." I had a moment of denial, and I said in a harsh tone, "How do you know that?" He told me about the phone calls. I then believed and cried. He was there to hold me when I cried. He was always there for me during heartache and sorrow. Some people tried to put Darl down, like he was a nobody; because he did not have a conventional job. He dabbed into self-employment. His daughter called him an entrepreneur. Well, I can vouch that he was a very "Special Somebody"! Not only as a special friend in my life, but as a father that loved unconditionally, and a son that loved devotedly! He was crippled by over-sentimentality. He had a memory that angered others, because of their lack of it. He never forgot a friend. He was constantly in a state of fond reminiscences. Darl was not rich in money. However, he was extremely rich in the art of love. I rate a person's worth by the goodness, love and concern in his heart for others. He will never fall short on that scale. Anyone who did not like Darl is someone who did not know him very well! Of course he had his faults, an explosive temper for one. However, he was quick to apologize after he cooled down. He admitted his fault and was not proud of it. Normally, he let people get by with all manner of abuse to him, and then later it ate at him. He just could not understand how people could be so cruel. I told him to quit trying to understand that, because he never would. I told him that his mind and heart did not operate on their level, and that it would be impossible for him to come to an understanding of them. I don't think he ever grasped onto the concept that I was trying to convey to him. He lived life on two levels. The first was a level of despair and loneliness. He felt things much deeper than most people and could not shake loose of the pain. The other level was one of elated joy. He could enjoy the simplest of things; like a tiny flower down in the grass that most people would pass over without notice. He enjoyed the aroma and flavor of a good, hot cup of coffee, and savored it with appreciation. He immensely enjoyed a kind word from anyone, which were few and far between. Some people did not understand him; but I believe that people without understanding, are people to be pitied. If you really want to understand another soul, then take a walk in their shoes! Most people don't want to make the effort to learn understanding. I learned a lot from knowing this very special person. I wish life could have been kinder to him.
When my real mother died, I felt sorry for my older brother, Jimmie. He is such a sweet man. He had to bear the full financial weight of Mom’s burial on his own shoulders. Rex and I were both broke and unable to help him. This is something I have regretted for years.
I lost Daddy on May 8, 1993. I had no home telephone at that time. I had called him from work, the day before he died. The brain cancer had progressed rapidly, since I had last seen him about a month before. He was so bad, he couldn't even talk. At the beginning of our conversation, I heard him very faintly and softly say, "I love you, too." The rest of the conversation was one-sided, only me speaking to him. After I hung up, I was so depressed; because I knew that my Daddy was a proud man, who always did everything for himself. He was a self-made man. He was a good-looking, hard-working, honest, old-fashioned cowboy. He was born 100 years too late, he used to always say. He was born in 1932, but felt that he should have been born in 1832. He worked on ranches and in the hayfields. He was a mechanic, carpenter, electrician, and well driller. He was a "Jack-of-All-Trades". He was a wonderful Son, Brother, Uncle, Cousin, Friend, Husband and Father. He was a man of his word, ever loving and giving to others. However, he did have a temper that could flare to the high heavens, when pushed too far! He was a unique and funny man, and I am proud to have been his daughter! Anyway, after I hung up that day, I was in a blue mood. My heart was aching, because I knew he would hate being so helpless and unable to speak. I was walking up the hill, at break, to the lunch room for coffee; right after speaking to him. A girl friend of mine was walking along beside me, chattering away about something trivial. My heart and soul were in pain. Finally, she realized my silence, and she looked over at me. She saw the look on my face, and said, "What's wrong?" The dam of tears broke. I tried to tell her between sobs about Daddy's condition, and how I knew he had to hate being like that. Then I said something that I meant well, but that I will always regret having said. I said, "I wish the Lord would just go ahead and take him out of his misery!" I didn't want to let him go, but I didn't want him suffering either. The next day was Saturday, May 8, 1993. Darl was talking to Helen on his home telephone. He had called her to find out how Daddy was, so he could tell me later. Helen told him that Daddy was going downhill fast and probably didn't have much longer to live. Darl asked her to hold the phone up to Daddy's ear, and he told my Daddy that his daughter loved him very much and would really miss him; but that he would take care of her, and that she would be alright. I love Darl for that act of love, for easing the pain of my Daddy's departure, for Daddy and me. Darl hung up and was getting ready to come visit me. His phone rang, and Helen told him that Daddy was gone. Daddy died at 10:13 A.M. (Mississippi time). He was only 61 years old. Darl came to my house, and I was still in bed. He sat down on the bed beside me. He told me in such an easy, gentle way. He was good at that kind of thing. We were just talking about Daddy and how sick he was, and then Darl said, "He's in Heaven with Jesus now." I had a moment of denial, and I said in a harsh tone, "How do you know that?" He told me about the phone calls. I then believed and cried. He was there to hold me when I cried. He was always there for me during heartache and sorrow. Some people tried to put Darl down, like he was a nobody; because he did not have a conventional job. He dabbed into self-employment. His daughter called him an entrepreneur. Well, I can vouch that he was a very "Special Somebody"! Not only as a special friend in my life, but as a father that loved unconditionally, and a son that loved devotedly! He was crippled by over-sentimentality. He had a memory that angered others, because of their lack of it. He never forgot a friend. He was constantly in a state of fond reminiscences. Darl was not rich in money. However, he was extremely rich in the art of love. I rate a person's worth by the goodness, love and concern in his heart for others. He will never fall short on that scale. Anyone who did not like Darl is someone who did not know him very well! Of course he had his faults, an explosive temper for one. However, he was quick to apologize after he cooled down. He admitted his fault and was not proud of it. Normally, he let people get by with all manner of abuse to him, and then later it ate at him. He just could not understand how people could be so cruel. I told him to quit trying to understand that, because he never would. I told him that his mind and heart did not operate on their level, and that it would be impossible for him to come to an understanding of them. I don't think he ever grasped onto the concept that I was trying to convey to him. He lived life on two levels. The first was a level of despair and loneliness. He felt things much deeper than most people and could not shake loose of the pain. The other level was one of elated joy. He could enjoy the simplest of things; like a tiny flower down in the grass that most people would pass over without notice. He enjoyed the aroma and flavor of a good, hot cup of coffee, and savored it with appreciation. He immensely enjoyed a kind word from anyone, which were few and far between. Some people did not understand him; but I believe that people without understanding, are people to be pitied. If you really want to understand another soul, then take a walk in their shoes! Most people don't want to make the effort to learn understanding. I learned a lot from knowing this very special person. I wish life could have been kinder to him.
Eight days after Daddy died from brain cancer, I
received some more bitter news. The night before, I had sat down at the
kitchen table to write my Mother a letter. I needed to inform her of
Daddy's death. I had put it off for a week, to search my mind for the
right words. She had told me, in letters that she still loved him and
always would. I wanted to break the news to her gently, because she had
heart trouble. That night, May 15, 1993; I wrote her a long letter. I felt
I had done a fair and gentle job of telling her that Daddy was in Heaven
now, and that he would be waiting there for us. I told her that he loved
her too. I stamped and addressed the envelope, put the letter inside,
sealed it, and laid it on the kitchen table. I was going to mail it the
following Monday. This was a Saturday night. I walked into the
bathroom, and stood looking into the mirror. A thought went through my
mind, at that moment; that I realize now, was more than a thought. It was
a warning from God, to prepare me for the events of the next day. I
thought, "Wouldn't it be strange if, for some reason, Mom never received
my letter; and she died not knowing about Daddy, and she would walk into
Heaven, and be surprised to find him already there waiting for her?" Well,
the following morning, May 16, 1993; I was upstairs resting in bed. I
was still grieving over Daddy. Darl was there looking after me in my
sorrow. The doorbell downstairs rang, and he went to answer it. It was a
Police Officer that asked to speak with me. Darl explained that I was
upstairs lying down. He asked the officer to give him the news, so he
could tell me. The officer refused, saying that he had to give me the
message personally. Darl knew it must be more bad news, and he begged the
officer to let him tell me. He explained that I had just lost my Dad; and
that if this was more bad news, he could break it to me easier. The
officer still refused. So Darl came upstairs and brought me back down to
the officer. Darl stood there looking nervous and concerned.
Then, the officer bluntly said, "Lola Hilliard, your brother Rex West
called from Kansas; your Mother is dead!" Darl blew up! He lit right
in on the officer, saying, "You really blew that, man! You could have
let me tell her in an easy way! I told you that she just lost her Dad, and
now you tell her about her Mom in this sorry fashion!" Darl was extremely
riled, and all I could think was, "He's going to get arrested for yelling
at an officer!" I said, "It's O.K. Darl, I'm alright." The
officer left with his tail between his legs, like a scolded
puppy. Mom had died from a Massive Heart Attack at the age of 63. I
couldn't believe she was gone too, now, so soon after Daddy! My mind was
in a strange state, but oddly, I felt peaceful. This may seem like a
strange thing for me to say; but I had lived my whole life wishing
that my parents were still together, and that I had a normal life
like most of the other children. Now, this day, at this moment; I knew
that they were together again. I felt a peace in my heart that I had
never known before. I remembered the thought from the night before,
and I knew that God had prepared me for this. However, my sorrow lay in
the fact, that I would now never have the opportunity to bring my Mother
to live with me, like I had told her I wanted to do. I had wanted the
chance to bond with and truly get to know her. The bonding that
life's circumstances had denied us, now was never to be. Life has so many
unexpected twists and turns, that one can never be totally secure. How
strange to be an orphan at the age of 36! My life has been full of
sorrow and regrets, but also blessed with some beautiful memories. After
all, Memories are our Roses in December that God has given us to help
us go on. That is what life is all about, isn't it? Going on, surviving?
Well, I can tell you this, sometimes survival sucks!
I have a tattoo on my right hand, in memory of all
the loves I have lost. A small, red, broken heart with a rose
growing out of the break. This signifies that out of our sorrows,
beauty can grow. The tears we shed in grief are the nourishing water
that causes the beauty to blossom. Never regret your sorrows or
grief, for God uses them to form us into a more compassionate and
loving individual.
My sorrows did not end there. My special friend of 23
years, Darl Willis Burks, died on August 6, 2001, at the age of
58. He drove himself over to the Lebanon Community Hospital
Emergency Room. He went to be checked out for returning symptoms of
Congestive Heart Failure, which he had been hospitalized for on January 6,
2001. His special buddies at Sweet Home Motors, Bob and Richard Ikola,
played a vital role in the saving of his life on that day! Darl had always
liked calendar pictures, of beautiful scenery or old cars. Bob had
promised him back in 2000, that he would save the calendar of old
cars for him. That was what brought Darl to visit them on January 6,
2001. He got there and visited with Bob for a bit and asked him
about the calendar. Bob had forgotten and thrown the calendar
away. It's a good thing, because Darl might have taken it and
gone on home and died that day. His condition was very weak, he
didn't know how close to death he was at that point. Anyway, he
stayed a while and visited longer with Bob. Bob noticed the pallor of his
skin, and kept asking him if he felt O.K. Darl didn't like talking about
his heart and tried to downplay it. Bob started trying to get him to go to
the hospital E.R. Darl didn't want to. Finally, Bob called to his brother,
Richard, who was in another room. Richard came in, and Bob had him look at
Darl. Then, they both started trying to get Darl to go to the E.R. Darl
was reluctant. Then, Richard thought of the S.H. Fire Department. He told
Darl he would take him there to have his blood pressure and heart rate
checked. Darl agreed to that. The Fire Department checked him and said
they would take him immediately to the E.R. in the ambulance. Darl didn't
want to do that, he wanted to ride over with Richard; but the paramedics
told Richard that would be too risky. They said Darl's condition was too
fragile at that point, they insisted on taking him in the ambulance. On
the way to the hospital, the paramedic told Darl that if his respiration
would have been just a fraction lower, he would not have had much of a
chance, and that if he had of waited any longer, he would have surely
died. Bob, Richard and that calendar saved his life that day! They
gave him exactly 7 months more to live. A lot of special memories
were made during those 7 months. Darl’s last birthday on March 20,
2001; my last birthday with him on June 17th, his Grandson's
1st birthday on July 7th. Then on August 6, 2001, he drove
himself over to the E.R. He refused to let me take off work and go
with him. He said I was with him the whole time in January, and that
I wasn't feeling well either. He said he would just go over and be checked
out and get their opinion on how his condition was. He had been
better since January, but in the last week had gotten worse. His
Doctor insisted he was doing fine, and that there was no water building up
in his lungs again. However, he was taking two prescription water pills
along with the heart and blood pressure pills, and he was now unable
to urinate! Something had to be wrong. He didn't want to trouble
anyone. He drove himself over there for help, and the ignorant,
incompetent person at the reception desk in the E.R. didn't know who
he was or his condition. He had his medical card with him, a paper bag
full of his medications, a file in the hospital from the January
hospitalization, and they have a computer that she could have punched his
name into and immediately known his fragile condition! Oh, no! Let's not
be competent, let's be ignorant and assume that this man either has a
urine infection or that he is someone on drugs! Let's stick him in a room
and have him wait for 25 minutes until a doctor has time for him! Let's
not even send a nurse in to check on him, he just has a urine infection or
on drugs! After all, we are an E.R., we know what we're doing! Do I sound
bitter? Well, I realize now, that I am a lot more bitter than I thought! I
thought I had gotten past all that bullshit, but I haven't! Incompetence
makes me madder than hell! Especially, when it comes from the medical
profession! When the Doctor finally showed up, Darl was down on the
floor with a blanket. He was looking up at the Doctor, dazed. The
Doctor helped him back up onto the examining table and noticed that Darl
was clammy and cold. Oh No, Nurse! We have an emergency here! Let's do
what we can to help him! They worked on him for about an hour, touch and
go, using all their fine equipment to do the best they could to save
him. Damn it! Their opportunity for that had already past about 25
minutes ago! But let's pat them on the back now! They did their best! What
a recommendation, if that was their best! I'm not over that, I never will
have an ounce of trust in that place again! I asked the Nurse if he was in
a lot of pain. She said he had been, but they gave him Morphine for that,
and that it helped. I asked her what his last words were. She said that
after she gave him a shot of Morphine, she asked him, "Are you alright?"
He said, "I'm alright now." Then, in a little while, his heart just
stopped, at 2:23 P.M. They worked on him for 30 more minutes. He was gone.
They called me at work to get his daughter's phone number. They let on to
me that he was still alive, but wouldn't give me any more information,
because "I wasn't family!" Finally, they said, "He probably won't make
it!" I didn't know it then, but he had already been gone for about 30
minutes! I called Bob Ikola, he had his wife, Lona, come and take me
to the hospital. When we got there, the Nurse met me at the door. I told
her I was Darl Burks' friend, and I was there to see him. She said, "I'm
sorry, he didn't make it!" What a cruel slap in the face it seemed like. I
went into denial. I said, "No! That's not true! Where is he?" She took me
on a wild goose chase. She didn't even know for sure what room he was in!
Finally, she found it. I can not describe the feeling I felt as I
walked into that cold room and saw my beloved friend, I had spent
half my life with, lying on a cold table with a thin sheet over him, dead.
I had only just waved to him and blown a kiss that very morning. I had
just seen his face smiling so sweetly, not knowing it was our final "Fare
Thee Well". "I know you are happy at last, now, my friend; you are with
our God and Savior, Jesus Christ."
We were never promised that life would be fair, were
we? However, we do have the promise of seeing our loved ones in Heaven
someday. That is, if we have accepted our Savior, Jesus Christ. I have. So
far, all of the loved ones I have lost have been people who gave their
hearts to Christ, also. Therefore, I have a good deal to be thankful for.
In that respect, I can not complain. God is Good, God is Great, let us
thank Him! If it were not for the Promises from God concerning Eternal
Life, I would have cashed in my chips a long time ago. If there were
nothing after this life, I wouldn't be able to live through the
losses of my loved ones. I could not go on, knowing I would never see them
again. I love too deeply and too strongly, to totally let go of someone I
love. I have to believe, otherwise I die.
For a period of time after Darl's death, I had a
secret desire to be dead also. It just seemed it would be so much
easier and less painful. I was with him for so many years of my life, and
then in one day, he was gone; and I am left to go on alone! Alone
again, naturally! However, his beautiful daughter, Laura, has been my
friend for all of those years too. She and her husband, Thomas, have been
there for me throughout it all. They understand, because they are in
grief also. They are true friends and always will be. I am so
thankful to God for having them in my life. There are not adequate words
to express my love for them! I will enjoy watching Darl's "Little
Buddy" grandson, Garrett grow into a man. He is like his Grandpa,
musically inclined! It just grieves me that Darl never even got to know
about or see his little Granddaughter, Jilaina. May God be with their
family always. They have made me a part of their family. I am thankful for
true friends, which are few and far between. Daddy always said that you
could live your whole life, and then at the end of your life; you
could count your true and faithful friends on the fingers of one
hand, with a few fingers to spare! What a profound statement!
On August 25, 2001; God breathed life into two
special little animals. Two baby Chihuahuas. A black and tan male,
and a red and white female. I was incredibly lonely and had been searching
for a little dog for a pet. God led me to them three weeks after they were
born. I picked out one, because that was all I thought I could
afford. The little black and tan male, my "Lone Coyote". I wanted
another one for a buddy for him, but couldn't see how I could afford it.
He cost $200.00. I went to work the next day telling my friends about him.
I wouldn't be able to bring him home for 3 more weeks. They had to stay
with their mother until 6 weeks old. My friend Cay encouraged me to ask
the woman breeder to let me make payments on another one. So, I
asked, and she agreed! $250.00 in five payments. So, I went back that
very day, and picked out my "Little Red Dog". They have brought so much
happiness and frustration into my life. They are sweet little monsters!
They're like two overgrown rats, constantly chewing something up! But they
are full of love for me, and that is what matters most. Someone said
to me, the other day, that The Bible says that dogs are unclean! I
said that the Bible also says that people are unclean, but that does not
mean you are to withhold love from them! I loved my Lone Coyote and my
Little Red Dog with all my heart. They helped me through some of the
toughest times in my life, and I will forever be grateful to God for the
time I was blessed to spend with each of them. I lost my little Lone
Coyote on March 29, 2006. I lost my Little Red Dog on May 31, 2009. Two of
the worst days in my life. Grief is the loneliest number I have ever
known.
In February of 2002, my loneliness for a partner
finally came to a peak. I ran a personal ad on the internet for a
Christian man-friend, to share my lonely life with. I asked for
someone who enjoyed animals & quiet times. I received one reply!
His name was Rob. He lived in London, England. He was about 3 years
older than me. He had been a Monk in India, and also had an apartment
in Brazil. He was a Vegetarian & loved God with all his heart. We
seemed to have so much in common, concerning our personal needs. We
fell in love & planned to be married. He came to me on April 12, 2002.
I was so happy! Then I learned that he had an allergy to dogs, which he
had not informed me of. I was shocked & totally confused on what to
do. He said there was no problem. Then 4 days later, on April 16, I came
home from work, so happy. I had gone to Darl's house & brought a
bicycle home, which I had bought for him. I was so happy, because I had
two bikes that Rob & I could go for country rides on. He had been
cooped up in the house every since he got here, except for the day that we
went to Lebanon to buy a juicer. He had made wonderful Vegetarian meals
for me every day & fresh juice. He always had it ready for me when I
got home from work. He would have made me a slimmer, healthier, happier
woman! He was a good cook & a wonderful man. Every day, he had been
working on the house, cleaning & rearranging. The weather had been
rainy, and I didn't realize he was getting depressed; until I came home on
that day with the bike & a microwave that I had bought for Darl also.
I came home so happy & with so many plans for the future. I even
planned to take him for a country ride that day, and maybe even have
a romantic frolic in the grass somewhere. I brought the stuff into
the house. I didn't see him, but that was not unusual, because
sometimes he would be in another room. I got it all inside & then
started calling for him. No answer. I started going from room to room. He
was nowhere to be found. It still did not sink in what had actually
happened. I went outside and looked around, thinking maybe he was out
there. As I came back into the house, through the front door, my eyes
glanced down & saw his keys lying on the threshold. I thought he must
have gone for a walk & dropped his keys as he was leaving. I thought
he must be locked out. My mind was beginning to realize that something was
dreadfully wrong. I went back in, re-searching every room. Then, I thought
to look in the closet. His clothes & everything was gone! It looked as
if he had never even been here, like it was all a dream. I went from room
to room, crying & calling his name. I kept saying over &
over, "You left me, without even a goodbye note!" As I relive these
memories, my heart breaks all over again. I sit here crying as I type.
These memories, of my life, that I am reliving, have brought me
renewed joy & sorrow. An Autobiography is very stressing to the
emotions! Finally, I made it back to the living room in all my deep
despair. There I found his "Dear Jane Note" on the coffee table. It
told me that he loved me, but could not adjust to the small town & all
the rain, & that he was sorry. I looked over to where I had his
pictures in a frame. The frame was laying face-down on the stand. I went
over & picked it up, longing to see him again. The frame was empty!
Just like my home & my heart! I cried out to the unhearing walls, "You
even took my pictures of you!" Bawling like a baby, I went to the kitchen,
opened the refrigerator & got out a bottle of M.D. 20-20 "Mad Dog"
wine. I got a goblet & began to drink. At some point, I called my
friend Debbe. I got her answering machine and I could barely talk for the
trembling in my voice. I told her I needed her, but she was gone. I
started downing the wine. Alone again… naturally. I was going to get in
the car & go who knows where. Then the phone rang. I didn't answer it.
I let the machine take a message. It was Debbe and her voice sounded very
worried and concerned. I had not told her what had happened. I just
sat there drinking. At this point, I didn't want to talk
anymore. Then a little while later, the phone rang again. I answered
this time. After hearing her distressed voice, I told her what had
happened, and that I was having some wine. She was extremely worried about
me. I told her I would be alright. She told me not to go anywhere, not
drinking. We hang up. Then a little while later, she showed up on my
doorstep! What are true friends for? She was there for me, and I
love her even more for that! She took me to A & W and forced me
to eat something, even though I had no appetite. Debbe was there for
me when the rest of the world was not.
I contacted Rob by e-mail, and asked him why he had
not talked about this with me. I asked him why he did not give me a chance
to make things right. I begged him to come back to me. All he would say,
was he was very sorry & he had wanted it to work out, but he
could not stand the town or the rain. Later, I found out from him, that it
was actually my dogs that he could not stand. I still begged him, like an
idiot, to return, to no avail. Finally, I told him that someday he
would realize that I was what he had been looking for all of his life, and
that he had thrown it all away! I told him that if he did not return
soon, it would someday be too late. He still did not want me.
Four days after he left, I ran an updated personal ad
on the internet. This time, I asked for a man who believed in the Holy
Trinity: The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit, a man who liked small
towns, small dogs and quiet times. I was blown away and overwhelmed, when
I received about a dozen replies in one day! Out of all these
replies, I found a Romanian named Nicolae Andrei. He was a con artist
who made me believe he was in love with me. He ended up taking me for
about $4,000. I reported him to the Internet Fraud Center. I will never
see that money again; but possibly they will prevent him from scamming
some other innocent, gullible, lonely woman.
There are many simple things in life that I long
to experience before I die. Like dancing in the moonlight,
singing in the rain, walking hand in hand with my soul-mate, sharing
a child with a proud Daddy, sharing the Eternal Love of Jesus Christ with
lost souls, understanding & comforting souls that are deep in despair
over grief & loss, and living each day as if it were the last day of
my life!
If I lose in love again, it will not be the first
time I have known sorrow. We have to take the risk of the
possibility of sorrow in order to discover the promise of true
happiness. That is a risk I am willing to take. Wherever my life goes
from here, I shall see. Whatever will be, will be. The future is
not ours to see.
One year later, in June or July of 2003, I met the
love of my life, my soulmate, in a Yahoo Music chat room called Kick Ass
Country. The Texas Snake Handler, Gaylon King. We both just happened to
pop into the chat room at the same time and no one else was there but the
two of us. He said “Howdy” and I said “Hello”. We played country music for
each other all night long, and many nights after that. It was the
beginning to a lifelong relationship, filled with a few road bumps, but
much love. He told me later that in that chat room, that very first night,
that I had him from “Hello”. He has played that song for me on
anniversaries since. You Had Me From Hello.
8-12-2003 was the day we met in person, the day my prayers were answered
and my dreams came true. He flew by airplane out to Oregon from San
Antonio, Texas where he lived. He flew to me, to take me and my pups, Lone
Coyote and Little Red Dog back to Texas by U-Haul. Along the way, we
stopped in a small town in Wolf Creek, Oregon. It was a beautiful little
country town. Gaylon had said he would love to live there. It was quite a
trip with a near accident due to rubberneckers on the highway. We arrived
in San Antonio on August 15, 2003. We were married on February 5, 2004.
I also have a small tattoo on my left hand, that I
got back in 2002 when I got the memorial rose tattoo on my right hand. The
tattoo on my left hand is a rose also, a small rosebud. It was put there
in honor of the man that would ever love me enough to marry me. It
signified a new love, a real and lasting love in it's early stage. At the
time, I had no idea of who or if that would ever be. Well, on February 5,
2004, when Gaylon married me; that tattoo became dedicated of him!
We have had several wonderful, little, furry friends over the years which I must mention. The ones who have gone on to Heaven: Lone Coyote, Little Red Dog, Smokey, Pee Wee, Missy and Minnie... Buster, Skippy, Dottsy, Trevor and Trixie were given to good families and hopefully they are all still living. Each and every one of them have had their own unique little personalities. The ones who are gone from our lives are sorely missed and will never be forgotten. Each missing one left an empty spot in our life, but will forever remain in our hearts. At present, we have 2 precious little dogs: Farfel and Trinket. None were merely dogs; they are all "Little People in Puppy Suits"!
We have had several wonderful, little, furry friends over the years which I must mention. The ones who have gone on to Heaven: Lone Coyote, Little Red Dog, Smokey, Pee Wee, Missy and Minnie... Buster, Skippy, Dottsy, Trevor and Trixie were given to good families and hopefully they are all still living. Each and every one of them have had their own unique little personalities. The ones who are gone from our lives are sorely missed and will never be forgotten. Each missing one left an empty spot in our life, but will forever remain in our hearts. At present, we have 2 precious little dogs: Farfel and Trinket. None were merely dogs; they are all "Little People in Puppy Suits"!
Gaylon has given me true and unconditional love and
the very best years of my life. I thank God for him daily. I have a very
loving husband and a fantastic father-in-law (who is more a Daddy, than an in-law to me).
Gaylon's Daddy, Jerry King, is the ony man that I have ever called Daddy, other than my own precious Daddy!!!
Gaylon has three children: Amanda, Justin and James. I am blessed to have a step-son that has the name James!!!
The very name I would have named my own son (after my Daddy), if I had of been blessed to have children of my own.
And we still have our 2 little precious Chihuahuas, Farfel and Trinket!!!
We are a small happy family. Something I always dreamed of, but
never thought would be reality. However, there is a sad , empty spot in
our family. We lost Gaylon's sweet, little Mama on April 18, 2014. We love
and miss her daily, and the holidays are not the same without her.
However, we know that she is now happy in the presence of Jesus.
I am finally living "Happily Ever After"… God was not kidding when He said, “Have faith, My child, and forget the mirage. Be still, and know that I AM GOD!!!”
The original draft of this autobiography was written in 2002. It has been revised and updated over the years. The final draft to date was completed in April of 2024. It was initially written for the author's own pleasure, recollection and preserving of memories. It became a refuge, a place where the author could re-visit and step back in time and re-live all of the bitter-sweet memories. Now, it has also become something that the author could share with family, friends and the world. The author was well aware that most would have no interest, wouldn't care or simply do not like to read. However, for those very few that take the time to walk through this jumbled collection of memories from a life fully lived; the author says, "Thank you for caring enough to show an interest. It means much more, to me, than words can ever express."
I am finally living "Happily Ever After"… God was not kidding when He said, “Have faith, My child, and forget the mirage. Be still, and know that I AM GOD!!!”
Epilogue:
The original draft of this autobiography was written in 2002. It has been revised and updated over the years. The final draft to date was completed in April of 2024. It was initially written for the author's own pleasure, recollection and preserving of memories. It became a refuge, a place where the author could re-visit and step back in time and re-live all of the bitter-sweet memories. Now, it has also become something that the author could share with family, friends and the world. The author was well aware that most would have no interest, wouldn't care or simply do not like to read. However, for those very few that take the time to walk through this jumbled collection of memories from a life fully lived; the author says, "Thank you for caring enough to show an interest. It means much more, to me, than words can ever express."
With Love Forever & Always.
Lola Maria Hilliard-King