When this elderly citizen "observes" the world in which he has spent his life (so far), he is filled with love for the remarkable fortune the years have given him.
Can a "Charmed Life" actually be possible?
"I have little first-hand knowledge of my first three years, except for a very short time during the Holiday Season of 1938, when I exhibited a mortal fear of Santa Claus.
My mother has told me I was born dead. I can't confirm the veracity, but she claims that the doctor spent a very extended time manipulating mt static form before I took my first breath. Maybe it was little more than 'NewMom Anxiety' that guided her perception."
"I am confident that our first few years as a family were spent at my Mom's parents' home in Nacogdoches. Dad would spend the week on the road, returning on weekends to 'Headquarters'.
When Dad was in residence, he usually dominated the conversation, but everyone was happy to listen. He was the "Radio" which was lacking in the household.
Much of my "charmed" life is defined in a somewhat extensive series of meandering anecdotes, entitled MEANDER3081, so in order not to be too self-laudatory, I will TRY to concentrate on highlights of my good fortune.
When I was eight, Mom drove my sister and I to San Francisco to spend the summer waiting for Dad to leave for the Pacific, where he would be for the duration of The War. I learned a great deal about The Bay Area. In that year, I had prayed for a bicycle, expecting to wake up next morning to find it in my room, and discovered that God does not work in that way, but I had my bike that year. Right after our return from SF, I received much-desired swimming lessons.
When I was ten, one of Dad's friends from The Postal Service retired, and hired me for his personal caddie. I observed from our trips to other courses, that our local nine-hole course was a quality course, and often attracted players from Houston.
When my employer finished his customary two rounds and decided to spend some time in the clubhouse, I'd mosey over to hang out with the caddies. I learned much from the caddies that I consider a significant contribution to my great good fortune...."Don't call us NIGGERS, we Colored Boys!" was top of the list. (remember that we were still legally segregated and the other school was still searching for identity). I was tickled to find the very quiet little fellow whom Mom had picked up years before was there among the caddies and he was the youngest among four brothers, all of whom used nicknames. Allen, the oldest, was known by his peers as "Dogie", the next must have been fairly unremarkable, because although his his face is clear to me, but no names come to mind...The third, Hezekiah was known interchangeably as "Yopie" or "Hezzybull", and the youngest, little "Bee" must have had another name, but I never learned it.
When my employer gave up his golfing, I started sighing in to the Caddie Pool, and finally realized for the first time that I was a "Minority",..even though there was no hatred in the caddie pool. I still was the only fishbelly in the caddie pool when the groundskeeper, another black man.hand-picked several
"Volunteers" to go up to the LCRA canal and wait for him. After we had been swimming for awhile it was time to go to work. I feel that I may have been the only "newbie" in the work detail, it went so smoothly. I LEARNED!
When I was twelve, I spent a week with Uncle Bud who will always be cherished as one of a most favored contributor to my growth as a human.
Although, after my caddie pool awakening, I could never share his feelings concerning "Jigs" and "Junglebunnies", his wisdom brought much to my life.
In the year that I was fourteen, Dad's mother passed away after a long debilitating illness, and I experienced another life-building revelation.
As a result of his experience with the Fleet Post Office in WWII, his reserves obligation recalled him for the Korean "Conflict". His group of reserves went to Alaska and Hawaii. While many chose Alaska because "they could get their families to come up and join them". Dad knew he could never adapt to cold weather, so chose Hawaii, and found that the U.S. Navy was indifferent to dependent travel expenses, so we once again began to arrange a return to The City by the Bay, this time to be shipping OURSELVES out.
At this time I had my driver's license, so Mom did not have to drive the whole distance. When we arrived at Pearl Harbor, the first view we had of Dad was the Marines pushing him back to the safety line where he was supposed to wait.
I have finally decided that my second excursion into minority status is much to extensive for a single sitting, and will be continued in the light of a new day.
No comments:
Post a Comment