Life Is a Series of Choices

By Charlesea Nelson

Have you ever wished you could go back and do something all over again and do it differently? I know I have; we all have. Th e choices that we make every day not only effect our lives but the lives of those that are around us that we may not even be aware that it has effected somebody elses life. Many times we do not have a choice in the decision we make and we can only make the best of what may be a really bad situation. You will see in this story of Alyson that she like so many of us did not always have a choice in what life handed her. Th e choices she did have were limited or forced upon her by others ultimatums. You will read about choices that Alyson made that you think the girl absolutely has lost her mind.

You may ask yourself, Is she crazy? What was she thinking? Other times you may feel as scared as she was and want to hug her and comfort her when she huddles in a corner shaking from pure fear. You may even wish you could crawl inside the pages and knock a few folks on their behinds. Alyson keeps going and she forever tries to make others happy, she tries to do what is expected of her, and she tries to be the perfect student, child, daughter, sister, wife and mother. You will read about the many times that she failed at each of these.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477260319

Charlesea Nelson

I grew up in Cross Plains, a small town in West Texas. Life was very difficult growing up, I can relate to the character Alyson on many of her challenges throughout this story. I married while in high school and was a teen mom. I have been blessed with two wonderful sons. In 2003 I married my best friend Loren. I have two step sons and one step daughter. In 2006 after layoffs and a declining economy we moved to Kansas. All the children are grown and have left the nest so I have had a little extra time to fulfill my dream of writing this story.

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© 2012 Charlesea Nelson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/14/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-6029-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-6030-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-6031-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012914955

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Thank You

Preface

My Brother

School Days

To Eat or Not to Eat

Coffee Time With Grandpa

Burning Down The House

Lunch Time

Small Town Life

Changes

Illness

August

Senior Year

California Here We Come

The Two-Timer

Oklahoma

Carrolton, Texas

Oklahoma Again

Mississippi

Phoenix

Oklahoma

Oregon

Homeward Bound

A Fresh Start

About the Author

This book is dedicated to my sons Jonathan and Jeffrey Ethington, without you my life would have little meaning, I am proud to be called Mom/Madre.

When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up.

PSALMS 27:10

Thank You

To my husband Loren Nelson, you have been wonderful as always but especially during the time it took writing, typing, and editing this story. Without your support I know I may not have moved forward with writing it. I love you and am thankful our paths crossed and we were both given a second chance at love. I am very proud to be your Wife.

To my sons Jonathan and Jeffrey for suggestions on the story line and for the research you both did to create the character names. Again, I am truly blessed to have both of you in my life. I love you both.

To Steffany you are indeed an Angel. Thanks for all your inspiration and helpful tools through yourself and Angel’s Insight that kept me focused on my dream of being a published author. I know you are correct that there will be at least two other books. One in which allows the reader to find out what happens to the Kingsley and Barton families. Thank you for leading me to Aaron.

To Jamila Ross for being my test reader in the early stages of writing this story. I love hearing your laugh. I never tire of hearing it. You are an awesome lady. You gave me a big boost when you were asking for another story to read and repeating parts of the 911story.

To Kristen Turner the first editor of this book- for all of your hard work. I know the first draft was a nightmare. You put in many hours and assisted in having this story flow much better. Thanks for sharing the experiences that happened while editing. It is proof that there truly is life after death. Thank you for helping my dream become reality.

To Aaron Leis the second editor of this book- for all the suggestions, corrections that made this story more clear and concise. You took this project on due to being the brother of a friend of a friend. You too are one of life’s Angels disguised as a wonderful person.

To Sharol Young you will be Sharol McMahon by the time this book is published. Thank you for being a friend, sister, and listening when I was stressed out from writing or from day to day challenges. You kept me together and kept me strong in the belief that this book would be a success. You are truly my sister. You are the sister of my soul. I love you more than any sister I have ever had.

Preface

Have you ever wished you could go back and do something all over again and do it differently? I know I have; we all have. The choices that we make every day not only effect our lives but the lives of those that are around us that we may not even be aware that it has effected someone else’s life. Many times we do not have a choice in the decision we make and we can only make the best of what may be a really bad situation. You will see in this story of Alyson Lucille Barton—that she like so many of us did not always have a choice in what life handed her. The choices she did have were limited or forced upon her by others’ ultimatums. You will read about choices that Alyson made that you think the girl absolutely has lost her mind. You may ask yourself, Is she crazy? What was she thinking? Other times you may feel as scared as she was and want to hug her and comfort her when she huddles in a corner shaking from pure fear. You may even wish you could crawl inside the pages and knock a few folks on their behinds. Alyson keeps going and she forever tries to make others happy, she tries to do what is expected of her, and she tries to be the perfect student, child, daughter, sister, wife and mother. You will read about the many times that she failed at each of these.

Alyson was born in a small West Texas community where religion, pride and down home roots were the main focus of those that lived there. Everyone helped one another and went to church every Sunday. Alyson herself went to church three times a week. Every Sunday she went in the morning, then went again later that evening. She also went Wednesday night. There was never a question if she wanted to go church; it was just what you did. I find Alyson’s story so heart wrenching that I often catch myself asking, Could someone survive this? Why did community, the church, school teachers and even relatives all turn a blind eye to what had to be obvious to anyone? Alyson and her siblings all wore their battle scars and stripes. However, back then no one wanted to intrude or tell others how they should raise their children. Everyone would rather praise Alyson and her entire family for how well behaved she was and how well behaved her siblings were and how her parents were such good Christians. The harsh reality was that their mother beat them on a daily basis from as far back as any of them can remember. It was every day. It became their way of life. Alyson and her sister Lydia would from time to time make a game out of the daily beatings. In order to make it through the day they would take their mind away from it by being the winner.

Alyson and Lydia were inseparable when they were younger. The two dressed the same and wore their hair the same right down to the long hair with the ringlet curls. Most people thought the two were twins. The two sisters would sit around during the summer and talk about silly things like tornado destruction. They would discuss their idea that a tornado usually hits every other house. They would start with the house at the end of the street. They would count off where this imaginary tornado would have to strike in order to save their house. The two would also talk about who would take care of their brother Jerry if something happened to their mom and dad. Jerry was mentally handicapped due to a fever he had when he was a young child. He seems to have received the worst of their mother’s abuse but no one knows just exactly what happened. Is Jerry lucky that he does not remember? Could it be possible that he does remember? Lydia was always hell bent on saying she would be the one to take care of Jerry. It did not matter what anyone else had to say. Their oldest sister Mable would from time to time join in their discussions but not often. Mable and Lydia hated one another from the time Lydia was born. It did not help when a true blessing in disguise was overlooked as being a blessing. Instead it was used as tool to breed hatred between the two sisters. Their hatred for one another would always place Alyson in the middle to pick and choose sides. That happened as a child and it continued throughout her life.

As Alyson got older, she was abused by her own schoolteacher, and she said nothing to her parents for fear of a beating that she might not survive. Alyson started to realize that she was different from her sisters and she was expected to be perfect in school when her sisters just had to pass the class. Even during church she started to question, how could God send me to hell and how could it be worse than where I am now? Of course she was wise enough not to ask anyone her questions or even breathe a peep that she thought there was much more to the Bible than what she was being taught. Alyson knew she was living a lie and something was not right; she just never felt like she belonged. She wanted more for herself than her sisters or even what her parents wanted her to become. All her parents could ever hope for was that Alyson was baptized into the church and lived as a good Christian. Alyson had even researched the meaning of her own name and knew she was destined for something, but she sure could not see ever getting out of Texas or away from her mother for that matter to become anything. The name Alyson is of German origin, and no doubt chosen by her mother Rachel since she was born part German and part Dutch. Alyson means truth, noble, or bright. Her middle name, Lucille, means light. Alyson could only think that she was to tell the truth at all times and live her life as perfectly as she could and absorb knowledge like a sponge to be as bright or as smart as she possibly could be. Alyson was always treated differently. Alyson’s mother expected far more from her than Mable, Lydia, or even Jerry that she would do whatever she had to in order to be perfect and not make anyone mad.

Alyson was lucky in the fact that her paternal grandparents lived next door. Now, how many of you wished your grandparents lived next door so you could be spoiled on a daily basis? I know I would have dearly loved it. Her grandfather Clarence was a typical farmer sort. He was the oldest in his family and had always been there for his parents up until the day they died, and he wanted to carry on that tradition and have his son live next door. You will see how Clarence is very fond of Alyson; it seems at times that he knew she was not his biological granddaughter but he had a connection or bond with her that some biological grandchildren never have. Clarence was Alyson’s mentor and healer and her saving grace. Clarence tried to make his son Eugene stand up to his wife Rachel and reduce the beatings the children received on a daily basis to no avail. When I read Alyson’s story, I could not imagine how bad her and her sibling’s lives would have been if there had been no one living next door. I fear there may have been more fevers spread amongst the children like the one Jerry suffered. Alyson’s paternal grandmother Ellen was a riot; she was short in stature, and when Alyson was a teenager her grandmother came even with Alyson’s shoulders. Yes, Alyson was taller and thinner than her sisters, and much taller in her later teen years than her father Eugene. Just another thing that made her feel she was not her father’s daughter. What would her life be if she lived somewhere else?

As Alyson tells her story to you she will tell you of her marriage to George Kingsley at a young age and she will tell you about being a teen mother. Ultimatums handed down by her mother to George would flip things upside down and leave Alyson with little to no choice in those that were then given to her by George later that day. George Kingsley was an absolute mess and the total opposite of Alyson. He was labeled the town heathen, but that just made him more appealing to Alyson and a likely candidate to get her the hell out of dodge. George was the only person that ever said he loved her. His mother Barbara and stepdad Howard Schwartz owned the Stop and Go, and to Alyson, Howard was the funniest man she had ever met and would pretty much be more of a father to her than Eugene ever had. Alyson idolized Barbara and wanted to be so much like her but she would learn later on that be very careful for what you wish for because things are not always as they appear. George taught Alyson lessons that could never be learned in most people’s lifetimes. Many times he left her little to no choice in the direction her life was going, and all because she knew she had to survive and her sons, Garrison and Gregory, had to survive by whatever means were available. George kept Alyson and the boys on a constant moving roller coaster and made their lives very challenging with the lifestyle they lived and shared with George’s brothers, Garrett and Robert.

Alyson will tell you about the many times she had to force her head up to look at friends and family in the eye when they were far from deserving her attention or affection. Feeling she didn’t belong, to kidnapping, and even attempted murder. What is amazing is that in all the ups and downs, Alyson will tell you things happen for a reason, and if she had to live her life all over again she would not change a thing since it brought her to where she is now. It is all how we live, the choices that we make, and how we overcome all the bad choices to learn and grow. In later years, Alyson’s friend Edward had a lot to do with her standing up for herself and learning to actually live her own life.

My Brother

My childhood was not all bad, but there was not a lot of good. Everyone believed or pretended to believe that we had this great wholesome family. We were everything but that.My brother was not able to speak out about what happened to him. I believe he was the only one that would have ever told on mom back in the day. Jerry was the second born child, and later you will read a story about the oldest son. When Jerry was born, it seemed mom was a bit jealous of the love and devotion her husband Eugene gave to him. Mom may have truly suffered from some disorder, or it could have been learned behavior from her mother or oldest sister. It may have been the simple fact that my mom was one mean lady. Family members will tell how Jerry was born a normal healthy baby boy. There were no signs of retardation. When I look in the photo album he appears fine until he was three or four. However, retardation does not always appear instantly. Family members have told me things that they witnessed and were afraid to share with me. I was told that when my brother was a toddler or younger, they had walked by the house my parents lived in and witnessed my mother yelling at Jerry and throwing him (and I mean bodily throwing him) in his playpen—his head slamming into the wall and him falling into his playpen. This was seen more than once. I suspect it got worse over the years. It was said that Jerry had a high fever that caused brain damage. He immediately had some eyesight loss and memory loss and loss of the ability to learn. However, all of the signs and symptoms mirrored the results of severe head trauma. As a child growing up, I witnessed my mother take my brother’s head between her two hands and slam it repeatedly against the wall as she yelled at him. I also noticed each time my mother went to grab his head like this, he would tense up and squint his eyes and try to prepare himself for the massive blows to the head. In early school years my brother was sent to the rehab center for speech therapy. There was a small amount of improvement, however mom stopped taking him. She told everyone that they could not afford it and he would never be any better. My opinion is she never wanted him to get better because he just might have told someone what had happened to him by her hands. I know times were different back then and everyone tried to stay out of everyone’s business. If someone would have spoken up, if many that were aware of his beatings, and especially my oldest sister Mable’s, things would have been different. Jerry is truly one of God’s precious gifts. He suffered more than any of us. We don’t really know what happened to him because there were no witnesses for six years. As you read along you will see how the choices that we make affect our lives. Jerry is the only one that had no choice.

School Days

I remember sitting in the living room coloring or doing schoolwork. I was by myself, so my sister Lydia, who was two years older than me, had to be in school already. I think I was about three or four years old. I gave my colored picture to mom to look at. I remember it had to be good in order for me to be allowed to go out and play. I waited for approval. It was a pass, and outside I went. I loved to climb around in the tree and sit in the tree and look around, or I would entertain myself digging up doodlebugs. Not sure if this is the real name for the bug. They make a funnel shaped hole, and if you disturb the design they will work very hard to rebuild. I also liked to drown them. I remember going to the school, but I am not sure why we were going. I got all dressed up because Lydia was already in school and I was going to see my sister at school and nothing could be better. When mom and I got to the school, I was on the sidewalk and mom was holding my hand. I saw Lydia at the window and I broke loose from mom’s grip and started running full blast to the school door. Next thing I remember I was falling. I was told later that I fell and hit my head; when I fell forward it knocked me out cold. Needless to say I didn’t make it to the inside of the school. I was at the doctor instead, and to this day I have an indenture on my forehead at the top of the hairline just to the right of my nose. I remember the first day of Kindergarten; it was upstairs in the high school. I was so excited to go to school. There were other kids and I had not been around very many other kids. Lydia had been in school the last two years and I was by myself. The first day of school mom walked me to my class. My cousin Michelle was downstairs crying. She was afraid to walk upstairs by herself, so mom took her hand and walked her up with us. I knew Michelle, so we must have played together before. Every day Michelle would wait for us and walk up the stairs. I don’t know how long this went on, but eventually it was just Michelle and I going up the stairs at a run together. I was free! We always asked what the other was wearing the next day. We wanted to match like we were sisters. I always took my lunch to school. I always wanted to eat the school lunch but I had my sandwich—no idea what else I had, but I know there was a sandwich. There were two kinds of lunchmeat I hated: Goose liver loaf and pimento loaf, which was made with some mystery meat with sliced olives and pimentos. One day I had goose liver. I could not swallow the stuff. My teacher said I had to eat it. I put it back into my lunch box. Somehow the teacher knew. During afternoon naptime Ms. Simmons, our teacher, had me go across the hall and gave me my lunch box. She said I had to eat my sandwich. I took it, but again I could not swallow that stuff. It had mayonnaise on it, and that made it worse. I took a bite and gagged to get it down. The teacher left me in the room by myself. Hmmm, I realized no one was watching me. I took a napkin and wrapped the sandwich except a little corner of bread I put back in the bag to make it look like I was too full to eat any more. The wrapped sandwich went in the trash. I didn’t get a nap since it took the entire time to eat my lunch. I was very happy with myself that I had fooled the teacher. She was clueless. I went home with an empty lunch box. Well, almost empty—it did have the corner of bread. I was so happy. First thing mom checked my lunch box. She asked if I ate my lunch and I said yes. I went on with my full story. Instead of her understanding I was full she grabbed my arm and yanked me around and wore me out. She said, You forget your daddy works at the school and he found your sandwich in the trash. So that was for your lying, and she started spanking me again, saying That’s for wasting food. I was not allowed at dinner that night. Mom said I was too full from lunch so I got to sit there at the dinner table watching everyone else eat.

School was not going to be that great. I knew now that teachers would always watch me and tell on me, and that Eugene would always tell mom. Can you guess what I had for lunch the next day? You guessed it: Goose liver loaf with the nasty white fat rind and extra mayo. I choked it down. I told myself to take small bites and swallow it whole and that the taste was not so bad.

My first grade classroom was awesome; there were animal cutouts on sticks placed in rows all around the room. Ms. Mason was our teacher, and she played the piano. Even as a child I could tell life was not easy for her. At one time she had taught Navajo children. She was married but her husband walked out on her. Never divorced her; he just abandoned her. She always changed words in songs to make them funny. The animal shapes were used when we sang Old McDonald. Now, talk about choices! Ms. Mason was pretty mean, a very good teacher but mean. I dare say she couldn’t treat children the way she did back then and get by with it now. She wrote on the chalkboard using a tool that held four to five pieces of chalk. When she used a yardstick with one piece of chalk on it, it made four to five lines at once. You had to be aware of flying erasers. If you talked while she wrote on the board, she seemed to always have an eraser covered with chalk. She would throw it at you and it would hit you, leaving a big rectangle chalk mark. Thomas Rollins, one of my best friends in first grade, used to get hit with it a lot. He had black hair, and when the eraser hit his hair he was not allowed to wipe the chalk off. He had to walk around with that giant chalk rectangle in his hair all day. If you were messy, Ms. Mason had a sign that said I AM A PIG. She had attached little chains on each end that would clasp together, and she would chain it around your neck. You had to wear it all day. I think the worse thing she did was to a little girl who had an accident and wet her pants. Ms. Mason had a choice to show compassion, but this is not what she chose. Instead, the little girl got to wear a sign all day that said I WET MY PANTS, and she was made to wear the soiled clothes all day. Me, I never had to wear a sign. I did have a problem talking to Jack Stone. I am sure she told me a few times to stop talking. When I did not mind her, she told me it was the last time she would ever tell me to stop talking. The next time I spoke a word to Jack, she yanked me out of my chair and brought me in front of the class and she hit me with the paddle. This became an everyday occurrence. I did not dare tell my parents because at home we had a rule: If you got in trouble at school you would get double the punishment at home. Ms. Mason seemed to use the paddle on me if I talked or not. It was daily. This went on for a month at least. I finally stopped talking to anyone. I remember writing a note about Matt White; I misspelled it but I showed the note to my neighbor and then placed it in my English book right before recess. It read, I hat Matt White. Matt missed recess because he did not do his homework. When I returned from recess, I walked back to my desk and there was Ms. Mason at the front of the aisle I sat in. When I walked up to her she drew back, hitting me in my back so hard that it knocked me down and sent me flying down the aisle. She had my note. I did not even cry. I guess she knew she could beat on me because I could not take the chance that my mom would defend me. More than likely I would get twice the punishment, so I was fair game to her abuse. I don’t remember why she stopped hitting me, or maybe it was just the norm and blended from day to day. I did not even tell my sisters the teacher was beating me. There is nothing more I recall from that year other than that I passed and I was glad to be leaving her class.

In Second grade I started getting nosebleeds. I would be reading and my nose would just drip and it would progress quickly to pouring. My teacher and the nurse could not get it to stop. The nurse would have to call mom. I remember my mom would call my Grandpa, and he had a scripture he read from the Bible. He did not read it to me, he just started reading it and walking back and forth in the living room in his house while my mom stayed on the line with my grandmother. In no time at all, it would stop. It had been so bad at times I would get sent home because it had bled so much. I even had to go to the doctor, but he could not stop it from bleeding. My grandfather never failed to get it to stop. A few years ago, I got my grandfather’s Bible and the scripture is still marked in it with a little black cloth. My picture and a letter from me are in his Bible along with that scripture hand-written on the back page of a letter I wrote him after leaving home. The scripture is Ezekiel 16:6. "When I passed by you and saw you squirming in your blood, I said to you while you were in your blood, ‘Live!’ Yes, I said to you while you were in your blood, ‘Live!’ Grandpa must have felt I was being punished and this is why my nose bled.

I always made good grades in school, always made the honor roll. The best part was not being on the honor roll, but it was when our grandparents saw our report cards. They would always pay us twenty-five cents for an A and ten cents for a B. Lydia and I always took our report cards over first thing. Oddly, I don’t remember Mable ever taking her report card. Neither of my sisters ever made the honor roll. I made it every time except one time when I was in third grade. That time I made a C in science so it put me below the ninety percent average. I do remember getting in trouble for the C. I was not allowed to watch TV. Instead Lydia, Mable, and Jerry watched TV while I had to stand on my little chair with my back to the TV but facing all my siblings, and of course I was blocking their view of the TV. I was not allowed to step down off the chair. I don’t understand why I had to be perfect in school when my sisters barely passed. My grades were far better than theirs. Yet I was being punished for a C. At least my grandparents later paid for my other good grades. They were always proud of me but not my parents.

To Eat or Not to Eat

Let me tell you about another horrible food story. Well, two actually: one about me, and one about my oldest sister Mable. One morning for breakfast no doubt my mom had made a bowl of cereal. Mini-Wheats. We were out of milk so she improvised and used canned milk. Have you ever tasted canned milk? It is pretty disgusting. No sugar on the cereal. I played around with the cereal until she left for work, then I took the bowl of cereal and put it in the cabinet under the sink. One would think I would have learned better. We had chickens; I could have dumped it in their pen and it would have been history. But no, I put it under the sink. You guessed it. She found it. When I got home from school I had a special snack waiting for me. One hot disgusting bowl of Mini-Wheats with some rather warm, soured eight-to-nine-hour milk. I had to eat the entire bowl. God above and an entire flock of angels helped me get that bowl of cereal down. One wonders why I don’t agree that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I say give me a cup of coffee.

The second food story involves Mable. We did not always have ice cream, or sweets of any kind for that matter. Mom worked at the nursing home and was friends with the women that worked in the kitchen. From time to time she would order a case or more of sherbet push-ups. See, Lydia was diagnosed with celiac disease, and she could not consume gluten products. She could not have ice cream but she could have sherbet, so mom bought her the push-ups. One Saturday, Mable snuck one or two of the push ups and ate them. Of course she got caught. Normally it would mean she was for sure going to get beaten with the belt. But to our surprise, mom had an even better punishment in store. Don’t think for a minute I agreed with her punishment; to be honest I could not even watch it. Mom said since Mable thought she deserved the orange push-ups she could eat them all. She took out the open case. There must have been twenty left. One by one she made Mable eat them. About halfway through the box they began to make her feel sick. Mom did not care. She made her keep eating. I have no idea how she finished the case, but she did not look well at all when she was done. Well, so she thought. She was not done. Mom gets up and gets the unopened case out of the freezer and says, Look, there are more. So the eating began again. I think the second case was lime flavor. Mable had to eat the entire case. She got a few down when she ran for the back yard and started to vomit. The entire time mom was yelling at her to get back inside, and when she went inside she had to sit and continue. I wished I could have helped her eat them. The rest of the case went with Mable eating a few to her getting sick in the back yard to mom yelling, Mable crying so hard she could barely breathe. Then, when she was not repeating eat, vomit, cry, and beg enough, mom added a slap for good measure. This went on for hours. The push-ups were finally gone. None of us girls ever thought push-ups were a treat after that. To this day Mable never eats sherbet. The only food stories I can think of for Lydia and Jerry were not as harshly cruel. Jerry can’t eat chocolate because it chokes him, same with hard candy. Lydia was on a special diet due to her celiac disease. No bread, no candy, she could only use corn oil and could eat chicken or fish or vegetables, no pinto beans... She always had fried fish or chicken for lunch and a thermos of peas or carrots. I thought it was special treatment. Sounded much better than my sandwiches. Later Mom discovered Lydia was sneaking food from kids at school. Mom did not figure this out until one night when we—meaning Mable, Lydia, and myself—had made dinner. We were having pinto beans, fried potatoes, cornbread, sliced tomatoes, and sliced cucumbers, and mom and Eugene were next door at our grandparents’ house. Lydia was going to sneak a few spoons of beans. I should have been on look out for her. Lydia got a few spoons down and then out of nowhere came mom’s voice. Are those good Lydia? The spoon dropped. I don’t think she got a beating; it was more like, Well let’s see what happens since you ate the forbidden food. Crap, she had been eating it for years. So, since she lived the teachers were questioned, and that’s when they realized that the school kids had snuck bites of gluten food here and there to her for years. It was not long afterwards that we all went to Galveston for her check up. Dr. Goldwin thought I was Lydia since I was the skinny one. Lydia was given a clean bill of health and it was okay to gradually let her eat regular foods. I think Lydia was thirteen or fourteen then.

Not all of our life was bad. We cooked all the meals since I was about nine. Mom cooked if we had meatloaf or a roast. Other times she did not cook. All cleaning and laundry was done by the three of us. From time to time we would wash dishes for Granny and she would pay us ten cents or twenty-five cents. Granny always had us wash the stove, counter tops, and table. She said there was more to cleaning the kitchen than just washing dishes. I think our grandparents spent their time trying to make up for all the bad that happened to us at home.

Coffee Time With Grandpa

I started drinking coffee with Granny and Grandpa when I was eight. I had one to two cups every morning seven days a week. I always have gotten up early. I would look out the window after mom left for work—she always left aroud six and six fifteen—and watch for a light to come on next door. In the summer I would watch for Grandpa to roll up the tarps on the screened-in porch. Every morning, Grandpa made a pot of coffee on the stove, fried bacon, sausage, two eggs for him, and cut bread slices in half to make fried toast with the bacon and sausage grease. Every morning I had a few pieces of bacon and coffee. Grandpa always thought I was too skinny so he bought me one-a-day vitamins. I took one every day until Grandpa died. That was my happy time to sit with him and have coffee. No yelling, I didn’t have to wait on him… He waited on me. He worried about me; he wanted me to get a good education and he always rewarded us kids for doing well. On Sunday he always listened to the Chuck Wagon Gang on the radio while he had breakfast. When I got married I would be running late sometimes but I would drive to Grandpa’s for coffee before school. When I was running late he would have already poured my coffee and added the creamer so it was cool enough to drink in a hurry. I always drank out of a cup with a saucer. I know it’s silly, but growing up it felt like a moment of royalty with the cup and saucer. As I said, Grandpa had my coffee cooling when I ran late, and without fail in the saucer was my one a day vitamin. He never forgot them. When I left home I never heard my grandparents say bad things to me. Granny had a suggestion or two but Grandpa never did any thing mean to me. I was in Arizona when he got real sick. He had bouts of gout and was in and out of the hospital. He started having spells of falling. He would fall out in the garden and he might be there a few hours before anyone found him. Lydia and her husband George bought my ticket to fly home because Grandpa was pretty bad off. He would slip into the past and thought he was in Stamford Texas. That is where Eugene was born, and they moved from there between 1925 and 1930. When I went to see him, everyone told me not be upset if he did not know me. I went in the hospital room and it was like old times. He remembered me, asked me how I was doing. I told him I was doing well and I had my son Garrison with me. I knew he was tired but he stayed in the present the entire time I talked with him. We did not stay too long, because it was late in the day already. Granny was going to stay at the hospital with him, so we all went to drive to Eugene’s. When we stepped out in the hall at the hospital, Grandpa asked if he was really bad off. Granny and Eugene told him No, why would you ask that? He said, If Alyson came all the way down here to see me, I must be bad off. They told him no, that I just wanted to see him and bring little Garrison to see him. He said he was glad. We