They Called Me Kite

By Nancy Needham

Rebellious Katie Darlene was the youngest of three children until her baby brother was born with a heart defect. The bright teenager tells her story of growing up in a military family during a time when boys are dying in Vietnam, men are landing on the moon for the first time and her father, a mess sergeant in the Air Force, is ordered to a remote mission to Alaska. They move to her fathers hometown in Texas to have access to a military hospital and to be near family. To complicate Kate's problems, her immediate family, led by a Yankee mother, is faced for the first time with Southernisms, especially involving race relations.

The feisty Kate- which is pronounced Kite in a Texas accent- keeps readers captivated and cheering for her throughout. Her story recalls eighteen months in a town full of people who can't help but admire her but wish she'd hurry up and conform so she will become the precious young lady they all know she can be. Life with her is never dull as Kite shares intimate moments such as when she tries to shave her legs, learns how to deceitfully fill the top of her first formal, experiences her first kiss and discovers boys can be teased without any effort at all. She takes life as it comes and tries to make it bend to her will. This isn't easy for a person who is colorblind in a segregated town. Her story is something to be cherished and pondered.

The book is full of emotion as she struggles through a time in the late sixties when the raging Vietnam war was taking away boys as soon as they turned eighteen and wasnt always sending them home. The blood, sweat and tears of the civil rights movement was flooding much of the country and causing enormous change. But it had made not a trickle into some small towns, including where Kite must live while her father is away.

Kites life changes rapidly. She would have preferred her biggest worry be about how to wear her hair. But, she can't keep societal changes out of the context of her personal life. She cant just be a kid anymore, with a hula hoop and a bag of jax.

The story begins with a forward explaining the workings of her family, opens a door into her personality and tells how Kite came to live in a small Texas town in 1968 where no one seemed to know about the Beatles or that racism was against the law.

She is accepted in the town because she is kin to almost everyone. Her Texas kinfolk believe there is one Glory Child born into their family each generation that is destined for some kind of greatness. Kite seems to be the chosen one since she is beautiful, has a genius I.Q. and is very outspoken. Kite takes this Glory Child business all in stride, mostly because that is her personality and the title loses significance to her since her father was supposedly his generations Glory Child and she knew of nothing exceptional he ever did.

Kite does appreciate being accepted and enjoys - as most teens would - fitting in as quickly as possible. Especially since her parents moved her into such a peculiar place where people speak slower and think unlike anyone shes met while growing up on multi-ethnic Air Force bases. The transition is not as easy for the rest of her family and her mother is somewhat of an outcast since she comes from a state that fought against the confederacy. A confusing point for Kite who thought the war between the states was over except for its historical relevance.

The story moves quickly with something consequential occurring on each page as Kite and the town grow up together. The people are unusual but real. Kite is an honest soul and does not hold back as she moves the story along with her innocent and often self-centered insights into a complicated world when perspectives about women, race and other important issues were changing in a way that would affect generations to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 16, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462828753

Nancy Needham

Nancys life has been a roller coaster ride. Growing up she thought she would never go to college since she intensely disliked school. After high school she went to work as a receptionist and discovered she despised that even more. She decided that in order to get a job that would make her happy, she would have to go to college. So, she went after a college degree with enthusiasm studying journalism, thinking it was the only subject she had any aptitude for in the entire college catalog. Since that decision she has enjoyed her work. Being a freelance journalist has allowed her to travel, meet a multitude of interesting people and see her work in print on almost a daily basis for over twenty years. She has become a master storyteller and also found time to nurture a 22-year marriage and four children.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

When I was born everyone marveled at my little head.

Look, her head is no bigger than a biscuit.

That’s the line my mother likes to quote when she speaks of me as a newborn. She also says that I was a big surprise. But, not as big of a surprise as my little brother Timmy was.

For a long time I didn’t know what she meant by that.

How could one child be a bigger surprise than another? I wondered.

It was no use to ask mom. She pays no attention to questions she doesn’t want to answer and I now realize she’s an expert at ignoring questions on the facts of life and that’s probably why people used to refer to me as backwards.

If it was up to mom I’d never have learned where babies really come from or even about girls having monthly periods.

But, she likes to talk about me having a little head when I was born. I think it’s normal size now. And how I walked and talked by the time I was seven-months-old.

My mom named me Katie Darlene just because the two names together had a ring to it.

It didn’t matter that my first name was actually a nickname. She could’ve named me Catherine and called me Katie.

But, what could I expect from parents named Lucky and Birdy? A nickname and plenty of embarrassing baby stories.

Katie looked just like a little baby doll running around and climbing up on everything, she says.

I especially liked to climb up on the bathroom sink so I could give myself kisses.

That always made my brother Adam and my sister Midge snicker at me. They like to act as if I’m vain and mom’s story adds credence to their belief.

I’m not really vain. I just know I’m pretty. Everyone has always said so.

Katie has such pretty hair. Where’d you get those long lashes? I’ve never seen such big, blue eyes.

I hear it all the time. Always have.

Midge is especially jealous. She’s three years older than me and more than twice as big-both up and out.

Mom likes to dress us alike. Which is a really bad idea because we don’t look anything alike and so it makes no sense to dress us like twins. I’m small and slender like my mom. She’s big boned and chubby. My hair is long and goes below my waist. Hers is short and frizzy. Mom gives her home-perms.

Mom is not a beautician. I don’t know why Midge submits to the perms. I can’t imagine her hair looking worse without them. At least she’s a blond. Like everyone else related to me by blood. They come in various sizes and shapes but all are blond with dark blue eyes. Except for me and my dad. We both have light blue eyes. He has dark hair.

Mom used to cut my bangs and pull my hair back in a pony-tail using the green rubber band that came on the morning paper.

Sit still, she’d say.

I’d sit there holding my breath afraid if I moved I’d get the tip of her big silver sewing scissors in my eye.

But, she’d still cut them crooked. And, then she’d have to cut them more to try and straighten them out until I only had about a half inch of bangs that stuck straight up.

Now you look like Audrey Hepburn, she’d say.

I didn’t know who Audrey Hepburn was but I assumed she was some kind of a freak. Because that’s definitely how I looked with one-inch bangs.

After her scissor happy episode was over, she’d put the rest of my hair back in a ponytail. Someone with less tolerance for pain would’ve screamed out in agony with the way my mom would yank my hair and then capture it tightly in the rubber band that she repeatedly pulled out, stuck my hair through and twisted until the green rubberband could pull out no more.

When I could no longer stand it I figured out how to French braid my own pigtails. When my bangs grew out and started going into my eyes—that’s what always set off the cutting instinct in mom—I just braided them into my pigtails and let them grow out.

Midge, my make-believe, giant oaf of a twin, never did anything to discourage mom from going after her hair.

Usually I can figure out how to get my way when something bothers me but, I’ve never figured out what to do about the clothes situation.

When my sister out grew her clothes I’d get her hand-me-downs and so it looked like I had the same clothes for years until I finally got thin enough and she fat enough my mom gave up trying to size them down for me.

Whenever we’re together and I get complimented (and she, of course, doesn’t) I know I’m going to pay dearly for it later when we’re alone.

Midge’s even jealous of my dad’s nickname for me that I’m not even fond of. He calls me Snake. Actually, with his Texas accent it’s pronounced Snike.

It all started because I have auburn hair that shines like a brand-new penny in the sun. One day my dad noticed that and called me, Copperhead.

Then, he realized that was the same name as a poisonous snake. So, he shortened it to Snike.

I really don’t know what Midge expects. With her hair she’s lucky we all don’t call her Brillo.

My brother Adam is two years older than me and is fat like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. He has no hair because he gets it shaved off in a crew cut. My dad calls him Cookie. I don’t know why.

My dad is in the Air Force. He’s a master sergeant and works in the mess hall where they make dinner for the other military men who work on base. I guess most of them must fly planes. And, they couldn’t fly planes unless my dad fed them. So, my dad is pretty important when all things are considered.

My mom has another story about me being born that includes my dad cooking a dinner while she was in labor.

This happened on an Air Force Base in Alabama somewhere and my mom says my dad kept running back and forth from the hospital to the mess hall to check the oven and see which of them would get done first—her or the turkey.

I don’t remember ever living in Alabama. My first memories take place on a base in Florida where the weather was warm and it was always sunny.

I never wore much clothes and always ran around barefoot. That is until they sent me to school. Which I hated because when Adam went the year before and I had to stay home by myself with only Captain Kangaroo on TV teaching me how to be polite and Casper, a terry cloth covered doll with a pull string that said things like I’m cold, and Let’s be friends to keep me company.

I was told that the next year I could go to school with Adam.

Well, I waited until the next year and gladly went to school only to find out I was never with Adam. I was with a bunch of strangers. Adam was in a whole different class in another part of the school. We never saw each other. Different lunch and recess times.

My teacher hated me and called me a spoiled brat. She even told my mother I was nothing but a spoiled brat. I don’t know where she got that idea.

I could go on and on about her and how she mistreated me and even called me a cheater when the girl next to me copied off my paper. My teacher told my mom it was obvious I was the cheater because my dad was a NCO and the other girl’s dad was an officer and everyone knows officer’s kids are the brightest.

But, all of this doesn’t really matter to the story I want to tell except that it introduces me and my family.

Oh, and I might as well mention that I’m afraid of the water.

I have been every since we lived in Florida and my dad was fishing on a pier and my mom was watching us kids play in the sand on the beach until my dad caught a fish and called to her to come and see it.

Get over here Birdy, he probably said.

And, she went. Leaving toddler Midge in charge for a few moments while she ran over to see what he’d caught.

That’s when I suspect my sweet sister pushed me in the ocean. There’re no witnesses. Just my suspicions. But, as mom tells the story, she was only was gone for a moment when she saw me as a baby face down in the ocean floating out to sea.

I jumped off the pier and went after you, she says. I cut up my feet—they were torn to shreds on the rocks below.

She must’ve kicked off her flip flops before jumping in. If the ocean had taken them I’m sure she’d add, and I lost my shoes.

When I ask why dad didn’t jump in to save me she always says, Because he can’t swim.

To that he always says, I can, too, swim.

And then she asks him, Then, why didn’t you jump in?

He doesn’t have a good answer. He just looks really frustrated.

Mom always gets the best of dad. I don’t know why he tangles with her.

After Florida we were stationed in Montana. That was quite a big change for me. I went from wearing no clothes to everything my mom could find to put on me including the dreaded snow pants complete with suspenders. Even our dog Spot had to wear a sweater.

Many things happened in Montana including me learning to hate snow. But, as far as necessary information to share it’s important to say that’s where my dad got drunk all of the time and when my little brother Timmy was born.

Timmy was everything I’d dreamed a little brother would be like. He was very adorable. Mom and Midge took care of him all the time and my only job was to rock him to sleep sometimes.

The doctor said he had a heart condition. My dad cried when he came home from the hospital and told us. He was sober and crying. I’d never seen that before.

I still don’t really understand what this bad heart thing means exactly except that Timmy required a lot of medical care and that meant mom had to leave us to take him to a special hospital in Texas.

While she was gone we never saw my dad. He went to work early in the morning. We got ourselves ready for school and got there on our own. At night he went out drinking and gambling. Sometimes he and his buddies drank and gambled at our house.

I thought they looked funny and wanted to watch them but Adam made me lock myself in my room and told me to stay there. That’s what he did. So, that’s what I did.

Still, mom went into shock when she learned my dad was being stationed on a remote mission to Kotzebue, Alaska. I guess Uncle Sam thought the guys up there watching the radar and protecting us from a Russian invasion needed fed more than we needed a father. So, my dad prepared for an eighteen-month trip away from his family and we packed to go to Texas to stay in a small town where my dad was born and raised and most of his family still lived.

There’ll be family to help us when Timmy’s in the hospital, mom said.

That made no sense since us kids did fine on our own except for the chaos dad caused. So, him being gone should be seen as an advantage. Right? Mom looked greatly distressed when I spoke this thought aloud to her so I did not insist on a complete explanation like I usually would’ve and decided not to mention it again.

Everyone was so glad dad wasn’t going to a place called Vietnam where some kid’s dads went and didn’t come back. At that time all I knew about Vietnam was it was supposed to be a really bad assignment. Even worse than Alaska. Bloody battles. Drugs.

My brother, neighbor kids and me would re-enact stories we heard about the war in foxholes we dug in the playground across the street from where we lived in our base housing duplex.

Around Independence Day our battles were really enhanced with the use of firecrackers until one little boy held on to one too long and blew two of his fingers off. Then we were warned the AP’s were on the look-out for firecrackers on base and we had to stop.

If we got in trouble our dad would get into trouble. And I don’t know what would happened to us if we got dad in trouble. We’d cease to exist, I supposed.

I stored those memories away as I helped pack and watched my mom give my snow pants and sled away. Saying good-bye to friends was not unusual. If I stayed they would get transferred anyway. Living on a base was not a permanent arrangement.

When we got in our old blue Chevy dad joked that he would drive until someone asked him why he had a plug sticking out of the front of his car and that’s where he’d retire.

That plug would be plugged in every time the car was parked and kept our car’s fluids warmed up so that as soon as the snow-plows cleared the way we could drive in Montana. There would be no need for such a thing in Texas, I was told.

Dad drove, mom sat in the passenger seat with the map and Timmy in her lap or laying on the seat beside her. Midge and Adam each got a window seat in the back and I sat in the middle where I got pinched if I fell asleep and accidentally touched Midge.

When I’d scream out because of the pinch, Midge would immediately tell on me as if I was to blame.

She touched me. She knows I don’t want to be touched, she’d say.

Before I knew it my mom would be yelling at me to not touch my sister and my dad would be threatening to stop the car and settle it with his belt.

Adam held Spot and let me lean on him. We drove for days with occasionally stops for gas and soda. Mom would give us each a dime and let us get a Coke out of a machine. The glass bottles were cold and wet and the soda tasted so good.

The only problem was that the soda would go right through me. As soon as we got back in the car and started driving I’d need to go to the bathroom again. And, my dad would get mad and would not stop. So, I’d have to cross my legs and wait until the car needed gas again or we passed a man made tourist attraction that grabbed my dad’s fancy and usually began with the word Mystery.

Holding it in was kind of painful at times and I was even tempted to teach him a lesson and wet my pants but Midge and Adam would have teased me forever.

At night we’d go for hours surrounded by blackness. Then, off in a distance there would be a row of what looked like diamonds on the ground. As we got closer we’d see they were lights from a town.

Once when we were in the total blackness my dad said we’d stop and stay in a motel the next time we saw a string of lights. I remember watching the horizon for the sparkling signal of a town but I don’t remember anything about stopping. I must’ve fallen asleep and someone carried me and put me in the bed I woke up in.

We walked next door to a coffee shop and ordered breakfast while my dad filled up the car.

I ordered hot tea and they brought it in a small silver teapot. It was so cute I wished I could keep it. Soon, we were on the road again. It was late the next night when we finally arrived at our new home in Meadowfield. We went inside and mom made beds for us on the floor with blankets and pillows we had with us in the car.

We’d been invited to stay with relatives but mom was anxious to be in our new home, she said.

When our mover arrived the next day there was such a crowd I remember thinking, Haven’t these people ever seen a moving truck before?

It turned out they hadn’t.

And, that was the first of many surprises.

It was June in 1968. This is where my story begins.

CHAPTER ONE

Don’t worry about Birdy and the kids. You know I’ll watch over them, Uncle Bob told my dad.

They were sitting at the red formica kitchen table. One of the first pieces of furniture off the moving truck on that hot and humid Monday. This house only had one window air conditioning unit in the living room and since the doors were open with people running in and out my mom opted to not turn it on.

We can’t afford to cool the whole state of Texas, she said.

My mom, a woman with the strength of ten men and determination unmatched, appeared to be to be a thin, almost fragile person who excelled in her role as devoted mother and wife.

She preferred to wear house dresses and went barefoot most of the time. Her work was at home and that is where she almost always stayed unless she had to go out and get supplies.

In spite of the hundred plus temperature, my mom kept each man’s cup full of piping hot coffee as she ran from place to place telling the movers to be careful and directed them where to put each piece of furniture and box.

I was in charge of unpacking the kitchen and was finding places for every pot, pan, dish, glass or utensil I discovered as I opened each box. Me being not so tall didn’t matter. I just climbed up and down on the cupboards like a monkey. My little mom would’ve had to use a chair.

Uncle Bob was a large man with sweaty hair, a round face and a big belly. He wore a light colored suit that was crumpled and old worn out wing-tip shoes. Still, he thought of himself as a highly respectable businessman and presented himself with that composure.

He was the mayor of Meadowfield, dabbled in real estate and was my grandmother’s sister’s husband’s younger brother. He owned the house we would be renting while my dad was in Alaska.

I got some colored people living in the shack out back, Uncle Bob said.

Well, he actually didn’t say colored people. But, my mom won’t allow me to use the word he used. So, from now on I’ll just use colored people or Negro like my mom told me to say even though it waters down the hateful way people in Meadowfield refer to others with a different skin color.

Nessie and her sons won’t give you any trouble. They’re actually gonna be quite helpful, I suspect, Uncle Bob explained.

He went on to say that Nessie had agreed to do some housework for my mom so that people wouldn’t think anything about them living so close to white people.

My dad seemed to agree with everything Uncle Bob was saying. He even started to talk with a stronger Texas accent than I’d ever heard him speak with before. My dad would nod his head and laugh at things that did not strike me as funny at all. So, I faded out from listening to them and began to look out at the small white house that could be seen through the trees from the kitchen window over the sink.

It did not look like a shack to me. It looked more like a doll-house surrounded by marigolds and was somewhat better kept than the main house we were living in. Alongside the house two shiny black boys were throwing a ball back and forth. Neither had gloves. They were catching a baseball barehanded.

One looked Adam’s age and the other mine. I felt glad to know we had kids to play with close by in this strange land called Texas..

Snike. Answer your uncle, I heard my father say.

What? I asked.

You say, ‘Pardon me, sir,’ my father snapped.

I stayed silent and looked quizzically at my uncle.

Whatcha lookin’ at? he asked.

Two boys playing ball.

That’d be Nessie’s Cash and Check.

Already, unusual names had become the expected in this small town that was cut off from the rest of the world.

I’m tired of unpacking. I think I’ll go meet them, I said.

Oh, no you won’t, Uncle Bob said sternly.

I don’t know what crazy ideas your Yankee mom has put in your pretty little head but around here white girls don’t talk to colored boys.

What about at school? I asked.

On base there were different races of kids at school and everyone played together. No one mentioned there was a difference. Not my teachers, my mom or even my dad who now seemed to have an opinion similar to Uncle Bob’s.

They go to a different school on the other side of the tracks. You’ll have no reason to be talkin’ to those boys and for their sake I hope you don’t, Uncle Bob said.

My father agreed. My small, thin dad was beginning to remind me of a puppet and Uncle Bob was pulling his strings.

Stay away from ‘em Snike, he said.

Then he told Uncle Bob, Don’t worry you don’t have to tell her anything twice.

Oh yeah. I remember hearing you had one of the smart ones. So this is her? You’re the smart one. Spell something hard for me, Uncle Bob said.

S-o-m-e-t-h-i-n-

My dad cut me off.

She’s also a smart ass, my father said.

My uncle just started laughing. His belly shook and drops of sweat dripped faster off his face.

This was the first of many times my relatives would try to make a sideshow out of me. I was born with a lot of intelligence and seemed destined to win every spelling bee I entered and every math competition at school. Until I moved to Meadowfield all that meant was school came easy for me and I never had to study.

But, apparently genius ran in the Wilkins’ genes. Every so often this seemingly ignorant people had brilliant children. They also sometimes had incredibly slow children. Either way it didn’t seem to matter. Smart, stupid or in-between. Everyone was family and everyone subject to the same scrutiny and ridicule.

Where’d that red hair come from? Uncle Bob asked.

We don’t know, my dad answered.

If I was you I’d of checked an seen if the mailman was a redhead.

By this time I’d decided I didn’t like Uncle Bob. I wasn’t sure what the mailman could possibly have to do with me having red hair but I knew it was an insult. I didn’t like the way he said I wasn’t allowed to play with the only kids I’d seen so far. The fat old man seemed to enjoy aggravating me and laughed and scratched his big old belly as he did it.

She sure don’t take after any Wilkins I’ve ever seen, Uncle Bob continued.

So, that’s what he meant.

If my auburn hair means that I have less in common with you then I’m very grateful for it, I said.

My dad started to stand up like he was going to smack me or something. I ran out of the room as quickly as I could even though the only time I’m truly afraid of my dad is when he’s drunk. But, his reaction to Uncle Bob was kind of similar to his reaction to beer. It seemed to change his personality. On my way gone I heard another of my uncle’s remarks. Sadly and fortunately for me, he sounded more humored than insulted.

She’s a pistol. That one’s a pistol all right, he said.

Laughing even harder than before. My talking back amused him.

I instinctively ran to my mother. She was upstairs putting the master bedroom in order as my little brother slept in his crib. I told her everything they’d said, I’d said, I’d thought and I thought they thought. She listened and had a peculiar look on her face.

She looked as distressed as I felt. Like she wished we’d never come to Texas. Or, more likely that she’d never left Wisconsin.

My mom grew up on a successful dairy farm. She was the fifth of eleven children. Because of this she called herself a China man.

I heard once that every fifth child born is a China man and so I guess I’m a China man, she would say.

Her parents were very strict when she was growing up. Her father never noticed he had children until they were old enough to work on the farm, she said. Her mother kept busy.

But, they were honest people and my mom recalled they were always the first ones to sell out when they’d take their produce to market.

She said people would be lined up waiting for my grandpa’s truck to get there and would comment about why they were so interested in getting his fruits and vegetables was because they knew what was on the bottom of the basket would be the same good quality they saw on the top of the basket.

After high school my mom worked for a newspaper as a reporter. But, left that job to join the air force because of her strong patriotism and even stronger desire to see the world. She was sent to California where she met my dad.

Before long they were married, she was having kids and he was serving his country by flipping pancakes, mashing potatoes, grilling steaks and garnishing salads.

Now he was leaving her and four children in a small town filled with his relatives who had a bad attitude about Yankees and anyone else who was different from them.

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