Bridges: Book 1 Reflections of Reality

By Dorothy Stevenson Bigby

This is a historical autobiography of a family who dealt with and lived through extreme, devastating situations during the Depression, but through their die-hard spirits, “we can do this” attitudes, and absolute trust in God, they found positive ways to overcome them and exhibited great examples of how to succeed in dire circumstances. But, the major focus of the book is on one of the children, Dorothy, whose memoirs deal with, not only family issues, but those of a young child growing up in a Klu Klux Kan infested, prejudiced community. As a youngster, her life became a “teaching tool” and “how to manifesto” as she survived “being given away” as a very young child, her enduring incest for years, physical abuse, neglect, bullying, fleeing attempts, prejudice, and depression, all before age twelve.

Although serious topics are discussed throughout the memoir, it is also filled with lots of humor, original poetry preceding each chapter, the beginning of Dorothy’s singing career at age two, playing piano and directing her local church choirs at nine, and her writing and directing her first Christian musical drama at age twelve.

Dorothy said that sharing her life story is to help others learn, as she did, how to build bridges in their lives, then use them as a catalyst to help surmount, sustain, and transport them over life’s challenges into successes and fulfillments. Also, her autobiography’s purpose is to teach others, who may be experiencing some of the problems that she encountered, how to prepare and execute “Protection Plans” for personal enlightenment, enrichment, encouragement and eternal survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716939723

Book preview

BRIDGES

BOOK 1 REFLECTIONS OF REALITY

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Dorothy Stevenson Bigby

Copyright © 2020 Dorothy Stevenson Bigby.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any

means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission

of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews.

Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher

make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book

and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

ISBN: 978-1-68471-823-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-71693-972-3 (e)

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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

The Living Bible copyright © 1971 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used

by permission of Tyndale House Publishers Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois

60188. All rights reserved. The Living Bible, TLB, and the The Living

Bible logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982

"by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 04/23/2020

DEDICATION

I Dedicate This Book To My Daughter

Shelley Annette Shameem Bigby

To enlighten and enrich her awareness of my heritage and her family

To My Daughter-In-Love

Sue Ann Heffner-Bigby-Carson

To help keep my dreams of what a family is and should be alive

To My Play Daughter

Shanta Ferguson

To share how to succeed with God by your side

To My Grandchildren

Elisha Von-Dale Bigby

Jessica Lynn Heffner

Jocelyn Jené Ferguson

To teach them more about who I am, my walk with God, and my family

To My Siblings & Friend

Ruby Lee Hayes

Priscilla (Pat) Cannon

Vertis Graves

Who assisted and encouraged me throughout this project

And Loving Memory Of…

My Mother, Rosie Lee Davis-Stevenson

My Grandmother, Annie Mae Thomas-Davis-Cooks

My Brother, Fred Douglas Stevenson, Jr.

My Sister, Mary Louise Stevenson-Richardson

My Son, Paul Von-Dale Bigby

My Play Dad and Uncle, Jason Stevenson

My Friend And Play Daughter, Vanessa Dowell-Elkins

Destruction, defeat, defiance, death…All challenges on top of challenges…Goals destroyed, hearts broken, hatred prevailing, yet Dorothy overcomes it all. Cancer, attempted suicide, rape, molestations… A girl’s worst nightmares… to be broken, yet mended; All of life’s biggest problems swirling around like stars after a full knockout; yet a champion is produced. Passion, love, commitment, and a desire to do God’s will kept this woman standing, pushing, and achieving…not just surviving from day to day.

This story will have you in tears, caught up in love, yet deep in thought, as you dive into the depths of her battered life at a young age. Broken, abused, and beat down, but not bound, she manages to push past her own problems with a smile on her face and determination in her heart to overcome and not wallow in the circumstances engulfing her life.

At a very young age she was taught to believe in God’s blessings, promises, and teachings that she was never alone; hence, she survives. Eventually Dorothy recognizes what a powerful testimony she has, swallows her pride and pens her poetry infused autobiography; then she manages to don her Sunday morning hat, puts on a big smile, holds her head held up high, puffs a fresh whiff of Estee Lauder, and strides onward over the next Bridge, while exuding grace, beauty and strength. A true Over comer!… But, who knew or would imagine that behind that visage lies a dark past, miraculous healings, and a great example of how to, in spite of….

___Jessica Lynn Heffner

(Submitted after reading her Grandmother’s book and cited with permission)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I WANT TO GIVE A special thank-you to my sister, Ruby, who inspired me to start writing again when I had stopped and given up for many, many years. She insisted that I enter a poetry competition that she knew about, and she hounded me until I wrote something for it, which she didn’t like because the entry was so personal. It was entitled The Visitor. (It appears at the end of chapter 6, Book I.) But, she still fussed because I wasn’t doing anything with my gifts and discouraged my complacency and frivolity until I began writing again. Thank you, Ruby, for believing in my abilities and for that extra push to express what was buried deep inside my mind and spirit.

An additional thanks goes to Mary, my oldest sister, who called on me to help her write sermons when she had to minister at the church she attended. My writing process not only began again, but was enhanced as I assisted her; plus, I also would pen poetry that she often read at her church, while continuously encouraging me to get them published, which I never endeavored to do. However, Mary kept this book alive from its beginning stages because she enthusiastically read every chapter as soon as I sent it, called me to express her opinion, asked questions about the next chapters, talked with Ruby and made corrections or suggestions, then consistently phoned to remind me that she was still waiting to see what happened next, especially if I was too slow in producing the following section or chapter. Thank you, Sis, for your enthusiasm and unending support. Your inquisitiveness kept me trying to entertain you as I wrote about my life and telling you things that you never knew about it, and reminding you and Ruby of things that happened in all of our lives that the two of you had forgotten. Without you, Mary, I probably would never have completed book one, nor been able to share some of the intimate secrets that no one knew but God.

There were quite a few friends who knew of my wanting to write an autobiography and who kept telling me to get going on it, but none like Vanessa, my play, foster daughter. She made me feel important and wonderful all the time—no matter what I wrote. She was an awesome, constructive critic and didn’t just try to make me feel good about my efforts. She also eagerly read every chapter as soon as it was delivered. Vanessa gave me good, honest criticism, as well as writing suggestions to make the book more appealing to others going through some of the same things that I had, how I coped and survived. Since she was a teenager, Vanessa told me that my life would make an excellent novel and movie. Well, Vanessa, I did what you said: Write it down before you forget stuff or just get too old to remember! So, Vanessa, here it is, although you are no longer living to read the final edition. Thanks so much for loving me and caring about my wellbeing. I know you can see me and know the outcome of this endeavor.

Accolades also go the Mrs. Flonnie Anderson, a fellow retired teacher, drama writer/director and friend, who proof read the book after its first writing and gave helpful words of wisdom, corrections and suggestions. She kept encouraging me to hurry up and get it published, but again I put the book aside for another five years because I was unable to write some of the chapters that were emotionally overwhelming or that challenged my psyche. But, praise God—my Sustainer, Provider, Confidant and Counselor—He helped guide my thoughts, clear my mind and gave me the words that others needed to read. After all, this memoir may be about me and what He has brought me through, but sharing my life’s story is not for my edification, but to encourage and help someone else be able to cross life’s bridges with more confidence, direction and security.

In addition, I must thank my neighbor and friend, Pat Allen, an accomplished poet, writer, public speaker, self-taught computer phenom, and one of my go to prayer partners. Without her, I probably would of have sat on this book a few more years, but due to her patiently and frequently rescuing Bridges from the clutches of my antiquated MAC, when I, unknowingly, had buried photos and numerous pages of the book in weird places on my computer. Each time she came to help me, she just sighed, and said in her quiet, yet firm way, Ma B., they’re here. We just have to find them, and she did. Just don’t delete anything Ma B, she chided! Lesson learned. She suggested I get a PC, to make what I was doing easier, which I did. Then she spent numerous day and hours teaching me to use the PC. Thanks Pat for your help, tutelage, patience, and love.

Finally, a special thank you goes to Kate and Jacob Perez who spent endless hours helping me type and retype this book as my computer crashed over and over again. Both of these Computer Gurus came to my aid with prayers, encouragement and basic fundamental help as I gave up the task more than once. I thought maybe I really wasn’t supposed to publish this book after so many set backs, but thanks to Kate’s persistence, giving up family time and spending hours by my side, just taking over the task for me, Reflections…Book I was completed.

In addition, without the knowledge and suggestions from Dr. Francene Hash, my books would be sitting on the shelf again.

Thanks to everyone who worked, prayed and loved me enough to help in any way possible. God bless you all.

Foreword

WRITING THIS BOOK HAS BEEN one of the most inspirational, insightful and challenging pieces on which I’ve worked. It turned out to be a real labor of love. What began as a series of mini-novellas about the adventures and experiences of a fictitious girl learning how to love, forgive and trust God, while also struggling hard to just be a normal child, became more difficult to pen because I was endeavoring to tell stories of my life while pretending that they were about someone else. Therefore, I wrote and rewrote the first three chapters at least six times and eventually put the book aside in defeat. Ten years later I began again, but this time with a different perspective. I determined to present a historical autobiography of both my family and me, as well as write it as a tribute in remembrance of the people and events that shaped and influenced, not only my life, but also my faith. The only way to do justice to each meant that I had to swallow my pride and share intimate thoughts, as well as some very personal, horrific stories, all of which inevitably imprinted my beliefs and ideologies. Trying to color these truths or endeavoring to hide them in some other genre format left too many facts to scrutiny or other’s interpretations; therefore, the only solution was to share my memoir reminiscences as they truly were, non-fiction in all its nakedness and reality.

The questions I began asking myself were: (1) Who am I that someone would even want to read about my life? (2) What do I have to say to anyone else that is important enough to reveal intimate facts about my family and me? (3) Just what purpose would that serve, if any? (4) If I do this, just how candid can I be without worrying about infringing upon someone else’s privacy or taking a chance on hurting my family members in some way? These and other poignant questions came to mind after I decided to write my memoirs using the stories and poetry that I have been penning over the last twenty-five to thirty-five years.

Immediately I recalled enough information to answer questions one and two. (1) My family and I are survivors who have dealt with extreme, devastating situations and found ways to overcome them. (2) We are a family of achievers and the first Black Americans to excel in some areas. (3) Through our undying spirits and die-hard labors we set good examples of how to succeed when things seemed utterly impossible. (4) Therefore, my true stories and life lessons would become a teaching tool and how to book when dealing with the seemingly insurmountable problems that plagued most of my life, re: sexual and physical abuse, neglect, rape, suicide attempts, multiple cancers, imprisonments, drug abuse, aids, dead-beat dads, living with gay/bi-sexual family members, a husband on the down-low and my own promiscuities. (5) How growing up in a poor family during the Depression, dealing with prejudice and being a vital participant in America’s integration processes peppered my life, my beliefs, my stamina and my learning how to survive, while being inundated with Christian values. As a result of those Biblical teachings, I learned how to set up and develop Protection Plans that fostered my successful escapes, my growth and my eventual development.

Now I had a clear vision and purpose for sharing my memoirs with the world, and I also had my answer to question number 3—the purpose for my book: To help others learn how to build bridges for their lives and how to prepare protection plans for enlightenment, encouragement, and mere survival. Hence, the title of my trilogy—BRIDGES.

To further understand the title, a bridge is not just a sustainer and transporter; its significance takes on much greater magnitude. In essence, Bridges are life support systems and mainstays. There are numerous types of bridges, each serving its own, unique purpose; likewise, ones’ life demands a variety of supports in order to successfully cross over into each phase of growth and development. Each different structure or type of bridge serves as a catalyst, conveying one from infancy through adulthood, and often becomes the only means of stability to keep from falling into life’s torrent streams, raging waters and sometimes impending rapids that lay ahead on life’s journey. Many times tangled vines, crumbles of dirt, aging cement, even brambles impede our progress over a viaduct, although we may have forged ahead with confidence and fortitude. Family and friends may provide needed consolation and encouragement along the way as they, too, struggle to maintain a solid connection—trying to be available to buoy us up in case someone fell overboard during a crisis or learning experience.

This leads to question number 4—How will my siblings react to divulging facts about our very dysfunctional family? To solve that problem, I sent a copy of each chapter of the book as it was finished so each of them could scrutinize it, criticize the material and give suggestions as to how they felt about what I was saying about us. Since most of my family members choose not to be associated with one another for some strange reason, the only persons that I concerned myself with were my siblings. I removed whatever bothered them or didn’t want shared with the world, and from that point, the writing of my memoirs continued.

The first book in the trilogy, Reflections of Reality, deals with events in my early life, from age two through age twelve.

Book II, Covered Bridges, begins as I enter high school and covers my early college years, where I truly learned who I was, while I watched God manifest Himself in my life. I learned to lean on Him for guidance and survival during those turbulent, testy, teen years as I stumbled and pushed my way into an early adulthood.

Swinging Bridges, Book III, is really a manifesto of God as my healer, my deliverer, my leader, a magician, my hard-knock teacher, my provider and my sustainer of life, while instructing me vehemently to listen to His voice only and to forgive anyhow.

During these years my world was in utter turmoil; yet, God kept opening doors and raising windows to let in the light through those dark times. My life turned upside down and inside out as I battled multiple cancers, infidelity, homosexuality, Christians’ deceitfulness, hatred, jealousy, and family isolation.

It was really hard to learn the real meaning of forgiveness, loving in spite of circumstances, being broke, almost homeless several times and striving to stave off our hunger in extreme, yet creative ways, while caring for my two children all alone—but never letting them know what was really happening in our world. Keeping them challenged and loved beyond measure, my ultimate goal, while God’s walking with me, guiding my healings and situations daily, kept me focused.

It is my hope and prayer that by reading my life history others will learn, as did my family and me, how to safely and spiritually transport themselves from one bridge to another, as well as how to surmount struggles and problems without succumbing or giving up on life, his/her fellowman or God. Each of us can survive and overcome whatever comes our way without self-destructing. We can overcome anything with the help of God. He will never fail us, nor leave us to handle situations alone, if He is allowed to walk with us through all of them. In short, He will be sustaining and supporting, The Bridge, as we continue to Reflect on The Realities of our lives.

CHAPTER

1

The Escape

LEAVING THE BACK DOOR AJAR as I ran out of the house and slamming our rickety, screened door behind me, I jutted—leapfrog like—down the steps. I had to be on my way! I was already late, and I was madder than Cousin Mittie’s dog that had to be shot, because Ruby took too long combing my hair today! She made me late again!! I wish Mother had done it last night and just tied up my head real tight, like she usually did. Then my hair would have been okay this morning, I fussed to myself. Ruby is always primping! She likes to mess in people’s heads too much! Always trying to pretend she’s a hairdresser! Well, I’m tired of her pulling on mine! Making somebody look like a knotty-headed Shirley Temple with greasy curls, just because I’m four years old! I continued, not realizing I was muttering aloud. That is until the back door flew open, and Ruby stuck her head out.

That’s all right! Your hair looks cute! she retorted laughingly. Before I could respond, she retreated into the house—letting the screen door clap painfully back and forth against the frail boards of our house.

Turning abruptly, I grimaced, put my thumbs in my ears, stuck out my tongue, and wiggled my fingers at her in defiance. Fortunately, she didn’t see me, or I would have been spanked twice that day—once by Ruby and once by Mom when she got home.

She’s always making me late! I won’t have much time if I don’t hurry, I fumed again in protest. Looking around quickly and making sure Ruby couldn’t see me, I pulled up my smock to retrieve the bag I’d hidden in my dress pocket. The season had really been good this year to our fruit trees in the back yard, so I hastily grabbed some plums off the ground and filled my bag. But, I had to hide them from Ruby, so she wouldn’t suspect anything. I know they will really like them if I can keep the plums from getting squashed until I get there, but I’ve got to hurry! I reminded myself again. Glancing up at the sun, which was almost overhead, I realized it was just about noon. Gee whiz! By the time I get there, I’ll have to turn around and come right back home, in order to be there before Fred and Mother get off work.

After checking the bag, I closed it very gingerly, slipped it back under my smock, and reached down in the gravel for a smooth stone that would make bold, white lines on the sidewalk to play hopscotch. You see, our house sat on the corners of Landess and 37th Streets, but only the West sidewalk was cement. So, we could play games on it. Individual, red bricks laid in a diagonal pattern graced our walk from the front yard, past Gabby’s house, which was next door to ours, to the alley that abutted his garage. (The dirt nestled between each brick was ant heaven with hundreds of miniature, sand dunes providing shelter for the annoying pests, who tried to take up residence in our kitchen every spring.) Plus, you can’t hopscotch on uneven bricks without falling down and hurting yourself. Then Mom would really be mad, and Ruby would switch my legs for getting dirty or bloody. So, we didn’t like playing out front, except at night when the whole neighborhood played hide-and-seek and crossover. Well, this was really convenient for me—that is playing hopscotch on the West sidewalk—because then it was easy to escape Ruby’s eagle eyes. The West Side of the house also had