Through It All, God Kept Me

By Bobbie Campbell

How can someone become a loving and forgiving person after growing up with an abusive father and a mother who refuses to acknowledge such cruelty? Bobbie Campbell tells it like it was in this candid story of her life experiences in a home where she was unloved and treated worse than a servant girl. 

Beaten, humiliated, abu

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Mar 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643457765

Bobbie Campbell

Bobbie Campbell is a mother and grandmother who lives in Florida, where she faithfully attends Haven House Ministry church. She enjoys singing, sewing and spending time with her children and grandchildren.

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Acknowledgments

This book is dedicated to the memory of Lena Anderson, my paternal grandmother. She was indeed a child of God. She taught me a lot about God and His goodness. She spent a considerable amount of time on her knees in prayer for me. She taught me about the Bible and how God wanted me to live. Through her teachings, I am saved by God’s grace and love. My grandmother was special. She kept God in her life, never looking down, as she was always looking up to God.

To you, Lord, thank you for my grandmother. Lord, I give thanks to you for being with me all the way and loving me unconditionally. You held me close and kept me in your arms. You brought me through many trials and tribulations. Lord, I love you. You didn’t have to do what you did for me, but you did. Thank you. Because of you, I’m still here today, and I’m telling my story so everyone will know how wonderful you are and how much love you have for those who love and put you first. I pray that this book will help many and lead many toward You, Lord, I thank you.

To my daughter, Jeannie, I thank the Lord for bringing you to me, my special Jeannie. You have brought so much into my life. We had our times, but we still loved each other. You gave me three wonderful granddaughters, and you have achieved a lot in your life. I am proud of you for many things, and I am grateful that you gave your life to God. Now I know you are in the right hands and so are your children. God has brought us a long way, and I know that He is going to be there for you and your children along the way. Thank you for keeping God in your life, and thank you for making sure that your children keep God in their lives. Jeannie, thank you for teaching your children all about the Lord. I love you.

To my sons, Johnny and Devell, you both, also, brought so much to my life. You gave me many grandchildren, and I love them all. Johnny, you and Devell have put me through much, but I still love you both no matter what, and I’m so happy that God has been there for both of you. God has brought you out of so much. I thank God for the many nights He brought you home when I didn’t know where you were. I thank Him for keeping you both safe. I am glad that I brought you up in church and taught you what my grandmother taught me about the Lord. With that, I know you are going to be all right. I pray that you teach your children what I have taught you.

Devell, God has worked so many miracles in your life. You have been a blessed child, and you are still blessed. God has shown you so many times how much He loves you. I pray that you love Him more. Devell, there is no one in this world who could love you as much as God. I love you, but God loves you more. I pray that He will always keep His hand on you. Devell, always remember that nobody can help you like Jesus.

To my best friends, Josephine, Katie, and Margaret, thank you for being my best friends. I thank God for putting you in my life. I love you all very much.

To my mother, for the majority of my life, you weren’t there for me, but I didn’t stop loving you. I pray that God be with you and bless you. I also pray that you will trust God always and keep him in your life because God is the truth and the light, and His way is the only way. I love you, Mother.

Introduction

When I was born, I had a speaking problem. It was hard for people to understand what I was saying because of my stuttering. This was a time in my life that was emotionally painful. I was misunderstood and ignored. But as frustrating as it was, I remained hopeful. Hopeful that as I grew older, it would get better. As early as age eight, I can recall still struggling with stuttering and trying so hard to get my words out, but there wasn’t anything that I could have done to change how I sounded. Along with that, I was abused and mistreated.

To say I didn’t like myself very much would be a gross understatement. There was so much about growing up that I wanted to change, that I hoped would change. Like as far back as I could remember in the 1950s, we lived in a small old wooden house out in the country on a farm. Our house was about five miles from town. In the front of our house was a large yard and pasture where cows and horses grazed, and in the backyard, there was a field. Both the front yard and the back were surrounded by barbwire. I know that barbwire was supposed prevent the animals from escaping. But confinement was not just for the cows and horses; it was for me too.

You could sit on our front porch and see the corner store about a half mile away. All the yards and the houses belonged to the white people for whom all the black people worked. Many black people lived in the countryside but were not property owners. Only white people owned the land. The countryside was called Scotland; the white people were the bosses.

Almost everyone worked for the Bert family including my family. We lived in the Bert’s home. Mr. Bert had lots of land and a large farm where he grew tobacco. Mr. Bert had two sons, and they helped their father with the family business. Back in those days when the children came of age, they had to work in the field but only in the summertime when school was out. In those days, people only made about eight dollars a day. As children, my younger siblings, Amy and James, and I worked, but we never received any money for working. The money was paid to our parents every Friday. We were happy when Friday came because we were allowed to have soda pop, a banana, and a candy bar. We didn’t have snacks during the weekdays. So I was thankful that Mama, at least, let me have snacks on Friday along with my siblings.

On Fridays when Sammie got paid, he would come home, change his clothes, and leave, and as usual, when he stayed out late, Mama got mad and drank a beer. I wanted Mama to leave Sammie so bad, but I couldn’t tell her that because she would have gone right to Sammie and told him, so I kept my feelings to myself.

The house that we lived in had one bedroom, a living room, and a very small kitchen. My siblings and I slept in the bedroom, and my parents used the living room as their bedroom. There was no inside bathroom; we had an outside toilet about seventy-five feet behind the house. At night, we placed a bucket in our bedroom in case we had to use it. The next morning, we carried the bucket outside and emptied it.

We took our baths in a washtub in our bedroom, using water that was heated on the stove. My parents heated their own water, most of the time, but sometimes, they made me heat it for them. I always had to heat the water for my siblings. When we finished bathing, it was my duty to take the tub outside and empty it. All the water we used came from an outside well. I was in charge of carrying all the water for everyone in the house, but the well was near the house, so I didn’t have to walk far.

The house had wooden shutters, and we couldn’t see the outside unless we opened the shutters. In the summer, we opened the shutters every morning. However, when it was cold, we kept the shutters closed to keep the house warm. Wood had to be cut for the stove and the fireplace. Sammie cut the wood most of the time but only when he felt like it. I helped him cut the smaller wood. It was very hard to cut, but I did my best. When my brother James wanted to help me, I told him no. I knew that if the wood was too hard for me to cut, it would certainly be too hard for him. James was only five years old. Sometimes it took me hours to cut the wood.

As a child, I knew it was not right that I had to do this, but my parents said it was my job since I was the oldest child in the house. The wood was not used much for my siblings and me. It was used for the fireplace and for my mama to cook with. During the winter, my parents always kept the fireplace burning. The fireplace was in the living room; it only kept my parents’ part of the house warm.

In the bedroom, my siblings and I used a kerosene heater; it did not produce much heat, so we slept under many covers. We wore extra clothing—a pair of pants and a pullover shirt—during the night. We even laid many clothes on top of the bed to keep us warm. With two or more people in the bed, the covers continually fell off during the night.

Living in our small house were four children and two adults. Mama had five children: Sarah, Amy, James, Jeff, and me. Sarah did not live with us. She was living with my mother’s aunt Bee. I was glad that Sarah didn’t live with us. I didn’t want her in the house with Sammie. She was not Sammie’s child, and he did not like her. She was living the good life at my great-aunt Bee’s house. She did not have to wear hand-me-down clothes like I did.

Back in those days, we had to wear used clothing that other people gave to my parents. Whenever someone gave my mama decent girl clothes, she gave them to Amy. She always gave me the bad ones. My parents did not have much money, and they did not buy much. Most of the time, we ate pork and beans, rice, chicken, and plenty of peanut butter and jelly. Almost every Sunday, we had chicken, and most of the time, Mama made gravy along with her chicken to put over the rice. It was delicious.

At meal time, I had to eat alone behind the stove. That was Sammie’s decision. He said that I was a dumb, bad child, and behind the stove was where I belonged. Although I felt bad having to eat there, my food still tasted good.

I didn’t get to eat with the other children, and most of the time, I didn’t eat what they ate. Most of my dinners were a piece of corn bread and a cup of water. Sammie said it was either that or nothing. That’s the way I was treated. It was very rough in Sammie’s house, especially for me. I did not call Sammie Daddy. I called him Sammie. Many times I was angry with Sammie, but I was angrier with Mama for allowing him to do such horrible things to me. Maybe in some ways she cared, but the things she allowed to be done and said to me showed me differently. I knew she saw the pain in my eyes. I needed her support and love. I was in fear, and every time I reached out for her, she was never there.

She was a very good cook, but she was not too good at doing Amy’s hair and mine. When she combed our hair, she used cooking oil. Sometimes our hair was so shiny from all of the oil that the children down the street laughed at us. That was hurtful. With my speaking problem, there was not much I could have said that they would have understood. All I could do was look and listen to them make fun of me.

Our hair was washed with soap that my grandmother made; we also bathed with the same soap. My grandmother could make almost anything that we needed around the house. I didn’t have many clothes to wear, so my grandmother made some for me from cheesecloth. Back in those days, flour was sold in cheesecloth bags. When my grandmother used up all of her flour, she would wash the bags inside and out and let them dry. Then she would make a dress or a shirt for me so I would have something new to wear. She was very talented when it came to sewing. The clothes she made looked like they had been bought from the store. I taught myself to sew by sitting and watching her. She and I talked and laughed while she sat in her rocking chair, sewing with her hands garments of love just for me. She loved me and I loved her. Somehow it came so easy, her love for me. When she wasn’t sewing with hands, she used her sewing machine.

Most of the time, she did all the talking, and I just listened. She was always talking about how wonderful God is and how important it was to make the right decisions in life. My grandmother made me feel very special by being there for me since my parents were not. She did not turn her back on me because of my slow speaking. She loved me for me.

My grandmother was good to everyone. She also made clothes for other people’s children; she loved making clothes for babies. I loved going to her house, and I loved the beautiful garden she had in her front yard. There were lots of flowers. Sometimes we saw the butterflies flying around in her beautiful garden. That was a sight to see. Whenever I saw flowers, they always put a smile on my face. This made me feel happy especially at times when I thought that I had nothing to smile about. The only time I really smiled was when I was around my grandmother. The flowers had a sweet scent. Sometimes I went out to the garden just to smell them. Since I was not allowed to go to town with my parents, the only way I got to go to town was with my grandmother.

My parents did not have much money to spend on food or clothes. I could not understand how they always had money to buy liquor and cigarettes. Mama smoked cigarettes, and Sammie smoked cigars. They always had to have something to smoke and drink. When Sammie came home drunk, Mama was drunk, too, off her beer or liquor. She kept her liquor in her bedroom behind the bed. When she ran out, she went and got more. Sammie didn’t know she kept liquor in the house. When he was out running after women, Mama was home getting drunk. She did not go out much. She stayed around the house, talked a lot of junk, and she didn’t care how anyone felt about it. She did not care about hurting anyone’s feelings.

However, when it came to Sammie, she let him get away with a lot. I could not understand her. She argued about anything and everything. She always fought with Sammie about him not coming home. No matter how much she argued, he still did what he wanted to do. Whenever he came home drunk, they argued about that. When she found out he was running around with other women, they argued about that too. But when it came down to him treating me like dirt, she never said anything. When Sammie made me eat behind the stove and said that I was too bad for my sisters and brothers to play with, she never said anything. Sometimes she would look me right in my eyes, see me crying, and not say a word. She walked right by me like there was nothing wrong. She made me feel so alone and unwanted. That hurt me very much, but I loved my mama, and I always forgave her.

Maybe she did love me but in no kind of way did she show me or tell me. I knew she knew what love was because she showed it to Amy, Jeff, and James. She showed James a little love, but she always favored Amy and Jeff. No love was shown toward me, none at all. Sometimes she acted like I wasn’t her child. The only communication we had was when she wanted me to do something. She did all the talking, and I did all the listening. I did everything she asked me to do, but I never saw or felt any love from her. It did not hurt me that much that Sammie did not love me, but it felt like a knife going through my heart to not receive any love from my mama. I just wanted her to love me and be there for me. I was her daughter, but she made me feel like I was nobody. I wanted her to raise me up right and teach me things that I did not know about but she didn’t. Proverbs 22:6 said, Train up a child in the way they should go, and when they are old, they will not depart from it. My grandmother did a good job training me up in the way I should go.

1

My Speaking Problem

I felt dumb, like I wasn’t nobody because I didn’t speak well. But that did not give my parents a reason to treat me bad. However, I always told myself that maybe they treated me that way because I was dumb. I was the only child they had that didn’t speak well. Maybe they were embarrassed of me. Most of the time, I did my best to stay silent. I was afraid to speak. Every time I opened my mouth, someone made fun of me. Being made fun of made me feel so ashamed. I also felt bad when Mama walked my sister and brothers to the corner store. She should have walked me too. She never allowed me to go. Many days I stood on the porch and watched as they walked to the store and back, wishing so much that I could be right beside them. I would have been happy. It seemed as if my parents were doing everything in their willpower to keep me unhappy.

I wanted my mama to tell me that she loved me like she did Amy and Jeff. I wanted to feel her arms around me. I wanted her to tell Sammie that it was wrong for me to sit behind the stove to eat. As they laughed and had a good time, all I could do was watch with a sad look on my face. The cup of water and piece of corn bread wasn’t enough, but I had to make due. Many times I asked myself why my mama kept me if she did not want me. I did not know why my parents did not love me.

I was happy that my sister Sarah was someplace where she could experience being loved and treated like she was someone special. Aunt Bee was a nice lady, and she loved Sarah very much. Sarah’s daddy and my daddy (Sammie) did not get along at all. Mama had Sarah before she met my daddy. Sarah had the same last name as the rest of us. Her daddy’s name was Sammie Earl Anderson, and my daddy’s name was Sammie Lee Anderson. Mama did not have much time for Sarah, so she gave her to Aunt Bee. She knew that Aunt Bee would take good care of Sarah. The way my parents treated me made me wish that my mama would have given me to Aunt Bee.

Sarah was a beautiful girl with a red skin complexion. Sarah had a nice, petite body. She looked just like our mama. I looked more like Sammie, kind of dark and small with beautiful brown eyes. All of Mama’s girls had a nice figure, just like she did. Mama did not go out much, but she always knew she had it going on. Sammie did not like the fact that Mama had a nice shape. He was always saying that other men looked at her when, in fact, he was the one running after other women.

Mama was the reason that Sammie and Sarah’s daddy did not get along. Mama was still dating Sarah’s daddy, and at the same time, she was talking with my daddy, Sammie. When Sammie saw them talking, he got angry. He did not want her talking to Sarah’s daddy anymore, so she ended her relationship with Sarah’s daddy. Not long after Mama and Sammie had been dating, they got married and had me. About a year after I was born, Amy was born, followed by James and, two years later, Jeff. Two years after that, Willie was born, then Allen was born two years later. After Allen, Luann was born, then five years later, Denise was born.

We all slept in the same room. Sometimes the boys and I slept on the floor. Many nights I didn’t get much sleep, so during the day, when I finished my housework, I got a blanket and took a nap out on the porch. I only did that when Sammie was not home.

Many times I stood on the porch, looking down the street, wishing I could see Sarah. She loved me for who I was and never made ugly comments about my speech problem. I needed someone who loved to talk with me. I wished she were closer, especially when my parents argued a lot. They had many big fights about Sarah’s father. Many times when my mother and Sammie would fight, I would go out on the porch and listen.

Sometimes Sarah would come and spend the night with us, which was good for me. She helped me clean the house and do the laundry. When it wasn’t my mama making me do things around the house, it was Sammie. I remember one day asking my mama why she never made Amy help me. I could not get the words out clearly, but she understood. I used hand motions to try to help her understand. She always responded, Amy is too sick to help you do anything. She is a very sick child. I knew Amy was sick sometimes but not all of the time. I knew the real reason was not because Amy was sick but because she was a spoiled rotten brat. They always made excuses for her because she was anemic. My parents didn’t make Amy do anything around the house, but I was treated like a maid. She had her way with our parents, and she got away with so much. She always got something for her birthday while I never got anything for mine. I was so jealous that I wanted to beat her up. Although it wasn’t her fault, I could not stand her for that. I really disliked her when she teased me about it. Sometimes when I tried to talk to her, she told me to shut up because she did not want to hear my dumb butt.

She always got in my face and picked at me and calling me dumb. She made me feel real bad inside, and that hurt.

When I would eat behind the stove, Amy always had a look on her face as if she were special. She was like that because our parents made her feel that way. When she treated me like this, I always got so upset with her. When I saw my family at the dinner table, I cried. I wanted to be part of the family. I wanted to be at the dinner table. I found myself rocking back and forth just sitting there hurting inside.

Sitting behind the stove during the summer was very hot. Sweat dripped from my body, and my clothes was soaked and wet. I had to stay there until Sammie told me to come out. During the winter, the heat from the stove kept me warm until it was bedtime. I really didn’t want to go in that cold bedroom during the nights. Sometime it was good for me to be in the bedroom because my parents made me feel like they were ashamed of me, but not my grandmother.

My grandmother was not ashamed of me. She showed me love and was always there for me. She loved me. Sammie was the total opposite. He always called me dumb and laughed whenever I spoke. I tried so hard, but my words never came out right. I stuttered a lot, and I hated it. As a child, I didn’t know exactly what my speech problem was. When I was going on seven years old, I learned that my condition was called stuttering. Sammie always upset me when he said cruel things such as, Get the words out, girl. I don’t have all day to stand here waiting on your dumb ass to get out whatever it is that you are trying to say.

When my parents told me to do something, I did it. Most of the time, I bowed my head for yes and shook my head for no. My words seemed to get lost when I spoke, especially when I talked to my mother and Sammie. When it came to talking to them, my tongue always got twisted, and I could not get the words out. My eyes were filled with tears.

Whenever I stuttered, Mother would say, What is wrong with your dumb ass? Why can’t you talk like the other children?

I never answered her. I just tuned her out. Sammie beat me once because I was unable to answer him right away. He told me to get the clothes off the clothesline, but I had stuttered a little too long for him. I was trying to tell him that the clothes were still wet. I could not get the words out fast enough. Sammie never tried to understand me. I could not help but stutter. I couldn’t even cry like a normal child. I tried so hard to express myself the best way I knew how, but it wasn’t good enough for them. It just wasn’t enough. My parents wanted more than I had to give.

I communicated more with other people than I did my parents. Other people took time and listened to me, especially those who knew me. They would wait for me to get my words out, no matter how long it took. I couldn’t understand why I repeated the same words over and over again. The first few words came out slowly, but it was the words behind the few first words that were so hard to get out. Many people did not want to listen to me because it took too long for me to complete what I was trying to say. They felt the same way my parents did.

My parents never tried to help me. Usually they laughed but, at the same time, got upset with me and called me names. They didn’t know how much that hurt me; maybe they just did not care how much they hurt me. I just wanted everyone to understand me. I spent so many nights awake, just thinking and asking myself, Why me?

It seemed as if I couldn’t go on. It’s not fair! I repeated to myself. I began to pray the best way I knew how. I silently cried out for help so many times. I didn’t want to hear myself stuttering, so I sat quietly with pain in my heart and cried out to God for help. Many nights, I rocked and cried myself to sleep. I hated myself.

Sarah, James, my teacher Ms. Williams, and my grandmother understood me better than anyone else. I didn’t go to school every day because Sammie would not allow me to. On the days when I did go to school, sometimes my teacher would ask me to read. I would shake my head no. The students would laugh when I read a book, and I would be so angry with myself. I couldn’t get the words out, but Ms. Williams understood.

Ms. Williams helped me by teaching me to speak slowly. She was always there for me. It took some time, but she was patient with me. I thought I would never get the opportunity to speak clearly. Every time I opened my mouth and spoke, I got depressed and angry with myself. She always seemed to notice my expressions. She knew I was hurting and always had something positive to say to me to make me feel better.

Bobbie Jean, she said one day, take that expression off of your face. You can’t do anything while you’re upset. Child, don’t you know if you put your mind on what you want to do, you can do anything? All you have to do is make up your mind and ask God for help. He will help you, child. Don’t ever think never or ‘I can’t.’ Put in your mind what you want God to do for you, and believe that He will do it. Watch Him work it all out for you, trust in the Lord, have faith in Him, Bobbie Jean honey.

She continued working with me, instructing me to speak slowly. It may even take months, but everything will be all right. Just put all your trust in the Lord. All you need is trust, and believe that everything is in the Lord’s hands, and it will work out for the best.

While I stood listening to her, deep down inside, I was thanking God for the many blessings He had given me. He gave me a teacher who cares and understood. In the classroom, I was scared to say anything. I knew someone was going to laugh at me like always. I started taking my time. It took months for me to speak better, but as time passed, I began to speak better and better. I was so excited when I said a complete sentence without making a mistake! I kept saying to myself, I can do it! each time I tried. I got better. I was so happy that the Lord put me in the right place at the right time and with the right person.

I was very upset on the days when Sammie didn’t let me go to school. So whenever I had to stay home, I practiced what Ms. Williams had taught me. Along with that, I trusted in God with all of my heart. My faith in God and believing that I could do all things if I would just believe that nothing was impossible is what helped me and motivated me each day. As the weeks passed, I got better. My words were coming out clearer each day. Some days, I went behind the house to sit and think. I sat on the ground and talked to myself. I felt so good when I heard the sound of the soft, sweet words coming from my lips. What joy I had in my heart! It was well worth it. I was nine years old when I could finally hold a decent conversation with other people. No, my words are not great and I won’t ever be a great speaker. Sometimes I could not pronounce my words the way they should be pronounced, but I came a long way from where I was. I give thanks to the Lord. He has truly blessed me, and He has given me a gift that nobody can take from me. God have given me courage. Now I can speak well enough that people can understand me, and that is a great blessing from the Lord. Many people can’t say that. My parents had no idea that I had improved my speech until the day Amy and I got into a battle. Sammie walked in on us and asked us to stop, but Amy kept hitting me. Every time she hit me, I hit her back. Finally, I passed the last lick, which Sammie didn’t like, so he beat me.

I yelled out, Stop!

Sammie kept hitting me. Again, I shouted out, Stop! You are whooping me for no reason.

Sammie stopped and said, What did you say? Say it again.

I didn’t say anything, and then he hit me again. That time, I shouted it a third time.

Oh, you can talk now? he replied in shock. He walked out the room, and then he came back and asked, How did you do that?

Do what, Sammie?

Talk like that? How did you get to speak? Girl, you’re dumb. You can’t talk that good. How did you do that? Sammie asked me again.

I said, My teacher, Ms. Williams, taught me how to get my words out.

That stupid teacher needs to mind her own business, he replied. He then went outside, sat on the porch, and started smoking his cigar. Then I heard him call for Mama. They talked, then Mama shouted, What? Right then, I knew Sammie had told her what I said.

As I sat in the bedroom hurting from the beating, I was still thanking God for putting Ms. Williams in my life. She reminded me of my grandmother with the things she said. They both told me to always trust in God and that He would always make a way for me. I thank Him for touching me so I wouldn’t stutter anymore.

Sammie loved to whip me. Sammie waited for Amy or Jeff to tell him something bad about me so he could whip me. He looked for reasons to whip me, and I tried my best not to give him any. One day after he had finished his supper, he asked me to bring him a glass of water. When I put the glass in his hand, it slipped, spilling water all over his pants. I do believe that he dropped the glass on purpose. He blamed me then he hit me in my mouth, bursting my lip. For days, I stayed in the bedroom because I didn’t want anyone to see my lip. But when I did go outside, I had to play alone. Sammie said that I was too bad for any of my siblings to play with and that I had to play by myself.

My parents never showed any guilt at how they treated me. When I wasn’t behind the stove or outside playing with my hands in the dirt, I was cleaning the house or getting water from the well. Sometimes I helped Mama with the laundry. When the old nasty wood floors had to be cleaned, I was down on my knees cleaning them with potash. I lived in Havana, Florida, about sixteen miles from Tallahassee, Florida.

One day, I didn’t feel good at all, so I asked Mama if someone could help me clean the floors. She shouted, Do the floors yourself, Bobbie Jean! I’m sure your black self will feel better when you’re finished.

I looked at her then hung my head down and walked away. I got on my knees and cleaned the floors with tears dropping from my eyes. I was so hurt. I thought I was going to take my last breath.

I did everything I was told to do, but my parents still didn’t show me any love. I began talking to myself. I would sometimes bang my head against the wall, desperate for someone to talk to about my problems. With Sarah not around, there was no one else but my grandmother and James. I couldn’t tell grandmother because I didn’t want her to know all the bad things her son was doing to me.

I remember one night my stomach was hurting so bad that I got up and told Mama about my stomach. When Sammie heard me, he told me to go back to bed.

No! I cried out. My stomach is hurting so bad, I can’t sleep, I said.

Sammie yelled at me, saying, Take your black butt back to bed. There is nothing wrong with your stomach.

But, Mama, I said, my stomach really hurts. Will you give me something for the pain? Please, Mama.

Mama said nothing, letting Sammie do all the talking. He got out of bed and hit me several times. Sammie yelled, Girl, I told you there was nothing wrong with your stomach. Take your black butt to sleep.

I went back to bed and cried. I yelled out, Oh, God, help me please! Help me! Stop the pain, please, God! I cried until I fell asleep.

The next morning when I woke up, the pain was gone. I was glad, but I was very angry with Sammie, but I was angrier with Mama for not saying a word. I wanted to tell my grandmother, but I couldn’t get out of the house. I knew if she would have known about my parents not giving me anything for my pain, it would have upset her. I didn’t want to do that. So when I saw her, I said nothing. I could not get out of the house until my parents gave me permission.

Four weeks later, my mama had another baby, a boy. She and Sammie named him Kurt. I was right there to help her out. Sammie didn’t stay around too long before he left to run the streets. Kurt was very small with a head full of hair. He wasn’t a crying baby. Unlike the others, he was good. Kurt was another child I had to take care of. I washed his dirty diapers, just like I did with my other brother and sister. I washed the dirty diapers with my hands. If they weren’t clean enough for Mama, I had to wash them over.

When Mama birthed Kurt, she wanted Sammie home with her, but Sammie wanted to stay in the streets.

I don’t have time to stay home to help you with Kurt, Sally Mae. That is why Bobbie Jean is here. She’s here for you if you need anything. Helping you out with the baby is not my job. Then he left.

Later that afternoon, my grandmother