A Conformation of Family: Paul's Testament

By Bobby C. Jones

This is a work of fiction. It is written from a seven year old, African-American boy's point of view. It's a nine month snapshot of life growing up in a southern farming community, during the early nineteen sixties, prior to integration. This work of fiction characterizes the language, culture and traditions of that era.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 11, 2009
• ISBN: 9781449045951

Bobby C. Jones

Bobby C. Jones grew up in a small rural, southern farming community, in North Central Florida during the nineteen sixties. He has written several poems, in which six have been published. He is a United States Marine Corps veteran. For the last eighteen years he's been employed at a Lid Manufacturing Plant. Now, on the eve of retirement, he seeks a career in writing.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE 

April 11, 1964; Momma woke me early that Saturday morning. It was my seventh birthday, and I wasn’t ready to get out of bed. She reached down and shook my leg. Git up Paul, she said. Yo’ daddy gointuh be heah any min-nit to git yuh.

I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head. Momma, it’s mah birfday. Kin ah sleep uh lil longuh? I asked.

Boy, ah know it’s yuh birfday, but yuh tole Mis’ Mary dat yuh wuz gointuh help huh do yard wuck dis-moanin. So git own up out dat bed.

Slowly, I removed the blanket from my head. Why cain’t Joyce go an’ help huh? It’s huh grandma.

Boy, Joyce ain’t duh one dat tole Mis’ Mary dey wuz gointuh help huh wid yard wuck.

But, Momma.

But nothin’, git yo’ b’hine out dat bed, b’foe ah whip yuh!.

Yas, ma’am, I said as I rolled out of bed. Sleep was on my mind and in my eyes as I made my way to the bathroom. I looked at the face in the mirror. The face I saw didn’t look a day over six. I grabbed a box of baking soda from the cabinet; it slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. With tooth brush in hand, I reached down and picked it up.

A pan of water sat on the little table below the mirror. I dipped my tooth brush in the water, and sprinkled a little baking soda on it.

Huhrup, boy, said Momma. Times uh wastin’.

Quickly, I finished brushing my teeth and washing my face. I returned to my room. My clothes were laid out on the bed.

Momma peeked into my room. Boy, git dressed, ah thank ah heah yo’ daddy outside, she said. An’ Paul, make sho’ yuh puts own clean draws.

Yas, ma’am.

By the time I’d finished dressing, Momma was outside talking to my daddy. I walked to the front door. Momma looked down at my feet. Paul. Boy, yuh got dem shoes own duh wrong foot. Ah guess yuh kin put ‘um own duh right foot, own yuh way tuh Mis’ Mary’s, she said.

Bye, Momma, I said as me and Daddy walked down the steps.

See yuh, Glori Jean, said Daddy.

Daddy and I walked down the side walk and got into his car. I could smell the Old Spice after shave he was wearing. Momma says the smell of old spice reminds her of my daddy.

Daddy started the car. I turned to him and asked, Whut did-juh git me fuh mah birfday?

He didn’t say a word. He just started driving. My asking him about my birthday present seemed to confuse him. He couldn’t have forgotten about it. For three weeks, that’s all that came out of my mouth–my birthday.

Daddy turned to me and put his hand on my shoulder. It’s uh suhprize, son, he said. Yuh gointuh lak it wen yuh git it.

Ah sho uh be glad, wen ah gits it, I said.

It was seven-thirty when we arrived at Miss Mary’s house. I was a little upset. It was my birthday, and I was spending the day helping my eleven year old sister’s grandmother. Miss Mary Alice Jackson, a woman in her late sixties, she was small in stature and had a mean temperament.

I got out of the car, and waved goodbye to Daddy. He waved back. I turned and walked up the steps. Miss Mary met me at the door. Come own in, yuh late. We’s jes uh ‘bout tuh eat breckfust, she said.

Yas, ma’am, I said walking through the door. That’s when I noticed six of her grandsons were there. I was older than four of them, yet I was the smallest. Miss Mary told us to go and wash our hands and get ready to eat breakfast.

I never liked eating breakfast at Miss Mary’s because she always served grits. I hated grits. In the seven years since my birth, grits was the only food I wouldn’t eat. I didn’t like the texture or the taste, especially when they got cold. When grits become cold, they stick together, and they can be flipped like pancakes.

After we had washed our hands, we went into the dinning room, and sat at the table. We sat on a bench that ran parallel to the length of the table. I sat the farthest from the kitchen. While I was waiting for the food to arrive, I prayed that Miss Mary wouldn’t be serving grits. Soon, she came from the kitchen into the dinning room. She had a platter in each hand. One had bacon and sausage links, the other had scrambled eggs and buttered toast. I smiled. There were no grits to be seen. She placed the platters on a serving table next to the dinning table. She then turned and shuffled back to the kitchen.

The smile on my face soon became a frown. Once again she came from the kitchen. This time she had only one large platter. On it sat a carton of milk, and a BIG pot of GRITS. She sat the pot of grits on the serving table. I raised my head so I could look into the pot. The grits were bubbling and boiling, like lava from a volcano. I was reminded of a documentary I had once seen about a hot spring in Yellowstone National Park.

Miss Mary started serving. She placed one strip of bacon, one sausage link, on serving spoon of scrambled eggs, and a slice of toast on each plate. I wanted so badly to tell her that I didn’t want any grits. However, I was afraid. That dreaded moment finally came. She picked up the pot of grits with a pot holder, went to the first boy and put two serving spoons of grits on his plate. She continued down the line serving the other boys. When she got to me, I looked up at her. Mis’ Mary, ah don’t want no grits, I said with a little fright in my voice.

Boy, yuh gointuh git ‘um, an’ yuh gointuh eat ‘um! she snapped. She then proceeded to put three large serving spoons of grits on my plate. She sat the pot of grits on the serving table, picked up the carton of milk, and filled everyone’s glass.

Slowly, I began to eat. I took the strip of bacon and started eating it like a carrot. I took my fork and sliced the sausage link into bite size pieces. I place the fork down, picked up the toast, and took a bite out of it. I was thinking, if I ate slowly enough, maybe she wouldn’t make me eat those grits. After I had eaten everything on my plate except those grits, Miss Mary looked across the table at me. Boy, yuh bedduh eat dem grits, b’foe ah whip yo’ b’hine, she said pointing to the grits on my plate.

Lazily, I picked up the fork, and cut a slice of the now cold grits. I put a small amount in my mouth. Suddenly, I began to cough and gag. My eyes flooded as I began to cry. The tears ran down my face into the plate of grits. Miss Mary looked across the table once more. Boy, eat dem grits! she shouted. Deys lil chullin starvin’ in Africa. An’ yuh sit’n deah be’n fussy ‘bout whut yuh eat’n.

I held my head up, and looked across the table at her. Well, jes’ sen ‘um dese heah grits, I said with a smirk.

There was complete silence at the table. Everyone stopped eating. They were waiting to see their grandmother’s response to my smart remark. However, she didn’t say a word; she got up from the table, walked to the back door, opened it and went outside. I knew I was in serious trouble; no child had ever spoken to Miss Mary that way. I got up from the table and peeked out the dinning room window. What I saw sent fear and shock throughout my tiny seven year old body. I witnessed Miss Mary cutting a three foot branch, from the peach tree that grew in her back yard.

The cutting of the branch meant only one thing. I was about to get a beating. I became very nervous. I started to cry out loud; tears began to gush from my eyes. My nose started to run, and there were grits all over my face. The other boys began to laugh and make fun of me. Paul, mah grandma gointuh whup yuh good. No body talks tuh huh lak dat, said one of the boys.

My fear began to multiply within me, to the point of panic. I peeked out the window once again. Miss Mary was walking back towards the house; she had a look of determination on her face and a peach limb in her hand. Panic now took control of me. I turned, ran through the house, and went out the front door. Because of my momentum, my feet never touched the steps. However, they did hit the ground moving at a fast pace. I ran down the driveway and into the street.

Miss Mary knew she couldn’t catch me. Yawl boys, go an’ ketch ‘um. If yuh don’t, ah gointuh whip all uh yuh! she shouted as she shook that peach limb.

Those boys knew their grandmother was serious. They began to chase after me. However, I had a good head start. I ran past Miss Mary’s neighbor’s house; unfortunately, they had a pet dog–a fifteen pound, black and tan beagle. The dog started to chase me, which caused my speed to increase. I now had six angry boys, and a dog chasing me.

I began to tire; finally I stopped and sat down at the curb. The neighbor’s dog came up to me and started licking the grits from my face. I was afraid to move, I didn’t know whether or not, the dog would bite me. The boys finally caught up to me. They were angry, very angry. Paul, yuh bedduh git up an’ come wid us, ‘cause Grandma ain’t gointuh whup us too, said Sammy, the oldest of the boys.

Ah ain’t doin’ nothin’, an’ yuh cain’t make me, I said.

The boys got fed up with my stubbornness. Three of them got on each side of me, grabbed my arms and began dragging me back to Miss Mary’s house. The dog even got in on the action. He grabbed my shirt with his teeth and began to pull on it.

The closer we got to the house, the more I struggled to get free. However, my attempts to escape were futile. By the time we reached Miss Mary’s driveway, the boys were exhausted. They stopped to rest. Miss Mary was standing at the other end of the driveway. Yuh boys, git up offa yuh asses, she said. An’ bring dat jackass tuh me.

The boys got up and continued to drag me to Miss Mary. They pulled me to her feet; she looked down at me and said, Yuh boys, let duh jackass go. She then grabbed my arm, and began hitting me on my back, and thighs with that peach limb. While she was hitting me, she kept repeating the phrase, No chile talks tuh me lak dat! No chile talks tuh me lak dat!

I began twisting, spinning, running in place, and screaming to the top of my voice, No, Mis’ Mary! No, Mis’ Mary! I looked like a broad-way entertainer doing a dance routine. I tried to snatch my arm away from her. However, her grip was as strong as a vice.

She stopped hitting me and said, Boy, git ina house an’ eat dem grits.

No ah ain’t. Ah hates ‘um! I shouted.

She started hitting me again. I started doing my dance routine once again. Suddenly, she stopped hitting me. Boy, dis is duh las’ time dat ah’m gointuh tells yuh. Git ina house an’ eat dem grits, she said breathing heavily.

Mis’ Mary, ah’d rathuh yuh whup me tuh death, den tuh eat dem grits, I said with a little bass in my voice.

Her reaction to my statement was one of confusion and disgust. She had a blank look on her face. She released my arm and grabbed my shirt collar. Boy, ah gointuh call dat no good pappy uh yourn tuh come git yuh. An’ ah bedduh not see yo’ black ass own my proptey no moe, she said. Yuh uhthuh boys, git ina house. Ah don’t want yawl ‘roun’ dis heah boy.

Miss Mary turned to me. Boy, git yuh ass off amah proptey. Gwawn, git tuh duh en’ uh mah road, she said pointing to end of her driveway.

Slowly, I walked to the end of her driveway. I sat down in the grass near the curb. As I sat there waiting for my daddy, the neighbor’s dog returned. He walked up to me, put his paw on my shoulder, and started licking my face. He sat down beside me. With his tail wagging, he looked at me as if to say, Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.

Miss Mary started walking down the driveway. When she arrived to where the dog and I were, she put her hands on her hips, and looked down at me. Boy, yuh needs tuh git yo’ ass uh lil fuhthuh way from my proptey, she said with an evil voice.

Suddenly, the dog began to bark and growl. Miss Mary began to back away. She turned to run. Unfortunately, she tripped over a rock and fell to the ground. That’s when the dog attacked. He grabbed her dress, and began to pull and yank on it. O’ Lawd, duh dawg is gointuh kill me! He gointuh kill me! she yelled. Git ‘um off! O’ Jesus, git ‘um off!

The dog tore the dress completely off her body. He started running down the street with it in his mouth. Miss Mary got to her feet, and started running back up her driveway, only wearing her flour sacked underwear, and screaming, He gointuh kill me! He gointuh kill me! O’ Lawd Jesus he gointuh kill me!

I began laughing and said, Dat’s whut yuh git. Yuh ole hag. I sat back down and waited for my daddy.

CHAPTER TWO 

It took my daddy about fifteen minutes to arrive. He pulled to the curb. Boy, git in, so ah kin take yuh back tuh yuh momma’s.

Yas, suh, I said as I got into the car.

Son, whut’s dis ‘tween yuh an’ Mis’ Mary?

Huh tried tuh make me eat grits.

Did yuh tell huh yuh did’n want ‘um. Yuh knows how yuh hates ‘um.

Ah did. Huh tried tuh make me eat ‘um anyhow, I said as my eyes began to water. Den huh whup me wid-duh swich.

Son, yuh don’t haftuh worry ‘bout me brang’n yuh back tuh dat ole hag’s house, said Daddy with a smile.

It was a twenty minute drive back tuh Momma’s. When we got there, Momma was standing in the front yard, talking across the fence to our neighbor, Miss Carla. Daddy stopped in front of the house.

Momma turned. Olivuh, why yuh brang’n Paul back so soon? she asked. She walked to the driver’s side of the car.

Glori Jean, said Daddy. Mis’ Mary called me tuh come an’ git Paul. Huh tole me not tuh evuh bring ‘um back.

I opened my door and got out the car and walked over to Momma.

See yuh nex’ week, Paul. Laytuh Glori Jean. Nice tuh see yuh Mis’ Carla, said Daddy. Paul, ah fuhgot tuh gi-yuh yuh birfday present. Heah yuh go, son. He handed me a package through his window. Ah hopes yuh lak it, he said as he drove off.

Momma waved to him. She turned to me and asked what happened. I explained to her about the grits. She sighed, and then gave me a big hug. Paul, ah nevuh shoulduh let yuh go tuh dat, ole win’ bag’s house, she said with a smile. Boy, git ina house, an’ eat dat piece uh birfday cake. An Paul, don’t go messin’ wid dem cookies own duh table. Dey b’longs tuh yuh step-daddy, James, an’ yuh knows how he gits ‘bout his stuff. She turned and resumed talking to Miss Carla.

Yas, ma’am, I said. I walked into the house opening my present. There was a big slice of cake sitting on the kitchen table. It had a note on it that said, Happy Birthday Paul. I placed my present on the floor, and took the wrappings off. To my surprise, there was a brand new, red metal dump truck. It