Broken Circles: Free to a Good Home

By Ashley Hopkins

My fondest hope is that my children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will learn to follow their hearts, love their parents, and depend on God and keep His laws. Always putting God first will keep them free from the destructive forces in life. I have known the pain of a child who puts drugs before everything else. There is in all parents a sense that we should have been able to protect our children from those things; learning not to blame ourselves is a long, hard battle.

Finally, I hope that one day my children and grandchildren will realize how much they mean to me and how much I love them, and that the day I leave them on this side will not change that love.

Just me - Jack

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496912473

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© 2014 Ashley Hopkins. All rights reserved.

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

Published by AuthorHouse 05/09/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1246-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1247-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014908728

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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

First Edition Ashley J Hopkins

As told to: Wendy Brooks

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Imprints

A Cherokee Indian Proverb

Puppies

Mr. Bob

You’re In The Army Now

Who Are You?

Sisters

A Good Life

Wife, Mother, And Friend

The Fez

Saying Goodbye

Tennessee

Love Your Children

Free To A Good Home

Beginning Again

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my beloved

Mom and Dad, Gurney and MaeDelle Lester, who showed me the real meaning of Love. They taught me to know the love of parents, as well as God’s Love.

And to my life Sister, Bitty, Carol Alderman. Bitty

Taught me that God gave me all I need, and then more.

They are in my heart each day, and with God’s help, we will be together on the other side.

IT HAS BEEN SAID THAT in each of us is a King and a Fool. This supposes that if we address the king, we receive a king’s response, if we address the fool, what follows is worthless babble. After spending countless hours with the subject of this book, I can only give my own perception of a life born into poverty, neglect, and abuse that blossomed into a King in every sense of the word. While other children conceived in this family under the same circumstances and conditions went on to experience many of life’s hard lessons, this fair haired little innocent went on to find service to others as a stage for demonstrating his royalty. His life became purpose driven, whether it was to heal the hurt in others on a personal level, or to give to the greater need through service organizations, and through his proud military service to his country.

The writing of this book has led to many hours of laughter, tears, and almost unbearable sorrow. But ultimately, the purpose of the book is to leave a memory for the children, grandchildren, family, and friends of a most remarkable man.

Wendy Brooks

IMPRINTS

FOR ANYONE WHO HAS LIVED in a house with a tin roof, there is no need to describe the wonderful sleep that comes with a slow steady rain. The tap, tap, tap, dancing on the roof, gives at once a sense of security and peace. Finding yourself in this dream of an experience fills one with the desire to linger in bed for hours until we throw in the fact that the walls were also made of tin. While Jacksonville, Florida is known for being part of the sunshine state, and therefore most certainly warm for a good part of the year; finding oneself in a tin house with no floor, save for the earth, and one single board running the length of the house, composed of a 2 inch by 12 inch stud, changes the picture dramatically. December 6, 1941, I entered this wonderful world already occupied by my three older half brothers, Charles, Bradley, and David Hopkins, and my half sister, Margaret Hopkins. The fact that my birth came the day before the horrible attack on Pearl Harbor was of no significance in our humble home. The persons who lived in our one room had more important problems and issues with which to deal. While the world at large dealt with death and war, my little family was more concerned with from where the next piece of bread would come.

Our home was the loaned gift of a fine black neighbor, whose name I cannot remember, but whose sister, Aunt Effie, often hid us behind or under her skirts while we played hide and seek, or if we simply needed a place to feel safe. We were as grateful as small children know how to be. The rent on the house was five dollars monthly. It was basically one room with a lean-to on the end. The one room contained a bed, a stove with a built in table sitting beside it, and the long 12 inch board running the length. The main purpose of the board was to clean the sand off our feet before getting into bed. The table was constructed of 2X4 timbers on which to eat when food was available.

The heart of our home, our safe place was the lean-to at the end of the building. The lean-to was covered with tin also, but the walls consisted of canvas hanging from the tin roof. In one corner lay a bed of sorts, composed of hay, pine straw and any other material that could be made soft enough on which our mother slept. Our heat in the winter came from a hole in the corner of the lean-to that my Mother had so ingeniously dug. A friend had lifted the top end of a sheet of the metal roof so the smoke could escape. The fire heated the entire house and also gave enough light for my Mother to read to us out of a magazine she brought home from work. Too often we would all find a way to sleep with Mama on that make-shift bed. Looking back, it wasn’t so much the lean-to that made us feel safe, it was Mother.

One of my first memories of my Mother is a sad one. My brother Bradley had created a swing out of a tire and a rope. I was about four years old, and loved to swing in his creation. I do not know if Bradley meant to push me as hard as he did, but I went into the corner of the house and fractured my shoulder as well as tearing tendons and muscles. I was taken to Hopehaven hospital where, for an unknown reason, I was registered as Charles Hopkins, my older brother. While in Hopehaven Hospital, doctors discovered that I had a severe bone infection called Osteomyelitis, which is a bone infection caused by bacteria or other germs. Symptoms include: Bone pain; Fever; General discomfort, uneasiness, or ill-feeling (malaise); Local swelling, redness, and warmth. My memory of that critical time in the hospital is not so much of the pain and discomfort caused not only by the treatment and the bone and skin grafts. The memory ` is of the fear I had each time my Mother came to see me in the hospital; which was every other day. As she would tell me goodbye, an overwhelming fear consumed me. I always knew she would not come back, but of course, she did. I was completely innocent and had no idea that perhaps that fear was a premonition of life to come. I was always too happy to see her. Hopehaven hospital occupied most of my life for the next two years. I have since learned that the injury that placed me in the hospital led to the discovery of the bone infection. My recovery was a long one, consisting of many bone grafts and procedures. The hospital presented my first light bulb, first sheets, first everything. While at Hopehaven Hospital, I met a man going from bed to bed visiting the children. He had a bag of candy and a funny hat. He called the hat a fez’. I had no idea what a fez was, but that wonderful visitor actually gave the hat to me and said, Merry Christmas". At that time, I had not learned about Christmas, but the gift probably changed my life. I later learned that the visitor was a Shriner. The time spent here could very well be the reason for my interest in the Shriner’s organization and my time spent working with them. The work they did while I was in the hospital left me wanting to make the same impression on another kid that they made on me.

Another friend came into my young life while at Hopehaven. Either I never knew his name or I have forgotten. He was a teenager, about 14 years old. My friend took those of us who were in wheelchairs on a fishing trip. While I was too young to bait the fish hook, he still allowed me to hold the hook. It was my lucky day!

I caught a fish! The little fellow was no bigger than a common gold fish, but I was allowed to keep it to show to Mom.

When she got to the hospital, someone had killed my joy and told her about the fish before I could.

Other than these, my memories of the two years spent healing are vague.

By the time I was finished with Hopehaven, my little sister, Janie, and my brother, Jack, had both been born, and my family had moved to Callahan, Florida. I have no memory of living in Callahan. What I do remember is being alone with my Mother, Pat, Janie, and Jack, the baby, as well as my half brothers and my half sister, Margaret. The eight of us had returned to the one room house that we shared on Lane Avenue, in Jacksonville.

My head is filled with memories of the short period of time I had with my Mother. I can remember exactly how she looked. She was so beautiful. We did not understand that she too had a terrible illness. We knew her tenderly, as when Pat was 5 and I was 6 years old. We would sit outside our home at night on logs and look up at the sky. Mother would say, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder where