Breaking the Cycle of Hatred: When Self-Help Conquers Self-Hate

By Ray Lancaster Jr.

This book chronicles my life, a life filled with many ups and downs. This book is actually a beautiful yet tragic love story. I plan to take you, my reader, on a remarkable journey. You will be able to create your own mental pictures while seeing life as it was through my eyes. I will share detailed accounts of a trying childhood, a rage-filled adolescence, and an equally self-destructive young adulthood. I will then share when the light came on and when I knew it was time for a change. That change proved to be the most difficult endeavor I had ever experienced.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514414491

Ray Lancaster Jr.

On paper, Ray Lancaster Jr. is just your typical, average guy. He is a forty-something male, a blue-collar worker, a divorcee, and a father of three. He has a couple of years of college under his belt and no paper to show. Instead, he has a degree in living, understanding, surviving, and overcoming the pitfalls of bad life decisions. Once you turn the pages, you will find a multilayered individual whose sole purpose in life is to help others recognize the negative aspects in everyday living. With his debut book, Breaking the Cycle of Hatred: When Self-Help Conquers Self-Hate, Ray Lancaster Jr. tackles the crippling consequences of unresolved anger issues. His hope is that his journey from a life of darkness and chaos into a life of light and peace will compel and inspire lost souls to seek their own path to redemption.

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Copyright © 2015 by Ray Lancaster, Jr..

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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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Rev. date: 10/24/2015

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CONTENTS

Preface:   All Things in Life Happen for a Reason   The Awakening

Chapter I:   Walking Blindly Through Darkness

The Formative Years

Chapter 2:   The Past Awakened

Chapter 3:   When Help Came Too Late

Chapter 4:   The Wonder Years: The Colored Version

Chapter 5:   Mama, What Is a Nigger?

A Troubled Adolescence

Chapter 6:   Eight Seasons of Loneliness, Confusion and Fear

Chapter 7:   Sinking Deep Within the Depths of Murky Waters

Chapter 8:   High School Musical: A Tale of Dreams and Disappointments

Chapter 9:   Graduation: A Time of Revelation, Happiness and Heartache

A Crazy, Early-Adulthood

Chapter 10:   Banished From the Kingdom: When a Push Becomes a Shove

Chapter 11:   Resolving the Mystery of His Absence

Chapter 12:   When the Apple Doesn’t Fall…

Chapter 13:   Ten Toes Down: Time for Paper-Chasing and Bleeding the Block

Chapter 14:   Back in the Batter’s Box: One Strike, Two to Go

Chapter 15:   A Swing and a Wild Miss: The Third and Final Strike

A Change in the Right Direction

Chapter 16:   Cupid’s Arrow: Piercing Like Slivers of Shattered Glass

Chapter 17:   When I Tried to Disappear, Life Wouldn’t Let Me

Chapter 18:   When the Walls Finally Began to Crumble

Chapter 19:   The Sun Shines After the Rain

The Ups & Downs of Manhood

Chapter 20:   Raging Storms, Rising Tides and Adverse Conditions

Chapter 21:   Slowly Losing My Grip on Reality

Chapter 22:   A House Built Upon Sinking Sands

Chapter 23:   When Love Is Stamped with a Dollar Sign

Chapter 24:   Preparation D: The Cure for the Seven-Year Itch

Chapter 25:   Sadness, Self-Loathing, Self-Evaluation and Sacrifice

Chapter 26:   Changes: Stepping Backwards, Going Home and Moving Forward

The Ultimate Battle: Spirit Versus Flesh

Chapter 27:   Emptiness Within These Castle Walls

Chapter 28:   Revelations, Realizations and Resignation

Chapter 29:   Why Lie When the Truth Will Do?

Chapter 30:   No Weapon Formed Against Me…

Healing & The Inspiration Behind It

The Pursuit of Healing

Let God Sprinkle a Little Super on Your Natural

So You Thought You Could Pull a Fast One, Huh?

Who Do You Think You Are?

God, What in the World Is Going On?

Taking a Leap of Faith

Give it Up, Turn it Loose

God HAS to Be Up to Something

Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have – life itself.

(Walter Anderson)

Preface:

All Things in Life Happen for a Reason

This book chronicles my life, a life filled with many ups and downs. This book is actually a beautiful, yet tragic, love story. I plan to take you, my reader, on a remarkable journey. You will be able to create your own mental pictures while seeing life as it was through my eyes. I will share detailed accounts of a trying childhood, a rage-filled adolescence, and an equally self-destructive young adulthood. I will then share when the light came on, and I knew it was time for a change. That change proved to be the most difficult endeavor I had ever experienced.

This is a love story, filled with angry moments. My childhood was lovely at times and disheartening at others. The anger morphed as those that I trusted the most either did not or could not protect me. On top of that, those adults could not thoroughly explain to me certain situations that I faced. As a result, my immature mind formulated its own conclusions, many of which were not based upon reason. I, the immature child, would grow physically into an enraged adolescent and eventually into a self-destructive adult, still with an underdeveloped understanding.

During my self-destruction, I robbed people, sold dope, drank to excesses unknown, and attempted to have sex with any female in sight. I knew that I was living life on the edge, walking a dangerous tightrope, with no net in sight. I was free-falling, and I wouldn’t allow anyone near me. I believed that I had all the answers; in my mind, I was living life to the fullest. In essence, I was balling out of control. In reality, I was completely uncontrollable. Deep inside, I sought a better life. However, I had no clue as to how to achieve my goal.

In 2000, I remember being mesmerized by the Catherine Ryan Hyde movie, Pay It Forward, starring Kevin Spacey and Haley Joel Osment as teacher and student, respectively. In the movie, Spacey’s character challenges Osment’s character to help create social change by doing a favor for three people, without expecting anything in return. Each of those three people were asked to do a favor for three others, or pay it forward, creating a scenario where blessings would be handed down exponentially. In theory, this would create a branching tree of good deeds and works. The first three charitable deeds would trickle down from the top of the pyramid to change the world for the better.

After much reflection on the movie, I was amazed beyond belief. It was refreshing just to know that someone even espoused that kind of thinking, and to put those beliefs into movie form, a Higher Power had to be working. As I began to look at my own life, I saw all the lingering negativity, with little to no positivity. While in deeper thought, I realized that I was a lost soul, shattering the lives of everyone with whom I came in contact. I became solemn, ready to search for the cause of my ever-present anger issues. I then became angry, fully understanding that I had lost nearly twenty-five years of my life being disobedient, enraged, disrespectful, and self-destructive. I had become the exact same monster that I was raised around in my own childhood home. I became my father. I had to correct the problem, at any and all costs.

Within this story, I hope to shed light on my past where the monster in me was first formed. It was a gradual process that somehow grew legs quickly. Next, I hope to explain my present, where the monster still lives and doesn’t seem to want to die. I then truly hope to venture into a positive future, fully eradicating the beast that lives within. The light finally came on one day; I understood that the only thing that could conquer hate was love. To balance my universe, love should win. Actually, love has to win. My actions would have to mirror my thoughts and feelings.

This is a love story, with many ebbs and flows. It is a story of redemption, with many highlights and disappointments. This is my heart and soul on paper for all to see. In this book, I tell the truth to shame the Devil. This love story is seen through the eyes of a flawed man. I seek redemption from many, understanding from those who have been in my path of destruction, and the forgiveness of so many others who I may never see again. This story will shock and awe, make you laugh at times, and definitely make you cry. Put on your seatbelt and enjoy the ride, my journey to salvation.

Ray Lancaster, Jr.

The Awakening

Awakening begins when a man realizes that he is going nowhere, and does not know where to go.

(Georges Gurdjieff)

Chapter I:

Walking Blindly Through Darkness

Have you ever awakened as one person and felt like a new being before laying your head to rest? When I awoke on the morning of Wednesday, August 5, 2009, I was my normally bad-tempered self. Unknowingly, I had been pissed off at the world for a number of years. That morning began just like every other morning. In some ways, I felt like Bill Murray in the movie, Groundhog Day. For nearly four years, I had been reliving the same utterly miserable day, over and over and over. I was stuck in a time loop, becoming increasingly bitter with life. However, by evening, I realized that I had experienced an epiphany of sorts. In the blink of an eye, I had found a moment of revelation, reflection, and clarity.

On that Wednesday morning, I awoke early to go a job that I clearly hated with a passion. I was disgusted with the politics of the job, not the work itself. I had to go through the difficult process of preparing myself mentally to deal with several nerve-racking co-workers. These fellow employees would find ways to ask the most idiotic questions that I have ever heard. As a result, I would waste chunks of my morning, investigating issues that were never really issues. I could never describe the degree of aggravation that I felt on a daily basis. By nine in the morning, my blood was boiling. By ten o’clock, I was cursing at will. By lunchtime, I was ready to slap the taste out of someone’s mouth.

Furthermore, I had the great displeasure of interacting with an anal-retentive shop supervisor, who had developed a God-complex over past years. He had been the ass-kissing pupil of the previous asshole shop supervisor. However, he took his high-holiness to another level. For some strange reason, the latest shop supervisor actually believed that he had the almighty power to control the lives of each and every shop employee. In laymen’s terms, he was just a typical cocksucker, probably lacking any real male prowess. While he found ways to intimidate most, he seemed to find ways to avoid much contact with me. Much to his credit, I was probably the last person with which he wanted to bump heads.

So, with the backdrop set, I had to deal with several stressors on that Wednesday. I ended up working about ten hours. As I was leaving, I had a craving for a Bourbon and Coke to relax my mind. However, I didn’t give into temptation. As if I was being guided by an invisible force, I decided to do something a little different. During my drive home, I decided, come hell or high water, that I would attend Wednesday night Bible study somewhere. I didn’t know where, but somewhere. I arrived home with no wife or kids in sight. Thank you, Lord. I have some time to unwind. I took a short nap so that I would be well-rested. At about 5:45 PM, I jumped out of the bed. I was so excited; it felt as if the spirit was running through me. I showered and jumped in my Expedition, off to find me some Jesus.

I drove about a mile from my house to my local Church of Christ. However, no one was in sight. I left there, drove two miles north to another Church of Christ. I encountered the same situation. I was thinking to myself, Come on, man, this is ridiculous. Now, I was actually becoming frustrated. I called Mama, and she told me to try attending our old church. My first thought was about how the members would receive me after the messy split between Mama’s current and former churches years ago. I grew up with these people, and even after years of friendship and love, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. Would the people who I had grown to love over the years accept or reject me? When I reached the church, I just parked, put everything in God’s hand, and hopped out of the truck, with my Bible in hand.

My heartbeat increased during the short walk into the building. I was greeted by a few people who I knew from the past. This helped to ease the apprehension that I initially felt. I attempted to have a few conversations, chopping it up about how long it had been since we last talked. Everything seemed to be all gravy until the preacher spotted me. He loudly said, Lancaster! He then summoned me his way. I asked him if he remembered that I was the oldest child of the family. He nodded yes. Then, he said something that shocked me because, honestly, I didn’t think he would ever have had the balls to say it.

This man of God opened his mouth and uttered, Tell your mama that we are not mad at what they did to us. In actuality, Mama and her group left his church after accusing him of dereliction of ministerial duties and breach of contract. The man of God had created a hostile church environment. Therefore, knowing my mother was actually innocent of his accusation, the your mama comment pissed me off to levels I had not reached in some time. In response, I immediately replied, Sounds like you haven’t gotten over the past. He had a puzzled look on his face, as if to imply that I didn’t have the authority to speak to him like that. Then this cocksucker opened his mouth again to sarcastically say, Oh! We all kissed and made up. Something or Someone made me turn and walk away.

I must admit that my initial reaction was to open-hand slap the taste out of this fool’s mouth. I don’t know what he saw in me to think he could denigrate my mama in front of me. This nigger must be crazy. The rage had begun to boil in my veins. My only wish was to hurt someone, preferably this preacher’s tired ass. The Lord must have been looking out for me because He guided my footsteps towards the exit. I was not going to go to jail that day.

As I left the parking lot, I was fuming. I huffed, puffed, and cussed on the way home. I called my mama, my wife, my friends, my co-workers, my mayor, my governor… hell, anybody who would listen. I couldn’t believe that this asshole preacher had the nerve to put my mother’s name in his mouth and then spit it out like it was foul. How could I have allowed this idiot to ruin my whole evening, one that started out with such promise? Luckily, I was able to catch about 15 minutes of Bible study at one of the churches I passed up earlier. I went home, ate and went straight to sleep, still perturbed.

When I awoke at 4 AM on Thursday morning, I had a totally different outlook on the situation. I believe that I had been touched by divine intervention. Outside of mentally dealing with my own situation like a complete ass, I realized one essential thing about my character – I am a hypocrite. What makes me any different than the minister? Apparently, I hold grudges just like he does. What the hell makes me so special? Who gave me the right to be judge, jury, and executioner?

It finally dawned on me that I held this man of God in a different light. I realized that I forgot how to be a child of God. I was reminded of Romans 3:23, which reads, For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Immediately, the quote from Matthew, Judge not, lest ye be judged, came to mind. Here I was casting the first stone at this man while I surely live a more sinful life than he does. So to summarize the situation, I had reduced myself to the standards of the Taliban with my throwing-rocks-and-hiding-my-hands business. If I could put the target on the preacher’s chest, then the same should be done to me.

Now my mission had become crystal clear. I needed to dig deep into my past to find my true soul, my true identity. Over the past twenty-five years, I had slowly transformed into the faceless man in the bowler hat from the movie, The Thomas Crown Affair. Once so happy, now noticeably miserable, I had become a heartless soul travelling through the abyss in search of something. That something would have to guide me to my redemption and lead me to the path of understanding. The time was over for throwing rocks at everyone else’s glass house; it was time to take aim at my own house and break down all my walls of secrecy. At last, the long-needed journey had begun.

* * *

The Formative Years

In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future.

(Alex Haley)

Chapter 2:

The Past Awakened

I was born in Tupelo, Mississippi, the son of a sharecropper and his loving wife. I remember, as a young child, waking to the sounds of roosters crowing and the tractor plowing the two acres of land that my family owned. I clearly recall the smell of bacon and oatmeal coming from the kitchen. Mama would call out to me, Jr., get up now. You know you have chores to do before you eat. I would drag myself out of bed and, wiping the sleep from my eyes, slowly make my way to the bathroom to wash up. Emerging minutes later, I would watch my father walk towards the house from the field, fresh corn in hand for our supper later. The three of us sat down as a family to share our breakfast together. All was good in the Lancaster household…

Then I awakened, and with reality setting in, I realized it was all a dream. This wasn’t my life but a recurring vision of happiness for which I had longed. Oddly enough, my family life was somewhat similar to, yet the polar opposite of, my dream; my recollections of early childhood were both fulfilling and surreal.

Actually, I was born in Wrightsville, Texas, on January 21, 1973, to the parentage of Ray and Velma Lancaster. I was the first-born, and I believe that I was one of the first grandchildren and great-grandchildren. For the first four years of my life, until my little sister, Karyn, came aboard in 1977, I was treated like royalty, the prince, the heir apparent. I remember happy time after happy time. There is no feeling greater than to know that you are loved. During those times, you would always see me with Mama and Bear, the name people affectionately called my father. When you saw us together, we were always smiling. Life was that good, no faking and shaking. The two people that God designated to care for me were always on their jobs. I’ve never experienced happiness like that since. When I look back at the lives from which Mama and Bear came, they were, without a doubt, success stories. However, their backgrounds would play a significant role in molding the person each would become.

Bear was born on April 21, 1952, to the parentage of Howard and Jennie Lancaster in Mercury, Texas, a little redneck, hick town in central Texas. Unfortunately, I never had the pleasure and honor of meeting my grandfather. I wish I had the opportunity to give him one of those cute nicknames like I did with my grandmother. Jennie was my Mama J., plain and simple. I must assume she loved the name because all my siblings would follow my lead by using the name. I would love to say that I was her favorite. Well, I honestly knew that I was her favorite!

Now as I attempt to properly set the backdrop of Mercury, one must understand that it was a town of several thousand people with no major employment opportunities. The goal of most in the town was to find a way out of that hell-hole. Well, Bear was the last son born to that union of Howard and Mama J. Hell, it was a bunch of kids born to that union. You could honestly say it was the Lancaster clan.

After listening to different stories, I deduced from my grandmother’s tales that James was what we would call, in today’s terms, a player. I guess you can describe him as sort of a bad actor, meaning a person that did what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. My grandmother admitted to Mama that my grandfather was physical with her, and she described to Mama enough mental abuse to satisfy even the most twisted minds alive. I feel my grandfather was probably a bit reckless and probably had that I-don’t-give-a-damn mentality that seemed to run in the family.

In October, 1952, under questionable circumstances, my grandfather was gunned down, murdered by the hands of the sheriff. One account of events has the sheriff targeting my grandfather for having sex with his woman; it has never been clear whether it was a wife or a mistress. Another account has my grandmother having relations with the sheriff; the murder was retaliation for physical abuse directed toward my grandmother. With details being so sketchy, no one knew or would say for sure where the truth rested. In any event, at the tender age of six months old, Bear was left without a father.

I have never asked Bear what growing up fatherless was like. Since he never brought it up in conversation, I left the issue alone. However, I can speak from my own perspective. I get a little pissed off when I think of my grandfather’s life being snatched from him by some murderous, limp-dick officer, with his own self-serving agenda. In my mind and others with whom I have talked, the shooting was absolutely an execution, carried out by a man who swore to protect and serve. As punishment for disregarding his oath, the sheriff should have been prosecuted. However, the system failed my family, and he was able to sweep the whole matter under the rug and get away scot-free.

I am sure Bear grew up pissed off; once I learned of the story, I became incensed for him. It was no wonder that I have held such animosity and pure disgust for white authority over the last 25 years. I was never truly able to pinpoint where that hatred originated until I began writing. In some ways, I have felt an obligation to expose the truth concerning the murder of my grandfather and the subsequent cover-up. Not only was Bear deprived of a father, everyone in the family lost someone of vast importance. The absence of a father is something that I could never wish on my worst enemy. In many instances, the void can never be filled, and the pain of any loss is as equally difficult to heal.

However, even with the limited information I have gathered, Bear had a pretty good childhood. There may not have been much money flowing through the household, but they made do. You see, in those times, that is what a true black family had to do and did. You had to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and make it happen. From talking to one of my uncles, I understand that Bear was just that type of person. He earned what he received; he attempted to always maximize his potential and was able to lead a happy-go-lucky life. I have never seen a picture where he was not smiling. I have always wondered if this was the true Bear Lancaster or just a façade. Never to be held back, he proved to be a go-getter and always kept pushing. I still admire that characteristic to this day.

Fast forward through the high school years where he actually met my mother… Bear Lancaster, once a kid, now a man. He graduated from Mercury High School in 1970. I believe he went directly into the United States Army from high school. He served two years before being honorably discharged and later entering into the Army reserves in the summer of ’72. At some point that summer, he reconnected with my mother.

On the other hand, it’s a helluva lot easier to describe Mama’s upbringing. I can easily gather information from a hundred sources. Velma was what we will describe as one bad mamma-jamma. She had all the attributes of a beauty – the looks, the body, the voice, the sweet country-girl demeanor. She was the oldest girl born to Lee and June and sister to Billy, Helen and Danny; my Uncle Danny was my grandmother’s oldest son and lived nearby with his maternal grandparents. Lee, known as Pops to family and friends, was my PaPa. June, known as Ruby Red, was simply Grandmama to me. With me looking like a younger version of my grandfather, PaPa unintentionally passed that strong, handsome version of the bloodline along to me. At the same time, I inherited my strong heart, soul and will from Grandmama; for this very reason, I always strived to do my part to broaden her smile and make her proud.

To put things in proper perspective, Mama was pretty much raised by her paternal grandparents, James and Caren, or Grampy and Big Mama to me. Now is the perfect time to explain some things about Mama’s family in Mercury. Love was abundant everywhere; the family was a tight-knit crew. Even with Grandmama leaving to live in Drayton and PaPa living and working mostly in Fortune, my mother still had a balanced upbringing. Grampy was the sole provider, and Big Mama was the matriarch of the family, hands down. Big Mama was the yin to Grampy’s yang; they were the perfect example of equilibrium in action.

In essence, Grampy, the breadwinner, had the responsibility of supporting two adults and three grandchildren with twenty dollars in weekly earnings. He worked as an overseer while workers picked cotton. Like clockwork, he brought home his earnings weekly to Big Mama. She would deduct what was needed to pay the bills, and Grampy would take the rest and go uptown for a night of partying and drinking. Personally, I understand the need to blow off some steam after a long week of work. However, my great-grandfather would end up getting rolled, or robbed, for his money by the very same lowlifes he called friends. These so-called friends would then proceed to bring him home and roll him into the ditch in front of the family house. Grampy would then call out to my great-grandmother until she came to drag him into the house. She would then provide care for the man she loved. This was an example of Grampy’s yang.

On the contrary, Big Mama was the sweet, loving follower of God. I do remember that she had a stern voice. I figure she knew that Grampy’s good characteristics outweighed his bad; it would just be a matter of time before he realized he needed to change. Big Mama had a firm hand in raising Mama, my Uncle Billy and my Aunt Helen, educating them with Biblical knowledge. Being the backbone of the family, she supported my great-grandfather as they reared the children while chastising him for his drunken moments.

Those drunken stupors hit a climax when, sometime in the late 1960s, Grampy had the nerve to call Big Mama out of her name, in other words a bitch. Uncle Billy told me, in response, she grabbed a cast iron skillet and told her husband to say it again. There was a moment of silence and then an apology. My great-grandmother’s strong will had finally conquered the one negative aspect which had permeated the house for so many years. This was her yin to his yang, the balance of power and submission.

All in all, Mama was raised in a loving house. She saw the ups and downs of married life; she also saw the give and takes which are necessary for family harmony. Consequently, I believe she also realized that a strong woman could overcome any adversity while changing a situation through persistence. Mama grew up God-fearing and learned to look to the Lord in trying times. Even though Big Mama warned my mother against marrying Bear, her faith in God led her down that path anyway. She was determined to be the yin to his yang.

* * *

God’s fingers touch’d him, and he slept.

(Tennyson)

Chapter 3:

When Help Came Too Late

For as long as I can remember, I have been surrounded and sheltered by family. Recognizing family first, Mama instilled in me an intense love and respect for family. From birthday parties to small get-togethers to baby showers, our family found reasons to come together as one. Admittedly, I loved traveling to Mercury most; it was always a win-win situation. I was able see my great-grandparents, eat good food, visit family friends and receive monetary gifts just for being me… Wow! Who wouldn’t want to visit their great-grandparents with all those benefits? So, in late January 1979, Mama and Big Mama decided to have a garage sale together in Mercury. I was bouncing off the walls during the days preceding the sale. Since there was no school on Monday, I had a three-day weekend and couldn’t wait to unleash my Colgate-smile on Forest County. Unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned. In the blink of an eye, my family suffered a crushing blow to its stability.

Friday, January 26 thru Monday, January 29, 1979, flowed without incident. On Friday evening, PaPa arrived at our house in his long ’77 Cadillac. We loaded his car with our clothes and boxes of garage-sale items. We headed to Mercury, listening to his favorite AM radio station. I recall being quite restless during the two-hour drive. We arrived at my great-grandparents’ house around nine o’clock. We were greeted with hugs and kisses from Big Mama and Grampy. Once we unloaded the car, the four of us sat down at the dinner table for a late supper. Later on that night, we bathed and prepared ourselves for bed, fully aware that tomorrow would be a long day.

With garage sales being Big Mama and Mama’s specialty, Saturday morning began like many previous Saturday mornings in Mercury. We were all out of the bed by 6 AM. Breakfast, consisting of eggs, bacon, sausage and oatmeal, had already been prepared. After eating my food quickly, I can almost remember Mama rushing me to help arrange the garage-sale items. By 7 AM, customers were coming left and right. As a result, Mama would bark out orders for me to do this, do that, move this, move that. I understood because I knew Mama looked at this more like a business, not a random weekend event. As usual, Grampy stayed out of the way, spending the majority of the day watching television from the comfort of his rocking chair. Well, the garage sale, and all its madness, continued until the sun went down. We gathered the few items that were left, boxed them up and packed those boxes into the back of PaPa’s car. Then, normalcy returned as we ate, bathed and went to sleep.

As a rule of thumb on Sundays, we all awoke when the roosters began to crow. As we began to stir, Big Mama and Grampy had their early-morning coffee. Next, we had a big breakfast, which I believe consisted of pancakes, bacon and eggs. Trust me, there was nothing like those fluffy pancakes and country eggs. Excluding Grampy and PaPa, the rest of us dressed for Sunday school. By 8:45 AM, we were off to the local Church of Christ, where Big Mama was a highly respected, long-time member. I spent the four hours at church sitting with the Scott family, who were our close family friends. After church concluded, we went back to the house to get out of our church clothes and resume the day.

Back at the house, I finally got to spend some quality time with the men of the family. Grampy, in his rocking chair, and PaPa, in his usual seat on the couch, were busy watching the westerns. So, I slid into the room and took my seat. I remember watching television for at least five or six hours, mesmerized at how each of them were so fixated on The Lone Ranger, The Rifleman, Bonanza, Big Valley and their other favorite shows. It was funny to me because they had seen every episode of each show before. Yet, they still loved every minute of it. For this reason, I began to focus on Grampy’s mannerisms. I had been around Grampy hundreds of times, but I didn’t really know my great-grandfather. Who was this quiet, gentle man? For some strange reason, I spent the remainder of Sunday trying to figure out the answers to the million-dollar question.

Observing Grampy proved to be extremely interesting. Being a man of few words, he exhibited a unique demeanor. My great-grandfather was a large man to me, yet small in