Last night I thought of a great word to describe what I am about to write this morning. I sat down at the computer and, whew, just like that, it flew away! I am hoping that by writing anyway, the word I want will return. ..
This is a story about who my Mom and Dad were, not so much as what unique or fabulous things they might have done in their lives. It’s more about why they became who they ended up being. I have spent a lifetime questioning why people do the things they do. I am a history buff, for instance, and I don’t understand why Hitler didn’t start his invasion of Russia in February (instead of June). He knew of Napoleon’s mistakes and waited anyway. If he had started in February he would have taken Moscow before the winter set in. Thank goodness he made the wrong choice! What was he thinking?
Anyway, I believe most people want to believe that they planned their lives to some degree and where they end up is where they actually wanted to end up. Really? I didn’t, my mother and dad didn’t. My siblings didn’t. In fact, I have never met a person who didn’t have roadblocks, changes in directions, and surprises show up in their lives. Have you? What a boring life that would be, huh? Yes, you were born but you didn’t plan what place, what era, or to whom you would be born. Parents, foster parents or orphanages, chose your church, your school and even shaped most of the ways you see the world… at least during your childhood. We all are victims of chance and circumstance, aren’t we?
There is a reason behind almost everything that happens to us and it is not found in the wise “Planning-Of-Our-Lives.” Our lives are mostly run on impulsive decisions in direct response to the unexpected! This is true for everyone regardless of race, religion, nationality, health and/or appearance. Am I not right? “The two most important days of your life are the day you were BORN and the day you find out WHY.” Mark Twain said that. I believe we all are born to have a purpose in life and we have to live that life regardless of and in spite of the trials and tribulations we have to face. How else are we to find out the WHY? My parents were victims of the lives they were born into in the early 1900’s. Remember also, “Judge not, least ye be judged!” And of course, “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” We all live in glass houses in some form or another. We just have to accept and deal with that! I know I have.
So, now… to Mom and Dad’s story. Most people think about how wonderful it was in the “good ol’ days.” Well, in the real world, in the early 1900’s, men often walked away from marriages, children, and responsibilities because they could get away with it. My dad was born in Atlanta, Georgia. He married and they lived on his farm He had a son named Carl. The South was really harsh back then and many men were headed North to “seek their fortunes.” He was married to a wonderful, much younger lady who evidently worshiped the ground he walked on! One day, he simply decided to head North to seek his fortune. He kissed his wife and child goodbye and left for Indianapolis, Indiana where he met and (without bothering with a divorce first) married my mom. My mom was 20-plus years younger than he was. They got married and over time had five children together. My mother never knew about his first life and he never returned to them! He never wrote. He never called. This wonderful young lady waited for him to return for the rest of her life to no avail. She never dated, never remarried and never divorced him. Isn’t that a sad story?
I went looking for my roots when I was about 35 years old and I met my Atlanta family and my half brother Carl. At the time, Carl was 80 years old and he too was still waiting for his beloved father to come home. Sooo sad! In the early 1900’s this happened a lot. Who am I to judge? He stayed with my mother until the day he died of tuberculosis. I was still a baby when he died. I’ve tried all my life to find a photograph of him. My Atlanta family said he looked a lot like my Uncle Milton, my dad’s brother, and they gave me a good picture of him. What I would give for a picture of my father! It seems silly to say that at 75 years of age but it is how I feel.
My mom’s story is one of trials and tribulations. A story of love, struggles, broken dreams, and heartache! A story of a wonderful woman who was strong, resilient, and yet fun to be around. I never heard her complain! She was born into abject poverty and was the oldest of twelve children. Because she was the first born, the duties of rearing all the other children were forced upon her by her mother. I never liked my grandparents. They never allowed my mom to go to school. Mom’s father was a mean and abusive man. He had some good days but when he drank, as he often did, he was not someone you would want to be around. (That part is for another story I will write later.)
She met my father after her siblings were pretty much grown and my grandparents hated him because he was so much older and they didn’t want her to get married anyway. She was the maid to them. By the way, this situation also happened a lot to first born girls in the early 1900’s. We could never figure out if she married him to get away from home or if they were in love. He was evidently a smooth talker. … I hope it was for love!
When my dad died, my mom, with no education, was forced to give up our nice house and move in with her parents. What a nightmare that was! Her mother and father threw us out and we went to live in an old, worn down tenement building in Downtown Indianapolis. She had no money, no job, with five hungry children at the time.
The State came and took away my three sisters and put them in foster homes but my brother, Bill, and I ran away before they arrived. We never went back. I was five years old and my brother was eight. (That too is for another story I will write later.) When I was 7 1/2 years old they caught me and put me in an orphanage.
My poor mom was heartbroken. Her kids were her life. I just can’t imagine her pain! The challenge for my Mom was she wouldn’t be allowed to visit me for over three years and when they finally did allow her to visit, she had no money for a taxi. She walked eight miles a few times to see my brother, Bill, and me. That was sooo wonderful for me. I cherished those visits! Once she called a cab to see me but didn’t have enough money to pay the cab in full. The orphanage director, Mrs. Davis, wouldn’t give or lend her any money so she was arrested and the orphanage banned her for a whole year from seeing us again. I was crying my eyes out when the police hauled her away in handcuffs! Sooo sad, huh!? It made me realize, though, how important it was to have enough money in life and I never forgot that day.
I saw my mom at the orphanage less than six times in 7 1/2 years. She actually wanted to come every week but she was unable. She was uneducated (she wasn’t dumb!) and I vowed to get an education so I would get a good job and never be poor like my mom. My mom died when I was fifteen and I believe she died of a broken heart! A potentially wonderful life ruined by unimaginable twists and turns. A life no one would ever choose or plan to live. She may not have found her WHY but all her children grew up and found each other. And we know we were the WHY she never found out about!
Roy Lee Barrett
Click to go to the next True Story,
“How I Ended Up in the US Marine Corps”
Roy Lee Unchained 