Skip to main content

the ramblings of an absentminded blogger

I am currently reading a nonfiction book entitled One Drop my father’s hidden life- A story of race and family secrets, author Bliss Broyard.

This book is about her father and his family secret that he is a black man. His mother and father were light skinned Creoles from the French Quarter in New Orleans (1920) when they moved to Bedford-Stuyvesant a neighborhood in Brooklyn NY they resorted to Passing in order to get work.

This is interesting in one aspect, comparison. I do not know why but when I biographical books I find myself comparing my life with what I read. I do this regardless of the subject.

When I read Kimora Simons autobiography I understood what it meant to be the tallest kid in the class. Hated the fact that I was taller than the tallest boy and on class picture day I was always standing in the back and head taller that all the boys. I hated to be tripped and hear someone yell TIMBER! Sometimes I could think back and laugh. I also remember going to a photo studio to get pictures done for my mother who was very sick at the time and my graduation picture was stolen, I was repeatedly I would be a great model.

In the book she talks about feeling that something was missing. So much so that she actually snoops through her father things looking for what she was not sure she just felt there was more to know. When she and her brother learned the fathers secret that he was black they were not shocked or appalled by the fact but she wondered why it was just a big deal for her dad. I am still reading the book it is not as interesting as I thought it would be but maybe it will pick up.

While growing up we lived in East Liberty on Rippey Street. My father and mother and I lived upstairs and Aunt Henrine and Minnie lived downstairs. My Cousin Lucille lived with us. Her mother died and Dad took the responsibility of raising his niece. I never met my grandmother or grandfather. My father parents lived in Yazoo City Mississippi. One year my father took my 2 younger sisters to see the little shack that he lived in as a child. He was the youngest of 13 children. They tell me it was very much like little house on the prairie. He did not have any pictures of his parents. He told a story that when his mother died, 6 months after I was born, all the children came back home and just took stuff. He got nothing barely got the information of his mother death. He talked to you the month before she died and if it was not his custom to call each month he would have not found out from them. He went to the funeral and then to the house to find it was stripped bare and left abandoned. Since he was the youngest of all the children some of his other sibling he had never met. That is the one thing that really confuses me and my cousin who still lives in Mississippi our parents where part of a large family , 13 kids even if each child only had one child and so on our family on my dad side should be massive! I know of Uncle Doug, he was in WWII. He has died childless. Uncle Bennie, he still lives in Mississippi. He has 3 kids, Peaches , the oldest of the three had 2 boys. Buttons, his real name is James, has 3 boys each of who have 3 of their own. Jackie the youngest (she and I were born a year apart) she had 2 boys. Aunt Minnie, she has no children. Aunt Henrine, She has no children. Lucille’ mom, she had 2 children, Lucille has 3 children and Leonard has 1. My dad who had 4 girls. 2 of which have children Stacey 1 boy and Jodanelle 2 girls Brie and my self childless. No one else can be tracked down or traced back to our family line.

My mother born in Moultrie Georgia. She is the youngest, I know she has brothers and sisters but the only time I ever saw them was when she was on her death bed. Would not know who they were if they came up to me. The only sisters I knew of hers were Aunt Polly and Aunt Lizzie. I found out later that they only grew up as sisters. They were in fact cousins. Polly and Lizzie were sisters but my mother Sally was not. Her mother died 2 or 3 weeks after childbirth. Had a fatal reaction to some post natal medicine. So my mother’s grandmother was raising both her and Polly. Polly’s mother who I always thought was my grandmother is actually my great aunt. Please pay careful attention to this. Grandmother Elisabeth Brown was actually my Great Aunt Elisabeth Brown who had a child, my Aunt Polly from a marriage that did not last long. Since she was still young she continue to live her life and Polly and my mother Sally were raised by my Great Grandmother whose name I do not know. At some point Great Aunt Elisabeth Brown got married to Mel Brown. They had a daughter Lizzie and raise all three girls like they were sisters. Polly Mae the oldest, Sally Mae the middle, and Lizzie Mae the youngest. Polly found out about 2 months after Grandma Brown died that she has brothers and sister from her father side. She is the oldest of 5 siblings that she knew nothing about. That is a whole different story. So when my mother was losing her battle with cancer her brother showed up to visit her. They were tall and thin, so I guess that I get my height from

What is the point of this? I forget, truly, I have read over everything that I wrote and I do now know that point was attempting to make. The ramblings of an absentminded blogger.

I know that I will come back to this and when I do it will make sense then.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I need Therapy

It's important to take time for yourself and I am one for telling others to do that for themselves but often i do not do this for myself.   I find that I am surrounded by people who need me to do things for them.  Nothing major things that they can do themselves but it is easier to get someone else to do it and i am that someone else.  Gail do this, gail do that.  Good grief!
There are times when I feel like I am just living my life.   Just making it  day after day, one day blends into the next one.  Don't really see accomplishments, advancements, forward movements. As a result i an feel a bit lost and out of sorts.  I feel the need for therapy. I have a bujo and in it i have schedule and routine for everyone and thing with the exception of me.  I discovered this when i took a moment to review the schedules and routines to figure out  why i was not getting any sewing projects completed, no practice time for watercolors and the crocheting and needlework was sitting in a  corner.…

Life in a Scheduling Room

It has been some time since I felt it necessary to say anything about my job.  However this is something that i need to address at this time.  My work associates range in ages and this diversity helps our department funtion in an ackward yet somewhat effective way.  One coworker who is very verbal about everything that goes wrong.  You know when she is not well because she is quiet and there are times when she is very focus on what she is doing and if that concentration is broken so is her silence.  For the most part this does not bother me except when she takes me out of my zone and then my work rhythm is interrupted.   I am sure i am guilty of doing the same to her i think everyone does.  Then there is next coworker a beautiful young lady that gives the impression of being younger than she actually is and so I have a tendency to feel like  need  to protect her.  That is something I had to stop doing it was not needed and i hope I did not offend her.  Her method working is not as pr…

Beyond Mesaure

My mother taught me to sew my clothes because I was bigger then the average girl.  Please note the word I used was bigger not taller.  This is what I heard from family and friends " wow you are getting big"  At the age of 11 or 12  big means fat not tall.  
When looking at picture of myself at that young age when I was getting bigger it turns out I was quite slim. My Uncle called my lean bean, because I was long and lankey. He was the only one who go the measurment correct and described me in a way that I preferred to big. 
Before going into High School I stood 5 feet 8 inches tall and when I graduated high schooL I grew another .75 inches taller.  I tell people I am 5 foot 9 inches tall.  I love being tall  I am not a fan of being big. 
My sister stands 5 foot4 inches tall and she remembers as she was growing being told she was big.  I guess my family does not use pharses like " my how you have grown" and instead use phrases such as  "Wow you are getting big!…