In depth Part dos

My Grandmother brought my mother into this world in 1935 inserting her in the predetermined position from God, as her youngest child of seven.  She spent most of her childhood trying to keep up with her older brothers; Her only sister was a lot older then she was and had a family of her own.  Until she graduated high school in 1955 venturing out on her own at the beginning of the Civil Right Movement. 

I do not know at what point in her adult life that she met my father.  However, in 1960's she gave birth to her second child Sandra.  Who I never had the chance to meet because she was born lactose intolerant during a time when milk alternatives, such as soy milk, had not been developed.  Although my mon kept trying to feed her regular milk she was unable to keep enough on her stomach to survive.

For the next six years she went on to give birth to six children.  The youngest one being my brother Rodney.   Whom I say was born to be called home; He was still borne.  This unfortunate and untimely situation caused me to become known as the youngest daughter of my grandmother's youngest daughter.

 

In depth background

I entered this earth in the month of March during the mid 1960's and began coming into myself throughout the 1970's.  A time when the Civil Rights Movement was being fueled, in part, by the deaths of Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and President John F. Kennedy.  This was the third part of my world.  A world that included sitting on the front porch of my grandmother's house listening to my oldest cousins tell how they had been mistreated by the infamous man.

For all of the negativity that I was over hearing from the males in my family it was off set by the two main female matriarch's of my family; my mother and my grandmother.

My Grandmother Viola was born in 1895 a mere thirty two years after President Abraham Lincoln issued The Emancipation Proclamation.  Since she was the first born of two children, she was required to help mother take care of her youngest brother and help with the up keep of their house work and whatever wash, and other household duties, that she was doing for other families.  Her work load was added to whenever harvest season came whenever she was needed to help out in either the tobacco or cotton fields of North Carolina.

In 1908 at the age of thirteen she gave birth to her first child.  A child who light complexion, my grandmother was the complexion of a lightened dark chocolate, left no doubt that his father was white.  Whenever he would visit I often found myself silently wondering was he conceived out of unrequited love or enraged hatred and curiosity.  But I never dared asked her which method of conception was the case.  Because, although she only stood four feet nine, and weighed 120 pounds soaking wet, her hands held a whole lot of listen to me and follow the rules power. 

She went on to give birth to six more children the youngest one being my mother.  Which genetically made me her (Grandmother) youngest daughter's youngest daughter.

My Two Worlds Part Dos

I have enjoyed reading from the point when I learned that combining letters in the alphabets together make words. Then the art of writing became a joy to me once I learned to compose my first complete sentence.  At the time it was a means to pass time why my siblings and cousins were out side playing; I have never enjoyed participating in sports since I discovered that it causes you to sweat and causes your clothes to stick to you.  YUCK!

However as I began to struggle being excepted by my classmates for being true to myself it became a much needed release for all of my pent up emotions.  The words that were blocked, by the anvil that was weighting down my tongue. found their escape path through my pen. 

While I was discovering the joy of writing I also discovered the joy of  reading.  Particularly how writers use their words to place the reader in to a different world without having to purchase a plane ticket. This is when my God giving gift sprouted another branch with a leaves titled writing, gift, limitless.

The when and why revealed

The biggest difference in my two worlds is that at school I felt alone and at home, being the youngest of five, I would have given anything for some time to myself.  Little did I know that both of my worlds where actually teaching me the same lesson of since I did not have any one else around to distract my concentration I only had to focus on myself; and of course God.

Since neither one of them had met before, I made the introductions.

Me: (nervously) Hey?

Self: Hey.

Me: Who are you?

Self: I am the true self of you.

Me: (excitedly) Wow! So, you can tell me who I am?

Self: Not, really.

Me: (disappointed) Why not?

Self: Because, I learn who I am when you learn who you are.

Me: (I say a curse word and then look around to make sure my mother or grandmother did not hear me.)


I do not remember if I prayed or simply accepted it, continue on with my day,  or that it simply slipped my mind.  But I do know, a number of years later, that step by step Me and Myself are continually discovering who we are each second or every day.

I said that to say this there will be days when you will become so confused about what your purpose on Earth is or who you are; Just stay calm, pray, and continue on with your life.  Because from the point of our conception God had our lives all planned out and preset delayed times when he will reveal our blessings and gifts to us. 

As he did for me.

Exceeding the speed limit

When I began this blog and promised to post every Monday and Friday I now realize that I neglected a important part of the equation; Life happening.  I thank God that the reason that I am not posting the continuation of My two worlds is not because of sickness, death, or some horrific situation.  But mismanagement of time. 

But do not fear I will post the next installment at the earliest over the weekend or at the latest Monday,

Please enjoy and take the time to leave a comment.

My Two Worlds

From the time that I was old enough to notice that I was spending my days living in two different worlds,  I would ask God, on a daily basis why ?

Why does my family loved me unconditionally and some of my classmates treat me as if I was created from a completely different God then them?

Most of school began with a breakfast of hot cocoa and oatmeal, in winter and summer, getting dressed, and then waiting with my siblings at the end of our driveway for the bus.  Usually my Grandmother would fix our breakfast and make sure that we were dressed presentably because my mom was either working third shift or had all ready left for her first shift job.  However, once I disembarked the school bus my world completely changed

From the first day I walked into Kindergarten it felt as if, at least to me, that my classmates had held a private meeting during the summer and had elected me the class target for the next ten years of my Primary education.  My school day usually consisted of being the bulls eye for my classmates spit wads, pen tops, erasers, and deconstructed paper clips.  Then before my bus number is called I would ask to be excused to go to the bathroom.  So that I could make sure that I could check to see and pick out any of my class mates ammo that may have become stuck in my hair.

The answers to why I lived in these two different worlds came to me at different points in my life. 

sometimes life happens

I must apologize, but todays bog, March 4, 2016 will be posted on Wednesday March 6. Fridays blog will be posted as usual.  Please forgive me because sometimes life happens.

SEE YOU ON WEDNESDAY!!

A Brief Statement Part 2

In Monday's blog I gave you an explanation of the premise behind A Sarcastic Million Dollar Question.  I am going to continue with that same topic today.  First let me say that by no means do think of myself as being better than anyone else or that I am perfect and follow all of God's commandments.  Secondly, I want to tell you why defending God's word is no important to me.

From a young age I felt as if God tied my words to my tongue with an anvil for a specific reason.  To block my words from escaping from my mouth verbally so that they could remain in my mind to await the arrival of others.  Locked away in a safe place until the time when He was ready to escape, not via my mouth but instead through whatever writing instruments that I was holding in my hand at that precise moment.

It took me a while to accept this especially during my preteen and teenage years.  Because this is when my words may have helped me to at the least be allowed to stand on the outskirts of my two totally different worlds; home and school.