In The Beginning...

It is no small escape of the imagination that I didn't have a lot of Christian influence in my early years in life. I grew up in a small town in New Jersey called Burlington and attended the Tabernacle Baptist Church as far back as I could remember. Unlike churches today, Tabernacle was born in the community and served it and it's members for many years. Much like me, the church has grown and though I have grown away from organized religion, Tabernacle still remains a pillar in the community in Burlington. But, this is not about the church. Well maybe not intently.

I remember as a small child, sleeping in my grandmother's arms as the service drew through it's highs and lows. The sound of the pastor's booming voice would both soothe and awaken me. Not knowing what the words being spoken at the time meant, yet I would feel a sense of peace and strength in them. I would bask in the glow and warmth of environment that the church provided. As a child, I would often stare upon the smoothly plastered walls painted a faded pink or peer through the stained glass windows emblazoned with the names of the founding church members and short bible verses. The original sanctuary has long been demolished and was replaced several year ago by a brand new multipurpose center. Another sign of the church's growth and expansion over the years.

Like the church, the years have expanded it and it has grow. Now taking up most Second Street, it is no longer the a small community church. I have expanded a bit myself but that was a result of my going beyond the community I grew up in. So, why do I reference this humble beginning in my life? Like this once place I called my Christian home, I have grown beyond it's borders and beyond the basic concepts I once learned about from the bible. Let just say like Luke Skywalker discovering the Force, I too have discovered a power even deeper within my being.

Say it be some sort of logic or intuition, I see people now for what they are. At this point in my life, if I call you a friend, it really means something. Up until recent, I had lived a very reclusive life. Very few friends if any. I avoided family or even occasional contact with anyone. Not because I was made to, I was unwary of people's intent in my life. I did not want any close associations because I didn't want to be hurt or hurt anyone. Seriously, I was hurting myself more.

I refused this self imposed hermitage of so many years and started reaching out to people. Some embraced my friendship yet some drew away. I am thankful for both. Family members I either never knew about or only saw on that occasional family reunion trip, I now communicate with them as though I have been with them all my life. I wish I could explain what happened or why but I just asked myself; Self, why are you so lonely? You have hundreds of people who want to be your friend yet you disregard them. You have family who want to know what you are doing. Why don't you just get out there and first be a friend to yourself. So I did.

So, how does this all come together? The church thing, my early childhood, friends and family? I realized that like the walls of the church, they would have been lonely without that stained glass. The names etched into them where the names of friends and family who had been instrumental in the foundation of that church. Without them, they were just as lonely and empty as I had been for a good part of my adult life. The rich tapestry of family members and friends of that church allowed it to grow. I felt a bit of warmth not from the physical but from the love that was the church. Even looking at it now, it still remains the pillar but it is much stronger, wiser, friendlier. Like me. So I say to you my new friends, be that pillar, that strength, that warmth, that friend.

Alright, I got the message

So once again, here I am facing my most enduring public. Aw crap, you thought I was going to writing about my craziness? No, not this time. I'm back to my normal sane self again, maybe. I will see when my meds run out. Oh please, I'm not on meds. Well not for that at least. The ones I am on, I'm trying to get those reduced or get off them all together by dieting and exercise.

I will discuss one thing though. Back in August, my mom passed out and my brother called the emergency service and had her transported to the hospital for which they kept her a few days for evaluation. Now I won't say that this is a big problem with me but it is. I'll get to that later. This isn't the first time something like this has happened. As a matter of fact, this is at least the third time in the past year or two that I have been made aware of it.

The first incident happened, my mom was sitting in church enjoying the service. They thought she had fainted but they were having problems reviving her with smelling salts. They called the paramedics and she was transported to the hospital for which they kept her for an extended period and then let her go home.

The next incident happened during a family gathering. She once again fainted and attempts to wake her where futile. They called the EMT's and they promptly took her to the hospital. When she was released from the hospital, I called her to get an update to find out that she was having problems with her Doctor not refilling her medications. I told her she needed to find another Doctor because the outcome of the first incident was result of being over-stressed and over-medicated. This Doctor didn't want to acknowledge the hospital's recommendations. I'll address the stress part later.

She further told me that she was not getting any help from family members who were staying in her home. My younger sister and her twin sibling were of no help and pushed the problem on my brothers daughter who is barely able to handle her own issues. I had a fit. I even threatened to move back home. That ain't gonna happen. Seems as though, all my siblings are dumping their children and grand children on my mother when they feel damn inclined to do so. I'm talking infants to teens. Don't get me wrong but I think my mother raised her children. She does not need to raise anymore. I can see them stopping by occasionally for a visit but they come and stay for days and that means my mother has to feed them, make sure they have clean clothes, get them up for school, you know the drill. WTF? Am I to understand that when you get tired of raising your children, you can dump them on mom? They had no answers and refused to call me about any other problems.

The last incident happened, I didn't get a call. I found out about it after the fact when my brother posted it in Facebook. WTFF? I do have a phone and it is on 24/7. Granted, I'm online most of the time. But this is not the way you contact someone about your mother being taken to the hospital. Of course, this made me furious and when I get that mad, well watch out. But I held it in, add this to me just coming out of surgery for a torn meniscus and my emotional meter just red lined. Once again, I held it in. Before the end of August, the shit hit the fan and I had had enough of their issues.

I would like to say that my mom's issues are resolved but that's only temporary. She finally got to another Doctor and they have adjusted her medicines to a more agreeable level for her health's concern. My biggest concern is the family is not listening to her. She has said that she frequently has these spells but she goes and lays down and she feels better after she has had a short rest. I asked her if she told the doctor about this. She said she didn't think it was a problem since she felt better after resting. I told her I beg to differ. This is not normal behavior and she need to let the doctor know about. So, I am waiting to hear back on what the doctor had to say about this symptom.

Great Grand Father's Story - Circa late1800's Texas

I posted this story several days ago on the West Virginia Surf Report when the questions was asked: "Tell us about your saddest, or most interesting family tragedies, from a long time ago. Not recent stuff, that’s too personal, but stories you’ve heard about people you never actually met." I have made some edits and grammatical corrections to this story. I chose to write my about my great grand father on my fathers mothers side. Other tragic stories about my family are just to close to me to tell.

The story was set in a small town nestled about 70 miles northwest of Houston, Texas. This story is short but very poignant and has some racial overtones so I need to warn you before you read any further. This story may have been played out millions of times all over the country throughout history but was kept inside the minds of the victims and survivors.

Needless to say, my GGF was born a free man around the mid 1800’s. This story came from my aunt and the only way that I know about it was that she was telling the story to my father and mother back in the 70’s when we came to visit them in Texas. I hid out in the other room listening to what she had to say.

My GGF owned land outside of Brenham, TX and had a small farm with livestock and enough acreage to grow a few things to feed his family. Enough said on that. He was lonely and decides to search for a wife. His search took him to New Orleans where he met a most unusual woman. She was Creole and her name was Lillian Spencer. They soon fell in love and married and he packed all her belongings and moved her back to Brenham and soon after started a family.

They eventually produced several children, one being my grandmother who was given my GGM’s name. In 1800’s Texas, it did not take long for the word to get out regarding my next bit of details. If you know anything about Creole people, well dammit, go read about, I don’t have time to explain.

The problem was that a great mistake was made one day; a nearby white farmer came by my GGF’s land a saw my GGM out hanging clothes on the line. What he thought was a white woman was actually my Creole GGM. He stood back and watched my GGF come up and get a glass of water and then give her a kiss. Enraged at this sight, he got back on his horse and rode off. Later that evening, a group of men came a calling and they were not there for my GGM’s biscuits. They wanted to know why a (you know what they said) was kissing on a white woman.

Most of them being drunk and already looking for some retribution, they were able to subdue my GGF, take away his shotgun and tie him up. My GGM shouted to them that she was not a white woman, and that she was Creole, being both ignorant and drunk they did not want to listen to her. My GGF was carried off into the night and hung. Several of his close friends went looking for him the next morning and they found his body beaten and mutilated. My GGM never recovered from the loss of her true love and died several years later from grief leaving my GM to raise the siblings and run the farm. They buried his body on the farm near a pecan tree he had planted. The tree now shades both of their graves, the land was eventually sold back to the city long before my birth.

So that is my story. It is one that I have kept secret for a long time since I was a teenager. Peace ya’ll. I’m outta here…