I'm beginning a series of post about life---my life. Doubt I can finish, but will continue as long as the words flow. The words, the language of the period may offend, but nevertheless its the truth and modern day PC will not silence nor dissuade me from telling you how it was in my youth. Blogger may shut me down, but that's ok for I've never been afraid of those powers who seek to silence the voices of truth. Just as Rhett said to Scarlett "frankly I don't give a damn"! If however, this should happen, I will continue these post at Stop Obama in 2012 so begins the journey.
I was born in the small southern town of Oak Grove, LA during the Great Depression, at my grandfather's home. Not long ago my father passed away and was buried in Oak Grove and while there I looked up the old place of my birth was surprised it was just around the corner from the funeral home. My sister and I stopped by the old place and I announced to the lady who owned the old house that I was there to place a plaque commentating my birth. Needless to say she was shocked and I immediately put her uneasiness to rest. We drove on after getting pictures of the old house, which was still in good condition with the huge magnolia tree near the back steps that grandmother had planted shortly after my birth.
Yes, that was the starting point--Oak Grove. Some years after the day of my birth and after the great war, WWII, I recall going to the movie theater in the Bastrop. LA just up the road. A nickel got you in the door and another dime got the popcorn and coke. Think I was about 8. Roy, Hop-A-Long, and Red Rider filled the screen at the Rose theater along with the weekly continuing serial. In those days the whites would sat below and the ni#gers (about that word "ni#gers" I had never thought much about it until recent years when the "N" word was banned. Then I remembered the time when my stepdaughter first came to Mississippi for NW Arkansas and saw a road sign, "Bogue Chitto" and she pronounced it the way it was spelled and I had to tell her no, we call it "Bogue Chitter" and that river you just crossed in not the "Homochitto" but the "Homochitter"! Just maybe Negro is "negreer" or "ni#ger" in Mississippi slang with no disrespect to black folks) in the balcony above---just the way it was in the 1940's. We kids would all stand and cheer as Roy caught the bad guys and brought them to justice. Everything was clear cut and unmudded by the voices of the non-existent voices of political correctness in those days, but then we knew better----the truth was just that, the truth without someone telling us what we thought! I moved on and my life evolved into the uncertain future of what would become the "Brave New World".
To be continued.......
