I don’t write much about the history of my father’s side of the family because they simply didn’t have the strong oral tradition that my mother’s family did. This is such a loss. My paternal grandmother was abandoned by her mother, raised by her grandmother till she was nine. She spent the rest of her childhood in the home of an uncle whose wife made her very unwelcome. I spent the night with Maw Maw one time. As we lay talking in her big bed, she told me of her grandmother’s death.
“I jist turned nine years old, ‘bout the age you are now. Me and Ma had picked some beans in the cool a’the mornin’ an’ I was a’helpin’ ‘er git ‘em ready fer canning. Ma set down in her rocker to rest jist a minute an’ I was a’playin’ with my kitten. I was glad she was a’sleepin’ a while since I didn’ want’a mess with them beans no how. After a spell, I saw Ma’s head was kinda hung to one side an’ spit was a’runnin’ out’a her mouth kinda foamy. She wouldn’ wake up. I got up to run over to git Miz Jone’s an’ seen there was a fire between our place an’ hearn. There warn’t nothin’ to do but run through it the best I could. Them flames was a’lickin’ at my feet an’ I was jist a’cryin’. I got Miz Jones, but it ain’t made no difference. When they got over to see ‘bout Ma, she was dead. They sent for Uncle Jeb to git’er buried.
I had to go to Uncle Jeb’s, then. He was awful good to me, but Aunt Lottie was jist hard down. She whooped on me ever chancet she got, an’ they was plenty. She made shore I ain’t done no sittin’ aroun’. I married soon’s I could , jist to git outta her way.”
How sad Linda…
But it’s great how you are writing these all down, your way of storytelling makes a reader feel like they were there too!
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I hoped it would.
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I always look forward to your posts! 😊
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Thanks. I love yours, too!
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Aw thank you! 😘
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Well I would have gotten out of there too. It’s a blessing when you have a loving family.
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We all come from these folks who weathered so much pain and tragedy. It makes one think !! We don’t often give ourselves credit for being survivors ! Nice post with a very different tone. Van
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I am going to make a point to write more posts exploring the history of my father’s side of the father. My relationship with him was difficult. I think it might help me. My sister recently found a picture made of him not long before he died. He looked so happy. I flashed back to that time and remembered having a close and loving relationship for about the last four years of his life before he died at 57. I was so shocked to recall that. I felt my heart melt toward him.
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Even if it was for a short time, how nice for you. I’d dwell on that memory for a bit !
I love your comment about storytelling, Linda. It is a great tradition to share with family, and even better that you let us peek inside !! ❤ Van
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I think I’ll write about that. I love my family, all the wisps, bits, tangible and intangible. We are our family. They are us.
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Gosh, that’s rough. Makes me grateful for all that I take for granted.
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Her life was hard. She had seven children and was widowed young during the depression.
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How did you get into storytelling?
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I got into storytelling because I come from a family with a strong oral history. We all tell stories. I have told stories from the time I could talk. I begged my parents and grandparents, my children begged me. It’s as natural is breathing. I am writing them down so they won’t be lost. Linda Bethea.
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Makes me glad for my upbringing.
I wish I knew more about my mother’s family. I’ve only gotten to my great-great paternal grandmother, since they were poor, there are fewer recordings. My great maternal grandmother was a Seminole, she never even had a last name til she married.
Still, it’s nice to have that history on one side, even.
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Oh, did she have to go on the Trail of Tears? That was horrible!
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No
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I don’t understand how an aunt, a parent substitute could be so cruel to a child or any age. Awful.
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She just didn’t want her around!
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Sounds like she enjoyed her snuggles in bed with you though.
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I enjoyed it. It was the only night I ever spent with her. She had forty grandchildren, so didn’t spend a lot of individual time with each.
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Tough years!
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That’s one of the few stories she told me.
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Poor girl… life for many is more than horrible…
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Her whole life was hard.
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Rough life…
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She had a really hard time.
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