Ahhhh...another lazy Sunday. This blog idea has been good for me. It's kept my mind working all day thinking about what I should write.To say its been a day on memory lane would be a gross understatement. I keep thinking about what I would want my kids to know about me, about what made me the way I am - good, bad or indifferent.

I was born a poor black child....no...wait....that's another story.

How are we shaped as children? Who is to know what makes an impression and what doesn't?

When I think of my dad I get mostly impressions. He didn't talk to me a lot. I don't know if it was because I was a girl or if he was just not a natural talker, I simply don't know. I do know he loved me, even if it was unspoken. I never doubted that for a moment.

My earliest memories of my dad are of some tall guy who came into the house carrying a lunch pail and the first thing he always did was turn down the tv my twin brother and I were glued to. (Yes we had a tv, yes it was black and white). He would go into the kitchen and sit with my mom at the yellow wood table and both would sip coffee, smoke cigarettes and talk. I have no idea what the conversations they had consisted of. My attention was more in tune with Bozo the Clown or Soupy Sails.

Dad was 14 years older than mom. From what I gathered over the years, her family was not pleased at all that the 17 year old was planning to marry the 31 year old man with a 7 year old child. I suspect Dad's parents weren't real pleased with the idea either, but over time they proved it worked. Dad became the patriarch over not only our family, but my mother's sisters and their families as well.

They certainly had their trials but I think the impression that sticks with me most of all is that even though they squabbled, they loved each other passionately. I can recall coming into their room early in the morning while they still slept. Invariably Daddy's arm would be over Mom, or she would have an arm or leg draped over him. They always touched. I don't recall seeing a lot of kissing and hugging when they were in front of us kids, but I know it was there. Public displays of affection were not common in the household.

After my dad passed, I was talking with mom about the future. I made the offhand remark that perhaps she would remarry someday. In my way I was trying to 'help' - to let her know that it would be ok I guess. She exploded. My mother only yelled and me once in my life and that was it. She said "Don't even SUGGEST such a thing!!!!" We never discussed it again.

I do recall one time when I was about five years old. Daddy had made me angry for some reason and the only thing I could think to do was to stick my tongue out at him as he walked towards the garage. You know way a kid will - the tongue and face stuck out, hands on hips and a loud "bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee". He turned on his heel and came back towards me with the strangest look on his face (I realize now he was trying not to laugh). He grabbed my arm and turned me around to take me into the house. As he did so he swatted my butt several times and put me in my room. I was aghast! My daddy had spanked me! I was the princess! How could this be??? To say it made an impression on me is a gross understatement. I still remember it over 50 years later. I made sure never to do anything even remotely like that again. Its the only time I recall getting spanked in my life.

This is getting long, so I'll write more later about my trip down Memory Lane.

Have a good day.