Native American Blood

Like a million others who grew up in the same era, I spent Saturday afternoons at a movie theater. Often, the movie was an old western, which wasn't my favorite, but at thirteen or fourteen, if all your friends went to the movies on Saturday, so did you, no matter what was playing.

I’ll never forget the ones that had Indians in them. For no apparent reason, the savages would go on a rampage, and, riding their horses as fast as the animals would go, they’d head for a little cabin where a family was huddled inside, hoping to escape capture by the bellowing, red-skinned enemies. Both men and women hovered by windows with shotguns and fired, in vain, toward the onslaught while children snuggled together in the farthest corner of the cabin.

Anxious movie watchers would cheer when an Indian was hit with a bullet and fell off his horse, but in the end, there were just too many of them! Using their tomahawks, they’d chop their way through the walls, come through windows and down the chimney and finally, through the doors. The good guys and gals were then dragged outside where they were usually relieved of their scalps in much the same way that hunters skin a small animal. After setting the cabin on fire, the Indians rode off displaying their trophies on poles and chanting victoriously.

Looking back, I know that this was quite violent for young children to watch and I wonder how movie makers slept at night. Many children who went to the movies were too young to discern that this was fiction and only meant to entertain.

As silly as it may sound, I was bothered by these movies for many years. Until after I was grown, I’d see those very scenes in my dreams – only the good guys were me and my family. After a number of pig-tailed redskins made their way into our house, I’d awaken in a cold sweat, sometimes screaming! I’ve had others tell me they were affected in the same way.

All of those years, I thought Indians were bad. Then I found out that my great grandfather was a Cherokee Indian! That meant I had a lot of Native American blood running through my veins. Now, I was confused!

But listening as my grandmother told stories of The Trail of Tears helped me to see things in a different light. This is the story of the removal of the Cherokee Nation from its ancestral homeland in parts of North Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, and Alabama to land set aside for American Indians in what is now the state of Oklahoma. Some 100,000 American Indians were forcibly removed from the eastern United States to what was called Indian Territory. Included were members of the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek, and Seminole tribes. The Cherokee's journey by water and land was over a thousand miles long, during which many Cherokees died. What a tragic story!

Torn between my ancestry and my nightmares, I'm still somewhat bewildered, but at least, I finally learned the difference between fact and fiction—and in this case, neither is very pretty!

True Confessions

They say confession is good for the soul.

First, I’d like to know who “they” are, and then I’d like to know exactly what confession does for the soul.

Perhaps I’ll soon find out because I seem to be on a roll. A few days ago, I confessed to accepting a ride with strangers when I was fourteen – and tonight, I feel the need to confess another youth-inspired deed. Should I or shouldn’t I?

A lot of years have gone by. Who is going to tell whom? And at my age, who cares anyway? Except for my conscience, there is no one to punish me.  No repercussions.

I was sixteen and Carol would be in a few months. I had my driver’s license; she had a learner’s permit. One summer day, after much cajoling from Carol, her mother permitted her to drive the family car a few miles down the road, with me beside her. I felt honored that her mother trusted me... but was a little nervous, too. This was a big responsibility!

There was one condition. She was absolutely not to drive across the Kanawha City Bridge, which, in those days, was only two lanes – and they didn’t look that wide, especially to a new driver. 

“Oh, no, Mother; I wouldn’t do that. I’d be afraid,” Carol innocently said. So her mother handed her the keys and off we went. Driving through our little town with the radio blaring, we felt much older than our years and were giddy with excitement. Talking and giggling, we hardly paid attention to where she was driving until we suddenly realized we were on the road that led right onto the Kanawha City Bridge!

“Oh my gosh!” I said. “Your mom said not to cross the bridge.” But by this time, she had no choice. She continued, slowing down so much that the man behind us honked his horn impatiently, but Carol kept driving.

Once we were off the bridge, she pulled off the road and stopped. She was shaking. I said, “You want me to drive?”

“Nope,” she said stubbornly. “Just give me a minute.”

Regaining her composure, she pulled out into the traffic again. It seemed everything would be okay until we started to notice the traffic was suddenly very heavy. Bumper to bumper. Looking at my watch, I said, “No wonder. It’s the 5 0’clock traffic; people are getting off from work.” We hadn’t counted on that. “It wouldn’t have happened if we’d stayed on the other side of the bridge,” I told her – a little upset. “And the worst thing is,” I said, “the only way home is back across that bridge!”  

The plot thickens.

In order to get back to the bridge, she had to turn onto one of the busiest streets in Charleston. Cars were everywhere, some going too fast, some turning off, and some drivers noticeably displeased with her obvious inexperience. She was nervous and I could feel my heart pounding! I suppose our guardian angels were with us that day because, somehow, we made it back to the bridge... and across it. Once we were on the road that led to home, and the traffic was no longer heavy, we looked at each other and broke into hysterical laughter! Looking back, I suspect it was our bodies’ way of releasing stored up tension?

When we finally pulled into her driveway and went inside, Carol threw the car keys on the table and calmly said to her mother, “We need something to drink.” Her mother got two glasses out of the cabinet, started filling them with ice and said, “How did it go? Did you have any trouble?”

Nonchalantly, Carol said, “Just fine. No problems at all.”

Then Mrs. Lewis looked into my eyes and said, “How’d she do, Peggy? She didn’t cross the bridge, did she?”

I froze! Why did she have to ask me that direct question and not Carol? She was always the lucky one who got away with everything. And I was the one with the conscience. I didn’t want to lie to her mother! Yet, I couldn’t “rat” on my best friend. Time stood still. Finally, without daring to look at Carol, I managed to say, “Oh, no. Everything was fine. We had a good time.”

This is only one of the many adventures Carol and I experienced together over the years. Even after we were grown and should have known better, we’d sometimes find ourselves doing things that were a little iffy.

I think I'll stop with the confessions now!

                                       

  

Long Ago

by Eugene Field (1850-1895)

I once knew all the birds that came

   And nested in our orchard trees,

For every flower I had a name-

   My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees;

I knew where thrived in yonder glen

   What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe-

Oh, I was very learned then,

   But that was very long ago.

I knew the spot upon the hill

   Where checkerberries could be found,

I knew the rushes near the mill

   Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound!

I knew the wood---the very tree

   Where lived the poaching, saucy crow,

And all the woods and crows knew me-

   But that was very long ago.

And pining for the joys of youth,

   I tread the old familiar spot

Only to learn this solemn truth:

   I have forgotten, am forgot.

Yet here's this youngster at my knee

   Knows all the things I used to know;

To think I once was wise as he!-

   But that was very long ago.

I know it 's folly to complain

   Of whatsoe'er the fates decree,

Yet, were not wishes all in vain,

   I tell you what my wish should be:

I'd wish to be a boy again,

   Back with the friends I used to know.

For I was, oh, so happy then-

   But that was very long ago!

Was It A Dream?

Just like you, I had a lot of good advice from my mother. You know, the advice we let bead and run off us like rain. Funny thing though, when Mom is no longer with us, it all comes flooding back, doesn’t it?

The one I’ve been thinking about lately is, “Don’t talk to strangers.” While relaxing tonight and letting my thoughts drift aimlessly into the past, I remembered a night when I was only fourteen years old and met a boy at a skating rink. No, not the one I married! This was before his time.

His name was Rob Horner. And yes, he had a brother named Jack. This probably won’t mean a thing to those of you who are under forty. You see, Little Jack Horner is the name of a nursery rhyme – and nursery rhymes are a thing of the past.

As I said, I was at a roller rink with my cousin, Liz, when I noticed a boy watching me. When it was time to go home, he was waiting at the door. He introduced himself and asked my name. When I told him, he said, “Could my brother and I offer you ladies a ride home?” I was only fourteen, but when this boy smiled, revealing his gleaming white teeth – his eyes twinkling like Sirius, the brightest star in the heavens – I was smitten!

That was many summers ago. I was visiting my grandparents in a small town and the skating rink was within walking distance of their home. In those days, in that small town, there was no fear of talking to strangers. He was a local boy and it was perfectly okay to accept his offer of a ride home. At least that's what I decided.

The strangest thing was, when we got outside, he took my hand and led me to his car, which, to my surprise, was a long, black limousine! He opened the front door and motioned for Liz to get in beside his brother, then he opened the back door, ushered me in and quickly slid in beside me. I was awestruck!

The four of us made small talk during the short trip home. The boys were perfect gentlemen. When we pulled up in front of my grandparents’ home, both of them got out and opened the doors for us. We thanked them, said good-night and giggled as we watched them drive away. I didn’t know the word then, but today, I would dub the whole experience, “surreal.”

So many questions went through my mind as I lay in my bed reliving the incident. I wondered where these two boys had come from and why were they driving a car that looked like a hearse? And more important, why had I agreed to let them drive us home? I’d felt almost hypnotized! It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me and I knew I’d never forget it. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel it was peculiar… and although I hadn’t done anything wrong, I felt guilty. What would my parents think? 

I slept fitfully and woke up early thinking about Rob and his big, long, black limousine. Is it possible it was all a dream?

I truly hope it was because I just know my mother is somewhere scowling and shaking her finger at me!

August

Last year on September 7th, I posted a list of events that had occurred on that date. It turned out to be one of my most frequently read posts. Let's try that again... only this time, it's things that happened during the whole month of August.

~~~

1^st      The eleventh Olympic Games opened in Berlin in 1936.

1^st      In 1774 Joseph Priestley discovered oxygen in the laboratory at Bowood House, Wiltshire, England.

2^nd     First roller skating rink opened in the UK (1875).

3^rd     Columbus set sail on his first voyage in 1492.  They made their way to the Canary Islands.

4^th     The First World War.  1914 – 11^th November 1918.

6^th     The sandwich was named after the Earl of Sandwich.  It is said that in approximately 1762, the Earl of Sandwich asked for meat to be served between slices of bread to avoid interrupting a gambling game.

6^th     Jamaica gained independence in 1962 after being a British Colony for over 300 years.

8^th     Great Train Robbery (1963)

12^th   The model Ford, known as the Tin Lizzie and the first mass-produced car, went on sale in 1908.

13^th   Josef Jokeb, a German spy during World War II is the last person to be executed at the tower of London (1941)

14^th   World War II ends (1945)

14^th   Opening of the Olympic games in London. (1948)

21^st   The Mona Lisa, by Leonardo de Vinci, was stolen from the Louvre Gallery in 1911 – not recovered until 1913.     

22^nd  International Red Cross founded in Geneva.

25^th   Daily flights between London and Paris, starting the first International air service. (1919)

26^th  In Britain, the BBC transmits the first high-definition television pictures. (1936)

28^th  Martin Luther King (1929 – 1968), American civil rights campaigner, made his famous “I have a dream speech” in 1963.

31^st  Princess Diana was killed in a car accident in France in 1997.

~~~

Don't forget, there'll be a quiz tomorrow!

The Room

She entered the room wondering what it would look like today. Today. How long ago was yesterday? Could 59 years have passed? What had her mother, recently died, have done with her room since she last saw it? The sing of the creaking hinges stirred a memory long lost of her father closing the door with thoughts of the bedtime story still churning in her mind. The same creak of the door closing as she left for school. She expected a pall of dust fitting for the years now gone. Instead, she was shocked. It was as she left it only this morning. Not a speck of dust, the bed still made, Meg, her doll, still seated in the tiny rocking chair, her eyes gazing blankly as if startled at her return.

Her return. Had it really been that long since the cross words between them had caused the permanent, stubborn separation that had lasted now a lifetime? She was sure her mother had erased forever the memory of her own daughter, redecorated the room and moved on, but no, here it was, lovingly kept as it was in that final moment before the split.

Crushing regret washed over her as she realized that she now was an old woman herself. Life had passed her by as she so easily allowed the gulf to widen between herself and her own daughter. The tears burst as, with trembling hands, she reached for the telephone.

~~~

  I can't take credit for this one folks.  It was sent to me by a friend, Hugh Jones.

To Trust Or Not To Trust

My grandmother used to say that everyone had some good in them, if you just look for it. And she believed it. When I feel mistreated by others, I often remember her sweet face and the way she believed in people. She fed all who walked into her house and loaned money to some, knowing she may never get it back, but trusting that the good in them would overcome. Sometimes it did.

In contrast, only three generations down the line is my daughter who avows that there are no good people! She believes that every human being is rotten to the core; that no one can be trusted. Two abusive husbands and ugly divorces helped reinforce this belief. I hope time will erase some of her bitterness.

I hover somewhere between the two. I’m not as trusting as my grandmother was, but - though I harbor some wounds, too - I could never be as cynical as my daughter. In fact, I often trust too much, and at times, my family fears for my safety. I talk to everyone. On the street. In stores. Elevators. Doctors’ offices. Wherever there are people, I’m making conversation.

Once, when my daughter and I were on our way to Michigan to visit her older sister and her family, I got lost somewhere in Ohio. My way of handling a situation like that was always to ask someone. I’d found in the past that most people were nice. And helpful.

But this time, I somehow got off the main highway and headed up a narrow road that appeared to lead into the woods. Except, suddenly, there we were, right in front of an old service station. I stopped the car, ready to call out to some of the young men standing in front, but my daughter yelled at me, “Mother, get out of here!” I said, “Why? I’m gonna ask for directions.” She shouted, “No. Turn this car around NOW and get out of here as fast as you can!”

The urgency in her voice and fear in her eyes made a believer out of me and I did what she said. Lucky for us, my car turned easily and I didn’t have to back up. I swung wide, circled around and headed back the way we’d come. Looking back in the mirror, I could see three or four of the smiling young men watching us go – and I shivered.

It seems my daughter’s instinct was better than mine that time. She somehow knew that this was not a regular service station – that it was too secluded and could have been anything – and she knew it wasn’t the kind of place for two women alone to stop and ask for assistance. Who knows what might have happened to us if she hadn’t been so insistent?

But I wonder how my grandmother would have handled the same situation. Something tells me she would have trusted them to be kind - and just maybe they would have been. I believe people tend to live up to, or down to, what we expect of them.