Florida II

Okay, I've been informed that some of my chronology is a bit off.  We started at Meme's, went to the nice house next to the kids with the great mom and the ass hole dad, then the nothing but mangos and liverwurst house (and A&W on Tuesdays), then we "jitterbugged" on Dad, moving back in with Meme and her not very kind, now husband Ken, Dad found us, won us back with promises of lovelieness and we moved into Banyon Gardens (the apartment complex with Jeannie Manini).  Whew--chronology fixed--I hope.

Sooo...the nice house where I was spared the black cane?  A flashback memory came to me here.  This is where Dad started the line-us-up-for-interrogations-of-things-that-never-really-happened (this wasn't a fun game like Gestapo, this was a real crime being committed, if only to Dad).  The first line-up was over a gas torch being left on.  "Who was playing with the blow torch?"  Really Dad?  Because that's what kids love to do--play with torches, then leave the gas going, knowing their insane father will find it and beat them for it.  He lined us up then asked us again, one by one, "Were you playing with the torch?"  One by one we would, as strongly as possible, tell him, "No."  After the 'no' there would be a hard slap across our faces, one by one.  Finally, Gary stepped forward and said he did it.  He didn't, of course.  He just knew that this would go on all day if someone didn't take the hit (no pun intended).  And, as he says, it wasn't easy watching his 6 year old sister being slapped by a hand whose pain he knew all too well.  All I remember after his admission of guilt, and every one thereafter (it was always either he or Dave who would step forward and take the punishment for the imaginary crimes), was hearing Dad say, "you stood there and let me slap your little sister?" followed by more slaps which turned into punches, kicks, or, more likely, the black cane against their 10 and 11 year old bodies.  Yes, Jill and I had very much in common--we both had a house full of nice people led by an insane sadist.

Jill had something I envied terribly, though.  She had the kindest, most interesting woman I had ever met working in her house every day.  Hattie was her maid.  She was an older black woman (think Mammy from Gone With The Wind only a bit smaller, who interestingly was played by Hattie McDaniel).  She spoke in the slow southern drawl--I could listen to her all day long.  She never got flustered or upset. She always remained calm and slow paced but incredibly efficient.  I still see her sitting in her maid's uniform (yes the kind they make Halloween costumes into) with her bare feet dangling over the side of the pier (our street was on the water), catching fish with her simple cane pole (no reel--just a pole and some string).  She'd let me sit next to her.  She didn't talk much but would answer, with the greatest of patience, all of my incessant questions.  "How do you catch so many? What do you use for bait?  How will you get them home?  Do you have children?  How far away do you live?"  She caught the fish to bring to her own home and eat.  She always did this before she was ready to leave for the day.  I used to imagine her home and wished I could go there with her.  I imagined it calm and quiet, with wonderful aromas of fish cooking.  No insane masochist there because she just wouldn't have it!  I admired that woman more than she could have known. 

As I said before, in Florida at this time, segregation was still alive and well and blacks and whites would never live in the same neighborhood--this was new to me.  Our street in New York was an even mix of black and white and one of my favorite neighbors to visit was a huge (to me anyway) black man the kids all called "Big Willy."  He and his wife had no children and would invite in any child that came knocking on their door.  Once inside they always had smiles, laughter, good food, and affection to give.  At Christmastime he got all the children filled stockings--I cherished mine.  I spent an awful lot of time at Big Willy's house and regretted not knowing his full name (or even real name) after we moved because I couldn't even write him a letter.  I knew I would never see him again and he meant so very much to me.  But, like Hattie, he helped me form my early opinions on race and racism.  Racism is one thing I will always stand out very strongly against.  I would not be who I am without the kindness of all the races of people who helped to shape me, especially Big Willy and Hattie.  They are definitely strong currents in my brook pushing me past those stinkin' rocks.

Jen ;-)