Memories … when I was growing up, our family was poor. Dad worked as a janitor for the local school. Mom worked at home. For extra income, she would also make native dolls and jewelry to sell to the Five Tribes Museum in Muskogee. They worked hard providing for us. They set a strong example.
Memories … when I was growing up, our family was poor. Dad worked as a janitor for the local school. Mom worked at home. For extra income, she would also make native dolls and jewelry to sell to the Five Tribes Museum in Muskogee. They worked hard providing for us. They set a strong example.
When I turned 12 years old, I worked during recess for the school cafeteria washing dishes. I made 25 cents per day. I was proud of my wages.
I’m sure schools no longer allow students to help work behind the scenes and now folks would be up-in-arms appalled to think of a child washing dishes at a school. However, I wasn’t forced; I could quit at any time. I’m fairly sure I even went through a mini interview to get the spot. I was happy for the opportunity and so proud to bring in my own money.
In the summer, my brother and I would work in the garden and help pick cotton. My memory says.. it was blistery, sweaty hot work. When you pull cotton, your fingers get pricked and it hurts. We would drag our woven feed sacks filled with cotton to a big truck, where it was loaded up.
A big shout out to people that picked cotton for a living; they earned every single dime. It’s a job I never want to experience again in my lifetime. Tough work and tough people.
My mom would can during the summer. It was my job to help her peel the potatoes, snap beans, clean corn, etc ... when it came time to butcher a couple of hogs, the whole family would come. The men would make a fire, put a big barrel on top of it, it was filled with water and when it came to a boil they would lower the dead hog into the barrel. I don’t remember much else about the process. I just remember two things vividly, home fried cracklins are amazing and being in the kitchen watching the women cut up the meat.
I remember (and still have) a deep love of Christmas. Growing up, we always practiced at school for our Christmas program. It always included a nativity and singing Christmas carols. Santa would arrive and the parents would line up with their children. As we walked out the schoolhouse door to leave, every child received a brown bag filled with hard candy, nuts, an apple and an orange. No one wanted to miss getting their bag of Christmas goodies. Not too long after that, Grandma and Grandpa would bring groceries over as part of their Christmas present to us. Some of the bags would be filled with extra goodies like fresh jams, jelly’s and cans of fruit. Dad would go out and cut a small fir tree and we would decorate it with mom’s homemade ornaments. This might be hard to believe, but I have pictures of the snow in Oklahoma drifting so high, that it comes up past my father’s waist. More than one winter we were snowed in for over a week at a time.
Probably my most favorite memory is how several family members would catch a mess of fish, we would clean them, everyone would come over and we would have a large fish fry. Everyone would bring their guitars or whatever instrument they had; everyone would gather around and it was time for picking music, singing, eating, teasing and laughing. Kids running underfoot. Nothing was as nice as singing your lungs out way into the night, eating fresh fish, homegrown tomatoes, corn on the cob and fresh hush puppies. Man, good times.
Steve used to share his childhood memories with me and some were humdingers. I think it would be a lot of fun to hear other folks stories about what life was like growing up. So … I just thought of something, if you’re interested in sharing yours, I would love to read it and listen. Feel free to drop me a line and I hope the rest of your week goes well and all you could hope it to be.
