The Family Blog 3

I’m writing this particular blog after I completed blog 5 because I wasn’t sure how I wanted to frame my innermost thoughts. I wasn’t sure if I could be completely transparent about myself as a child, and as a teenager growing up in a household of seven siblings and my parents. It wasn’t until I conferred with the Holy Spirit, that I was given this space and time of complete transparency about me, my journey as a child, as a teenager, and as a young adult. My parents were married for more than 40 years, and as I contemplate my childhood, I wasn’t sure if I was [loved]. At least, I felt unloved. Perhaps they loved me to the best of their ability given they had six other children to raise and care for.

Terrible Accident

As I recall my mother sharing a heartbreaking time in her life, as a young married woman, with an only child at the time. That child was my eldest sister, Billye. As tradition would have it, young girls and women while on their periods were taught never to use cold water and soap to wash their hair. Now mind you, during the early 30s, 40s, and 50s, historically, Negroes, as they were called at the time, did not have shampoo and conditioners for their hair care. They used whatever was available, and kerosene was often used as a cleanser to wash their hair. In doing so, my mother was in the kitchen washing her hair with kerosene. She was obviously near a hanging light bulb. The heat from the light bulb caught fire and burned her head, scalp, and hair, which resulted in over 40% of her body being burned.

At the time this accident occurred, my dad was away serving in the U.S. Army during WWII and was not aware of the accident. Because of his service during wartime, my mother was allowed to be treated at USC General Hospital in Boyle Heights (East LA). During those early years of segregation, Negroes were [not] allowed to be on the same ward or in the same room as white patients. Moreover, in some cases, the Negro(s) were not permitted in an [all] white hospital. Nonetheless, God was on her side, and she was admitted as a severe burn patient.
USC General Hospital was a training hospital, and some of the top doctors in the world came to teach medical students.

Miracles on Miracles

My mother was placed in a room or unit with a rich Jewish girl whose parents had hired one of the world’s top plastic surgeons to treat their daughter. My mother told me the surgeon was in the room examining the young Jewish girl when he looked at my mother and declared he was going to take her case. As a result, she too was treated by the same well-known top plastic surgeon, one of the world’s best. [Isn’t God Great!].

 She was in the hospital for 12 months and had 13 surgeries during that time. Her hair was completely obliterated. Her fingers had melted together and later had to be separated. In addition, she had certain physical challenges for the rest of her life. Her fingers ultimately were deformed, and she always wore makeup to cover the scars on her face. On many occasions, I watched her treat an open wound on her leg that required gauze and bandages due to excessive inflammation.

The Tribe 

While being treated at the hospital, my mom and my mother’s two brothers, along with their wives, all lived in San Pedro, CA. She would not allow her brothers or their wives to inform my dad of the accident. [I have to wonder if you are away at war and you don’t get a letter from your wife for more than a year, is the marriage working?] Her brothers, Uncle William and Uncle Tony, and their wives, Aunt Fannie and Aunt Codia, supported her spiritually and physically with their prayers, presence, and taking care of my sister Billye. My Aunt Fannie said they would ride the bus to the hospital, which was 25 miles from their homes, to visit my mother often. Then return home only to be phoned at midnight that she wasn’t going to survive and would probably die before morning. Again, they would get back on the bus and return to the hospital.

Love In Action

This happened on several occasions. Nevertheless, they were people of faith, and had a tremendous love for family, and nothing or no one could, or would keep them away from seeing after their loved one. Not to mention they too had obligations to fulfill on their jobs at the shipyard in San Pedro and day work. “Day work,” in that era was referred to, is ‘cleaning white folks’ homes. Aunt Fannie provided that service, as did many mothers, aunts, and sisters, to earn a living.

These relatives of mine were incredible people! Nobody—and I do mean nobody—could cook collard greens and hot water cornbread like Aunt Fannie. She also dipped snuff and usually had a spit can with her at all times. I loved that lady! She was so much fun, and until she died at the age of 103, every time she saw me or my sisters, she would ask us, “You got a man yet?” She loved my Uncle William, and they were married for more than 70 years.

The Will To Live

 I asked my mom what gave her the will to live when she was in the hospital, and she replied, “I had to live to take care of my baby girl, Billye.” A newspaper article was written about her miraculous recovery, but I couldn’t locate the article.My mother was a strong lady and lived 99 years. She died on February 14, 2015. Had she lived to see May 23, 2015, she would have been 100 years old. The doctors told her she would [not] make it and would never be able to use her hands again, but before she left the hospital, she taught herself to crochet.

 Once home, she had to re-learn how to braid hair. Neither of my aunts had children, and I think my mother was concerned one of them may have wanted to keep Billye because of her handicap.
When my father returned home from the war, I remember her telling me he didn’t baby her, and it made her even stronger. She had to do things for herself that she thought [he] should do, but it was good that [he] didn’t because it made her figure out a way to make things happen for herself.

Siblings

In addition to Billye, the family grew to six more children…Sandra Sue, Michael, Kenny, me (Linda), Denise, and Kevin. Our household consisted of four girls and three boys and, of course, my parents. When I was around 4 years old, my parents were fortunate to purchase a home using my dad’s GI Bill benefits. We were raised in southern California in a lovely community in a nice three-bedroom home that included a living room, a dining room, and one bathroom for all nine of us to share. We made it work!

Gone But Not Forgotten

Three of my siblings are now deceased—Billye, Kenny, and Denise. All passed from different types of cancer. While enlisted in the Korean War, my dad had another daughter my age, who we met once as adults. Prior to his death in 1980, we learned he had several affairs. Mom went from being a schoolteacher in her formative years to cleaning houses for white people because of her handicap. She refused to get on the county or accept food stamps. She was a woman of faith, endurance, and perseverance and dedicated her life to her family and church family. We were raised as Christians and attended church weekly. We often had parties with family and friends. There was never any fighting or arguments at these parties. None of my relatives that I can remember ever drank beer or hard liquor. The men played dominoes, and the kids usually watched, kept score, and played outside away from the adults. My mom, aunts, cousins, and friends laughed and sat around talking and having a really good time.

I Think They Thought It Was Love?

Nevertheless, I didn’t feel loved growing up in their household. Often, I was “whipped” by my mother with extension cords, belts, and switches from trees in our backyard. It was a time when children were chastised in this manner. Children were told “do it because I said so,” and if you didn’t, you were labeled disobedient and paid a “heavy price.” Also, I was told I talked too much, which meant I was considered “fast,” and that meant I asked questions children shouldn’t ask. My mom would often tell me, “If I can just get you grown.” My two older brothers were into sports, and my two older sisters were into watching me act up so they could tell my mother and watch me get a “whipping.”

I Can’t Breath: Run Linda Run!

I began running away from home when I was thirteen, and I continued it off and on until I was 18. I was in and out of juvenile hall for those years and did whatever I thought would force someone to love me. I used marijuana, drank, smoked cigarettes, PCP, ingested pills (uppers) and (downers). I tried to commit suicide twice, and was just in turmoil. I thought God knows I’m a good person; I just needed to get away from these people (my family). When I was about to turn 18, I thought to myself, “if I continued behaving like this, I’m going to go to jail—not juvie, but real jail, so I told myself I had better get my act together.”

God Helped Me Change My Mind and I Didn’t Even Know It At The Time! I Am So Grateful!

I made up my mind to change my behavior and decided to return home. I enrolled at Locke High School in the 10th grade at the age of 17. That didn’t last long, but it was an exciting time. The Black Panthers were doing their thing, and college campuses were alive with this so-called “free love,” so we thought. Civil rights and civil unrest were on the horizon. People were burning the American flag and protesting the “Vietnam Conflict.” I became pregnant with my son and dropped out of school. In the early 80s, I accepted the Lord while watching the 700 club, which was hosted by Pat Robinson. After various jobs and boyfriends, I was fortunate to obtain employment in the banking industry, from which I retired as a VP after 35 years. I was married twice and divorced twice, went back to school, and earned my AA degree from West Los Angeles Jr. College and my BS degree from the University of Redlands. [My God is truly an awesome God] HE is a miracle-working God!!
Again, we made it work. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” in South Los Angeles. Proverbs 3:6