Because of Mom’s surgery she has to take very powerful
anti-seizure medications. The Doctors
advised her to never have another child or it would have complications because
of the medicine. So she never did. I was raised an only child, although I no
longer define myself as such, having found my half siblings. I know what you are thinking. That being an only child means I was raised
spoiled. No not really. That only works if your parents have money to
spoil you. I grew up living as we say,
“pretty close to the bone.” Meaning I
watched my mother cry as she tried to figure out what bills to pay that
month. She “robbed Peter, to pay
Paul.” I will give them credit, I never
went hungry and I never remember a time when the water or electric got cut off,
but I always worried about all of the above happening. As the old Alabama song says, “we were so
poor, but we couldn’t tell.”
There were basically three groups of people in my
school. The jocks and cheerleaders all
seemed to be a bit better off then the rest and acted as such. They tended to dress a little better and
more fashionable then everybody else. Had
you taken these same kids and put them in the Caddo school system, they would
have been seen as poor. So they were
just well off by our standards. The
other group was those of us who were dirt poor.
Most of this group were sexually active early on, some of their own
choosing, and some not. This group did
not follow fashion and dressed in whatever was available to them.
The third group, I am sad to say were Black. When I went to school there was no
mixing. We were self segregated. There were no mixed relationships. Yes you could be a Black football player and
/ or track star, but you did not sit with the white football players and
cheerleaders. It’s not you were not
welcome, it was just not done.
I am not trying to sound racist here. I am simply telling you the way in which I
experienced my world growing up, call it White Guilt or whatever you want, but
I do not mean to offend anyone. Please
understand this is how I was raised, and I have worked very hard to grow beyond
that, as many in my generation have.
In the town I grew up in there was the white section of town
and the Black section of town, over the railroad tracks. This area of town was known as the
quarters. White kids, especially girls,
knew not to go down there. If you did,
we were told there would be trouble to follow.
You damn sure didn’t go down there by yourself. It was my understanding you went down there
for drugs, but little else. It was
considered too violent. I was told it
was a good place to get shot. I don’t
know. I did as I was told and other then
being lost down there, I have never been in that section of my hometown. Honestly I am still a bit afraid to go. Maybe it is time I conquered that fear and
changed my opinions.
I referred to myself as a floater. I moved between both the poor kids and the
jocks. I was known to “hold court,” as I
called it, during lunch with all types of people. I would today consider myself a nerd, even
though that designation did not exist in my school. Neither did Prep or Goth.
You also have to consider that Logansport was a very closed
minded, evangelical town. It is still
run by the church today. You were Black
or you were white. If you were mixed,
and I knew few of these people, you were considered Black. I knew of a few white women who married or
had relationships with Black men. They
went on to live in the Black community.
Often the rumors about these women were they were so fat or so ugly that
no white man wanted them. It was never
seen as being a choice. I never heard of a white man with a Black woman in my
community. There were no Creoles, Asians, Middle Eastern people and very few
Mexicans sent their kids to school. There
were very few Latinos in Logansport at the time, and fewer of Native American
blood. Our town seemed to be about 50 /
50 Black and white.
In Logansport you could be any religion you wanted. You could be Baptist, Methodist,
Presbyterian, A.M.E, C.M.E., Assembly of God, Pentecostal, hell you could even
be Jehovah Witness if you wanted to.
Catholics were tolerated, but called “Mary worshipers.” As long as you were some kind of Christian it
was okay. Oma was a Lutheran, but that
was not good enough for the town’s people.
Nope she had to be of a proper faith and I think became a Baptist
because of the pressure of those around her.
I mean this is the kind of town that played, “Just as I am,” until
somebody got up to be saved, even if it was just to make the damn music
stop.
Everyone was Christian in my town that I knew of. Oh I knew
of other cultures, that had other religions, in other lands, but that was not
in the United States. As far as I knew,
everyone in America was Christian and if not should be. My Grandpa had been an avowed atheist prior
to marrying Barbara. Mr. Gingles, my 8th grade Earth
Science teacher was an Agnostic. I don’t
consider Agnosticism to be a religion, as it does not have traditions and
customs. A belief system, or a
non-belief system if you will, but not a religion per say. Y’all please correct me if I am wrong.
I meet my first real non-Christian, when a group came to
town that were walking and protesting the 500th anniversary of
Columbus coming to the Americas. They
were trying to bring environmental awareness as well as awareness of what was
going on with indigenous cultures in the Americas. Among them were two Buddhist monks, in their
beautiful orange robes. First United
Methodist Church was opened to feed the group and give them a place to stay
that night. I remember sitting and
talking to all of them, but the monks in particular. I was fascinated with them. One of them gave me 2 pieces of origami that
he had made, a flower and a crane. I
still have the picture of them that I took.
I wonder where they are now?
I am also sad to say that there were no “out” gay persons in
my school. I know of at least 4 men I
went to school with who later came out.
There were men who acted effeminate in school, but I never saw an open
gay relationship in my school, or in my community for that matter, growing
up. If you were gay you kept it to
yourself, and never went out with your partner, much less held hands and kissed
in public. Logansport was the kind of
town where gays were not welcomed and most kept it quiet, or I am sorry to say
moved. Logansport was the kind of place
you survived.
Everyone dated.
Everyone dated everyone else.
Some people were just passed around.
The boys tormented me in school, they didn’t want to date me. Other then Sean, who I’ve already talked
about, Melvin and Brett, who I will talk about later, I had very few boyfriends. The longest relationship I had in school I
think was Melvin, and that was an arranged relationship and it lasted 6
weeks.
I was sitting in one of my girlfriends bedrooms one day with
the rest of my friends and I mentioned that I thought a boy was cute. They all looked at me funny and laughed. I didn’t get the joke. They told me they had
all believed I was a lesbian. I didn’t
even know what that was. Once they
explained to me what the word meant I said, “No I like boys. I just don’t like any of the ones here!”
I had trouble making friends. I often felt like an outsider in my school. I
was often very lonely. I think the other
kids felt that and I was called weird or crazy to my face on a daily
basis. Logansport was a very small town
and everyone was intermarried. You went
to school with your 1st, 2nd, and sometimes up to 5th
cousins. You were often judged by
teachers and administration by who you were, and who you were related to. Some of our teachers not only taught our
younger siblings and cousins, but our parents as well. One of our favorite games was to look in our
school books for the names of people we knew.
You won if you found your parents.
I stayed as close to my family, as I could. When Daddy married Mom he bought her a new trailer,
but it stayed next to Oma’s house. With my new dad and new house, came new
family. Everyone in my new family loved
me and immediately accepted me as their own.
Well all of course Novelle. The
first time I met my new grandfather, Pappy, he pulled up the chair closest to
him and told me to sit. That became my
seat, and if anyone dared sit in it I would make them move. I felt Pappy had given me that seat and no
one could take it from me. I had been
offered a place at the table and that was powerful to me.
I became very close to my new cousin Drew who was a year
older than me. He was warm, funny, and
most of all welcoming. I will never
forget the first day I met him. I gave
me this little statue of a white poodle. I still have it. I always felt it was a welcome to the family
gift. I was even offered to be part
owner in the paint horse, named Shasta, that all the cousins would ride.
Now all of Daddy’s family was from Keatchie, they had been
for more than a 100 years. Keatchie is a
little town about 15 miles north of Logansport.
All the kids from Keatchie went to Logansport School. Keatchie quickly became my adopted home
town. You ask me today where I am from I
will tell you, “I’m from Logansport, but all my people are from Keatchie.” I remember making quite a few trips in the
bed of the pickup truck from Logansport to Keatchie. You learned real fast not to keep your mouth
open ‘cause you would be catching bugs.
We lived in Logansport and during the weekends we went to
Keatchie, either on Saturday or Sunday, depending if we were going to church or
not. Keatchie has three churches, a Southern Baptist, a United Methodist, and
Presbyterian. The population of the town
was meant to support all three churches.
The first Sunday you were Methodist, the second Sunday you were Baptist,
and the third Sunday you were Presbyterian, the fourth Sunday you were Baptist
again, and if there was a fifth Sunday you were Methodist again. When I grew up there was even still a
community bible school that met prior to church. This is what is called a rotation cycle. It goes back to the days when you had the old
circuit riding preachers, who traveled on horseback. They would have several churches under their
care and they would travel from church to church. This is also why Louisiana has Parishes
instead of counties. A Parish was all
the Catholic churches under one Father.
It was intended to be the distance he could ride on horseback in one
week. Until recently, in the vows a
United Methodist Pastor took to become ordained, he or she was asked if they
had a good horse. So I grew up very
connected with the old ways.
On First Sunday Novelle cooked a huge meal and the whole
family would come to eat after church, aunts, uncles, and cousins. After Mom and I washed the dishes, then we
went to Drew’s to swim in his pool. He
was a little better off than me, so he had a pool, a satellite, and an Atari. I
never had a video game system. We could
not afford one. I think that is why I am
still not a gamer today, it was not part of my early life, and I never could
figure out all the buttons.
I was, until I started coming down with Bronchitis, the kid
who was forever outside. I’ve told you I
used to be a runner. Mom would kick me
out of the house and say, “Go Play Outside!”
and I would. I loved to make mud
pies. I remember Mom yelling at me to
come in the house to take off my church clothes, so I didn’t get them
muddy. Sometimes she got to me in time,
and sometimes she didn’t. She used to
bribe me with ICEE’S to be good in church.
I remember standing under our big oak tree, and pretending to be a
witch. In my cauldron, a #10 wash tub, I
would stir up rocks, chains and bottle caps, and make my little incantations
and curse who ever had been mean to me that week. Little did I know I would one day grow up to
be a witch.
Ilsa
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