Daughter Story




	WRITE 2 THE HEART Stories that are aimed "Write 2 the Heart" August 28, 2003 Cheryl Speir, Editor, moderator@write2theheart.com ----------------------------------------------------------- Welcome to your latest issue of "Write 2 the Heart" You are receiving this newsletter because you requested a subscription or a friend generously forwarded their copy to you. To subscribe send a blank e-mail to subscribe@write2theheart.com. ------------------------------------------------------------ Laura takes us back to a gentler time when teachers were honored, wealth was counted by more than material things, and next to your father was the safest place to be. ------------------------------------------------------------ A Daughter Story By Laura Lowe ------------------------------------------------------------ The day we buried my father was a day that he would have gloried in. Before his illness he would have gone into the woods to get a close up look at the wondrous transformation of winter into spring. As we stood around the grave in the Alabama country churchyard, the warm sunshine was as comforting as the words spoken by the minister. The red earth was heaped beside the open grave and the grass which would frame the grave was still winter brown but the promise of spring was in the still bare branches of nearby trees on the verge of bursting into new life. That was 26 years ago. I almost never think of daddy in the graveyard. Daddy's spirit cannot be contained in a grave. His spirit lives in my brother, his namesake, in our children, grandchildren and in me. Daddy was Yancey Roper. He was born in Butler County, Alabama in 1900 - the last child of 14 born to Isaiah and Emma Roper. Grandfather Isaiah was born to a white father and black mother in 1850. Whether she was a slave or not is not known. What kind of relationship existed between them is not known. What is known is that Isaiah was a landowner. He owned a farm of sizable acreage. Grandfather Isaiah supported his huge family from the farm. Daddy learned to keep books at an early age and from these records, it seems that grandfather was prosperous enough to hire outside help and to even pay his own children for the farm work they did. The most pressing question I have about the land ownership is whether the land was passed on to Isaiah from his father or did he acquire the land by purchase? Many blacks in the so-called "Black Belt" at that time were acquiring property. But all of that was way before my time. Yancey married a slight Brown skinned girl with the unusual name of Lorenzia Mastin in December 1927. They would be married for 17 years before I was born. Momma said I was a miracle child and so was my brother, who was born nearly two years later. Momma often told the story of her strong desire to have children. She said that she prayed to God, pouring out her heart in anguished supplication for children to love and cherish. The birth of children to the middle aged couple was the greatest joy they could ever have hoped for. Grandfather Isaiah and grandmother Emma never saw us. They had died a few years earlier. Daddy told us many stories about them though and we went with daddy to visit and help tend the graves. We also visited the house of Isaiah and Emma. The house and land no longer belonged to the family and daddy was sad about the loss. The once productive farmland was over grown with weeds, bushes, and trees - the house a refuge for mice and other creatures of the wild. The farm my brother and I grew up on was across the dirt road from the family's old farm. Daddy and momma grew cotton, vegetables, pecans, fruit, chickens, and hogs. The work was hard and we were not rich in material things, but in the things that really mattered we were. When I started school, I had to walk over a mile to catch the school bus. I didn't mind because daddy walked with me. I had to make two steps to his one long stride to keep up with him. I rode the school bus to a country school house without running water or indoor plumbing. The only heat we had in winter was a big pot bellied wood burning stove that stood in the middle of the one room schoolhouse. The name of the school was New Hope. It was so named because the schoolhouse was located on the New Hope Church property. When the county's children over ran the schoolhouse, classes were held in the church for grades 5 and 6. But inside this structure, barely maintained by the county for Negro children were books and opportunity. My parents told me about opportunity. It came from learning, education. From there you can travel the world. I wanted to do that. I wanted what education could make possible. I worshipped my teachers because they had this thing called education. In the summer when school was out daddy would take my brother and me fishing in the creek. We had to walk through the swamp to get to our favorite fishing spots. Once as daddy was leading the way, he stopped suddenly and held up his hand for us to do likewise. There in the path directly in front of us was a huge rattlesnake. Brother and I were not afraid. Daddy killed the snake and we proceeded on for our Saturday afternoon fishing. A couple of years later when I was in high school and needed transportation to a school dance, daddy always took me in that old blue truck of his. We lived over 16 miles from town. Daddy would patiently wait in the truck or go visit our cousin Ethel until the dance was over. Once he came inside to watch us dance. He wasn't too pleased to see the slow dances. He, ever the protective father, told me on the ride home that he didn't understand why we danced so close together. The Cha-Cha was ok with him. These memories and others flooded my mind as I watched cemetery workers lower his casket into the ground. Momma died seven years ago, but I still visit the area where I grew up. The old cemetery is still there at the end of a dirt road back in the woods, just as I remember. When I visit the ancestors and walk in the woods, I am not afraid. You see I never walk alone. Laura Lowe llowe @ rivercenter.org You are encouraged to write to the authors to let them know what you think of their story, just remember to remove the space before and after the @ symbol. The space is placed in the address to protect our writers from viruses and email harvesting programs. Have a comment on today's story? Send it to: moderator@write2theheart.com ---------------------------------------------------------------- My name is Laura Lowe. I am a free-lance writer who lives in Columbus, Georgia. I have been writing since I was a little girl. I wrote for Columbus and the Valley Magazine for 4 years. I was most pleased with an article I did on the actress Ester Rolle in 1993. I was on staff at our Knight Ridder Newspaper from 1997- 1998 as an editorial writer. I continue to publish free-lance. I am a poet who is a member of The Rivertown Poet Society and was their featured Poet recently. I work at a our new Performing Arts Center - RiverCenter where I write some press releases and edit the volunteer newsletter. -------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------- Letters From Our Readers -------------------------------------------------------------- A garden created with flowers and bulbs from family and friends is always so much sweeter. Not only do you get to enjoy the blooms now, but in your mind you can enjoy the blooms and time spent long ago. I’m glad Angela got to get her grandmother’s irises. I know she will always treasure them. Somewhere in the heart and mind of her grandmother, I am sure she remembers the flowers and granddaughter who shared her love for them. Lynn --------------------------------------------------------------- Military Prayer Reminder --------------------------------------------------------------- As you read over this list of names, please take that moment to pray for these young people and their families: Chris Speir Tim Speir Alan Thaddeaus Howard Todd Holland Graham William Julie Sagel Jessie Marshal Thompson Jason Eric Hernandez Kristin Danielson Ken Prieur Ryan Please continue to pray for our country, our leaders, and our troops at this time. If you have loved ones in the military, or who are being called to go overseas, send their names (first and last or first only) to be included in our prayer reminder. --------------------------------------------------------------- Cheryl's Corner David surprised me with a box of fried chicken. When he brought it in, he started apologizing. Seems the place where he bought it was out of mild flavored chicken breast, so he had them pack a spicy. "Honey, that’s ok, you didn’t have to do all that, I’m not that picky," I told him. Then I wondered, "Am I picky-picky?" "Well, yea," he told me. I’m thinking oh boy, another thing to work on. When he continues,"Of course you are, you picked me." Good answer dear! God Bless, Cheryl ----------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- © 2003 Write 2 the Heart Nothing may be reproduced or published without the written permission of the individual author or copyright owner. All rights belong to the authors.