Goodness knows memory is a funny thing. For the life of me I cannot tell you why I remember this address, but I do.Another year and yet another move, just 6 blocks away from our previous address.
It was a raised double shotgun house, similar to the one pictured above. We lived on one side and the landlord lived on the other. I spent most of the 2nd and 3rd grade here. My room was the very last room in the back of the house. Leading off from that back room was a very narrow, dark stairwell which brought you to the basement and backyard area. I remember hating to go down those stairs because it was so dark. Even in the daytime it was dark. I guess I've hated the dark all my life. Which is strange considering the fact that I have worked the night shift for almost thirty years.I guess some psychologist could have fun analyzing that!
We managed to stay in this location for a couple of years.Our home life became increasingly unstable. Daddy seemed to be gone most of the time working on the oil rigs. He made a good living, but we never seemed to have any money. Mama had some expensive hobbies when daddy was gone, bar rooms, poker games, etc. Due to her constant restless and reckless spirit, she was driven to entertain a few boyfriends along the way as well. Even at that early age I knew Mama was doing wrong and I felt helpless to make her change.
It was here that my youngest brother was born.
I don't know about how others feel, but writing about your own history is a very difficult process. I never dreamed it would be this difficult. I knew I was choosing a very public way to do so and I don't regret the decision. It has actually been therapeutic, but painful nonetheless.
Blessings of peace and all that is good,