I’m here to share myself on the web. To communicate with my
family, friends and hopefully readers. I have stories from my life and stories from
my imagination. I believe I have some
good stories to tell. Bear with me while I remember and conjure them.
Long a go in a state not so far away, I went to a vacation bible school. My memories of this are incomplete but some things stand out. My mom drove me there. It was a small Baptist church that sat on west main street. I must have been around 6 at the time. They wanted someone to sing a song and I volunteered. I was brought up front and asked “what song do you want to sing?”
I clearly remember I told them. “Nobody loves me, boohoo.”
The pastor hesitated a moment and helped me decide that maybe we should sing “Yes, Jesus loves me” instead. So ended my music career.
A cousin has asked me to share memories of my Grandparents Bare. I thought I’d share a few here.
My memories of Grandma Bare are mostly vague. I do recall sitting at the kitchen table with her, Grandpa Bare, My Mom, Dad and sister Anita. The image is clear but the conversation that I remember is from my Mon’s memories more than mine. Anita and I were in trouble. I’m going to claim that she had been aggravating me and I reacted. That has to be true because Grandma Bare came to my defense when Dad threatened to spank me. She told him “You won’t spank him he didn’t do anything.” Dad responded that I was his son and he would if he decided it needed to be done.
Mom remembered this as the first time Dad ever stood up to
his mother. She was glad he finally did. Though I didn’t get a spanking that
time. Anita probably remembers this differently. I choose to remember Grandma
Bare being right.
Thinking about Grandma bare brought a memory of a story Dad
told about her. You’ve probably already heard it.
After the family had moved to Oklahoma Grandma Bare was one
of the few women in the area that baked light bread (Yeast bread). She would do
all the bread baking once a week. I don’t remember how many loaves of bread she
would bake, but it was enough to feed the family for a week.
One baking day a neighbor girl was visiting. She had never
seen bread like Grandma was baking. He mother always baked soda bread or briskets
(which used baking powder). As she was leaving Grandma noticed she was walking
funny. After stopping her she discovered the girl had taken every fresh loaf of
bread. After retrieving the bread, Grandma’s kind heart took over. She ended up
sending the thief home with a fresh loaf.
My memories about of my Grandpa Bare are vague and assisted by old home movies (That I seem to have misplaced).
I remember once or possibly twenty times going to the old
home place to visit. Once Dad was taking some movies with his old 8mm. There I
am running up and down the little hill in front of the house. At least once
Grandma Bare tries to hold me and Anita to pose for the picture. Vaguely it
seems that Grandpa Bare told us to hold still all the while Dad tried to
explain that he was taking moving pictures. In that old movie you can see Grandpa
Bare already walking in the shuffling steps I remember from the short time he lived
with us. I look to be about 6 years old (1958?) in that old movie. I paused
here to look up Grandpa Bare’s birth date And behold I have placed my copy of
the family history in some secure place I can’t find.
I remember the day that the grandparents Bare came for a
meal. Anita and I did something. (I deny being the instigator, though I
probably was). But when Dad threatened to spank me Grandma Bare interceded. “You
won’t spank him; he didn’t do anything.” Dad responded that I was his child and
he would give me a spanking if he decided to. I don’t recall a spanking or the argument
going further. My mom years later related that this was the first time my dad
had stood up to his mother. I don’t remember Grandpa Bare saying anything.
Though he might have.
The last year or so of his life he lived with us. Anita has already
told of her sitting on his lap eating ice cream. I remember her on his lap with
the Sunday comics, I think she was reading them to him.
The day he had one of his spells, they called it hardening of
the arteries, I think they were what we would call mini strokes. He had walked
out of the house arguing with dad about the need to go unhitch the horses. The
boys had left them all hitched up. After a brief argument he asked dad where was
the barn? Dad pointed out an old shed across the pasture north of our house
about half a block away. Grandpa Bare then told him “That quite a ways, I think
the boys can take care of those horses.”
Those times were rare. Most of the time he shuffled around
the house or quietly sat. I remember mom being worried about him carrying my baby
sister Patti around. Afraid he might stumble and fall. Yet she wouldn’t deny
him the pleasure.
One day shortly after Patti was born, she had been talking
to someone at the door, holding patti in her arms. When she came in and shut
the door, he was concerned at first. He thought someone had left the baby
During meals he would butter his bread. Seemed he couldn’t
eat with out some bread. And when we had peas, he would eat them with his
I wrote this some time ago. Thought I would share this here
I was around 10 the first time I saw an African-American. Two dark men in work clothes had backed a truck full of hay up to my Cub Scout den mother’s barn. The other guys and I were playing about 30 feet away from them. They had a boy about our age with them. He was a little bigger than we were. The other boys cut off running when they saw they had seen us. But to me the boy looked like a chance to make a new friend. I don’t remember if we said anything as we approached each other, I think I said “hi”. The next thing I knew I was on the ground with him on top of me. He wasn’t hurting me but he sure had me trapped. I heard the men yell “what are you doing?” I was wondering the same thing. He got up off me and ran to the men and started helping them unload the hay into the barn. I figured that’s why he had bigger muscles than me.
Several years later I learned why I didn’t see any other African-Americans around, when a guy in junior High told me “No n—-r ever spent the night in Pryor and none ever would. They didn’t dare to”. I kind of knew what that word meant but the only time I heard that word at home was when my mother was talking about her favorite nut (What we call a Brazil nut now). A phrase she dropped sometime before I left for college.
Around 1963, we began attending a church in Tulsa. There I developed a friendship with a boy a little younger than me named Richard. I really enjoyed playing with him. So much so I wanted him to spend the night some weekend like some of my other church friends had. I knew better that to spring this on my folks in front of him and his mother so I broached the subject one Friday night. They got the strangest look on their faces. Looked at each other then one of them said we can’t. “Why?” I wanted to know. “We don’t want a cross burnt in our front yard” was their reply. That mystified me. The very idea that someone would do something so strange because I had a friend spend the night. But the fear in my parents’ eyes stopped me pursuing that train of thought.
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So I got control of the twitter account using my email. The twitter agents were helpful. It was more of waiting, than anything else. So now I need to do more writing.
I’m all atwitter tonight because of twitter. On the advice of my Niece, Amy, I decided to open a twitter account. Much to my surprise I discovered that there was already and account open under my preferred email address. Not remembering the password I reset it. Behold a suspended account and a name user name I did not recognize.
Long story short. Someone in 2015 opened a twitter account using my email address. It might be wise to check if yours’s is being used.
So I finally finished the re-write. Major struggle that it was. I cut about 10% from the book. Took out at lease on story line. And now I’m ready to start submitting again.