My earliest recollection was of running through a cornfield. The cornfield was a few feet from my house. The freshly plowed dirt felt good to my toes. I had on a dress and wore pigtails in my hair. My mother dressed me in whatever she could find. I was three years of age. Since there were two girls before me, she dressed me in their old hand-me-down dresses. I had no shoes on my feet. It was soon after World War II and not too long after the Depression days. Things had been scarce during these periods. My parents were accustomed to scarcity. They got along pretty well during the War and the Depression because they had their own farm. My parents were at the lowest level of poverty. If they hadn’t had the farm it would have been difficult for them to feed us.

My Situation

Childhood Isolation. We were isolated at the end of this three-mile trail. It was a narrow trail through the woods, and some of the ditches were as wide as a house. In some places tree limbs hung over the trail. At the wrong time you might face overflowing streams. Even relatives rarely came by to visit. My father got drunk, and fell in one of the ditches and dislocated his shoulder. He had to wait until the next day for some men from the community to come and help him to get home. I guess he forgot our situation by drinking himself to death.
We remained isolated until the county built a graded-dirt road when I started the first grade. Even then it was rare that relatives or anyone else visited. My sisters and brothers also rarely visited. I believe that my isolation helped to cause me to have a speech impediment. It could have been genetic or due to some physical problem. But I feel it was mainly due to my isolation.

Other Conditions. I was left to my own devices. My parents as well as my sisters and brothers rarely talked to me, and if someone did happen by they would encourage me to not be present. If I was present they would talk for me. I don’t remember my parents trying to teach me anything. They had a saying, “Let the hair go with the hide.” This meant just letting things be and do what they will. I don’t remember my mother ever bathing me, or teaching me how to bathe myself, or to brush my teeth. I was in high school before I started brushing my teeth. I don’t remember it well, but when I started school my hygiene had to be deplorable. I ran the hills like a wild animal, and felt like just another animal on the farm.
I don’t remember some things about my childhood, especially the younger years. I do recall before I started school, once a cousin came by from Fort Worth. This was before the dirt road was constructed. I was so ragged and tattered that my mother told me to go out in the forest and hide.
“Run hide, someone’s coming!”
“Where can I go?”
“Just hide in the woods.”
“I hesitated.”
“Hurry up.”
I didn’t go far enough into the forest, and the relative came out and saw me hiding. She came out and hugged me. When the cousin left my mother was furious.
“I thought I told you to hide,” my mother said.
“I did.”
“Well you didn’t go far enough.”
My mother whipped me for not finding a secure enough place to hide. My mother seemed ashamed of the way I looked, but was not willing to provide better for me.

My Self-Care. It’s amazing that no one ever showed me how to wash or clean myself. This should have been especially crucial since we had no indoor plumbing. Not even how to take a simple rag with water and soap and clean myself. My parents didn’t buy mouthwash, and never bought deodorant or cologne for us. I barely had a comb and brush for my hair. I was simply allowed to run wild with the other animals on the farm.
I remember shortly before I started to school I thought after you cleaned yourself you put the paper in the trash can rather than flush it down the toilet. We didn’t use toilet paper in the country, but simply used whatever would do the job. I was with a friend on vacation on the Gulf Coast with my father. I used the bathroom and put the paper in the trash can after I cleaned myself. No one had ever told me any different. Of course, I had never been any place where there was a bathroom.
“Put the paper in the toilet and flush it,” my friend said.
He was older and my father had enlisted him to teach me the ropes. At six-years old I was fresh from the country and cocksure about everything, so I said, “It goes in the trash can.”
“If you don’t believe me ask your dad when he gets home,” my friend said.
“I will ask him when he gets home.”
When my dad came home my friend was standing nearby.
“Ask him about the tissue paper,” my friend said, wanting me to see how stupid my behavior was.
“Dad, when you use the bathroom don’t you put the paper in the trash can, rather than flush it down the toilet?” still sure of myself.
It made some kind of crazy sense to me that it should be placed in the trash can. I was so sure it would clog up the toilet.
“No. I should have told you, but I thought you knew. You flush it down the toilet. Don’t make a mess by placing it in the trash can,” sounding disappointed in me.