Finding...A Man of God. ~2~

When I was in and out of churches it doesn't take much to figure out that I was living in a worldly place. I was struggling to be a proper mother to my two children and still living a wild life in some ways. I was making sure my children knew about God as best I could. I taught them to say prayers, especially at bedtime just like my Mother did for me. My mother used to read me Bible stories so I knew all the basics. I thought I knew enough about God. Oh, how foolish we can be!~

While trying to maintain the home life for the sake of my children, I was drinking and prowling when they were away for the week-end or the night. At one point I was working three jobs just to make ends meet. I did not get child support and I did not qualify for any kind of assistance. I worked day care during the week, did babysitting as needed nights and week-ends, cleaned house for a couple of ladies, and waitressed three nights a week at a local club. And there, I found a way to self-medicate. Alcohol is one the devil's greatest and most subtle tools of trade. It anesthetizes. And heaven knows that considering the emotional state I was in, I need something to dull the emotional pain.

From a childhood of confused roots I was also sexually abused by my Dad. Born to an Indian girl during the early 50's, and abandoned by good ole Dad while she was pregnant, I was a prime candidate for "looney ala halfbreed" from the start. She was a very wild and misguided young girl who abused her firstborn, lost her second child to the father, and gave birth to me in the middle of it all. In all fairness to Dad, she was too wild to be settled with him or anyone else. In just a few years she was forced by courts to turn me over to the custody of Dad. He had married in the meantime to a very good citified christian lady. I am sure she took one look at me and knew I was in need of proper civilization efforts. lol

I was used to using an outhouse, drinking water from a hand drawn well, and eating my veggies while sitting in the dirt of the garden. I spent a lot of time with my Indian grandpa at the time, and one of my earlies favorite memories is sitting there, eating cucumbers while he hoed his garden. I loved being at his house as did all the other children in the family. When our mother married an older man and became pregnant, we lived in our own little shotgun shack some miles away from dear Grandpa. Some of my earliest memories include watching my young drunken mother abuse my sister Jeannie. She wound hit, throw shoes, and we would hide behind the wood burning stove. I remember going to school with Jeannie and walking home from school cold and hungry. This is the mid 1950's please remember.

Grandpa was an Indian preacher so he was gone sometimes for days on end. He traveled to meetings all over the country. He would bring home a treat called sweetmeat and it was so delicious. I remember my older cousins hunting squirrel for food to eat in winter. I remember the smell of wood fire smoke as it haunts my memories of a wonderful Grandpa who simply could not care for all of us children on a long term basis. But I remember him with a loving heart. To this day one of my favorite foods in just a plain old biscuit. :) This dear sweet Man of God never learned to read, never went to church, but he knew to worship his Creator. He did it the Indian way.

When my Dad got custody I had to learn all things related to a White world. I do not mean to say that hatefully. The two worlds were as different as night and day. When Mom first tried to feed me spaghetti I thought she was trying to feed me bloody worms. My first restaurant experience she offered me a burger and french fries. I did not want any of that food. When the fries arrived I was so upset because I wanted some fried potatoes too. Five years old is too young to get specific with questioning in some areas. lol

My Dad's dad, Grandpa S., was very religious, as was my stepmother. While they were a religious family the demands on my simple culture shocked mind were just too much. Over time I did adapt to electric lights, running water, proper english, the food, and overall lifestyle changes, other things took more time. Emotionally I was still a little Indian girl missing her family so much.

The only Man of God in my life was this Grandpa S. and he was a southern transplant who really resented his oldest sons, bad seed, half-breed, born out of wedlock child. Were it not for my stepmother and her Christian grace, my faith would never have rooted in early childhood. I did grow up to be so confused by it all. She got sick around three years later and started spending lots of time in the hospital and my Dad took full advantage of the opportunity to start doing a lifetime of damage.

to be continued...