Getting to know me... Part 1 (Warning: Life Details Ahead)

I was born in Wellington, Texas in 1956, the youngest of five. One brother (the oldest) and three sisters. My brother is 15 years older and my nearest (in age) sister is seven years older.

We were poor. West Texas is cotton country. My father farmed family land and took a small part of the profits. (When there were profits.) Most of the year, we lived on credit. One of my earliest memories is of my maternal grandmother picking cotton by hand, with me sitting on the long cotton sack, riding it as she slowly moved along the cotton row.

My father. A mostly quiet man. The enduring image I have is him sitting in his worn, green fabric rocker, chain smoking and staring into space. He would sit there for hours. Saying nothing, just staring. I have no earthly idea what went on inside his head. Cateract surgery had left him dependent on coke-bottle glasses. He wore the same pair for as long as I can remember. His grizzled hair was always buzz-cut short. He collected and sometimes repaired guns and clocks. A life-long Republican, he liked baseball, loved western stories and anything related to the old west, but didn't care much for John Wayne (He considered him inferior to Alan Ladd...I have to agree). I know practically nothing of his early years. The only picture I have (of those years) shows him as a weak-eyed child. Overall he was not so much cold as simply disinterested, as if he had already done what he wanted to do or had given up ever doing it. There's a moderate amout of resentment in me about things he did or didn't do. In many ways, he was an excellent bad example.

My mother. Not quiet. Always asking , always looking, wondering if I was ok. Pictures of her as a young woman show a quiet, serene beauty, with soft eyes and a gentle, caring smile. She had bothersome false teeth. There's no one image of her that stands out. She was always doing something, always busy. She had no hobbies other than reading and watching soaps. She had written several unfinished but good short stories. Within her power to do so, she gave me every material thing I desired. Perhaps it was an effort on her part to make up for an existence of which she was somehow ashamed. Don't know for sure. She often spoke of leaving or divorcing my father. She never did. Our relationship was reversed in some ways. It was a given that she would give me or allow me to do anything I wanted. She seemed to spend most of her time appeasing everyone.

My childhood was hardly traumatic. We were poor but always had food and clothing. Our house was a dump, but that was more from neglect than anything else. Neither parent had little interest or motivation in mainting a clean home. I never worried about bringing home bad grades, staying out too late, or telling them where I was going. My father didn't seem to care and my mother didn't want to make waves.

Wellington was a very small town. Nothing to do and all the time to do it. I can't remember a time when I didn't want to leave. My aunt Minette lived in Dallas...the big city. That's where I wanted to live. For whatever reason, I was always, somehow on my way to Dallas.