After I wrote my book, The Tangled Web: A little girl’s struggle to overcome racism and poverty, I was excited to tell my family and friends. I surprised by the reaction of one of my long term good friends. She and I have known each other for over 30 years. We met as young adults and even though we live in different states, we are still friends. We worked together, served in the military together, and went on trips together with our children. We did everything that good friends do. She said, “I never knew you lived in poverty. I always thought you came from a family of wealth.” I was shocked by her response but it affirmed what my parents taught my siblings and me from an early age. I carried their teachings with me throughout life.
I lived in poverty but poverty did not live in me! My parents taught me not to have a poverty mentality. In spite of economic circumstances, political and racial division, and growing up in the segregated South, I had something to look forward to. The mind has to reflect whatever thought is caste into it. It was hard but I learned not to let my emotions run rampant, preventing my mind from processing what it needed to process. At a young age, I learned to develop short and long term goals to get me out of poverty and remain out of poverty. There are many other people who escaped the clutches of poverty. The common denominator is we all wanted to, believed we could, and took action. For me, it was a long process but I kept seizing opportunities. My siblings did the same and we all survived a life in poverty.
The civil rights workers fought tirelessly for justice and equality. Laws changed on paper but not in the hearts of some people. Systemic racism took the place of overt racism. Regardless, we had a duty to honor these brave civil rights warriors and a personal responsibility to continue to rise up. We had to leave excuses behind, take action and do our part. My parents taught my siblings and me that we are descendants of survivors and we have the power to survive and thrive.
I wrote my blog to help empower others to escape the powerful grip of poverty. I shared my personal story of living in poverty during my childhood and the pathways I learned to get out. There are many reasons why people live in poverty. My parents taught my siblings and me that we must not have a closed mind. In spite of our circumstances, we must not lock ourselves in a mental prison. In my blog posts and book, I shared that my parents taught me about the power of belief. They explained to me that belief is something our own minds don’t doubt.
We have the power within us to find the keys to unlocking the doors of poverty. Life can be a painful journey if we allow it. Along my journey, I met people who were racists, people with strong differing political opinions, people who were socio -economic snobs, and people who wanted to keep others in poverty. My journey was no different from others. I learned to choose my battles and fight for my rights. I was discriminated against during my professional career. Because of anti-discrimination laws in places of employment, I chose to fight. The people we surround ourselves with will either elevate or demote us. I chose to hold on tight to my true friends. I chose my personal relationships and jobs wisely. I couldn’t avoid the racists or socio-economic snobs but I didn’t have to give them power. I was taught to never let my identity to be shaped by others.
We called our parents MaDear and Dad. Dad was a veteran of WWII. After his discharge, he brought home his footlocker that held all his valuable papers. He was employed for a brief period of time for the Army and Air Force Depots. He was laid off from this job because of budget cuts; however, his white co-workers were able to keep their jobs. Later, he took the Civil Service Examination and made a numerical score of 97. He was given 5 points for veteran preference credit. He kept this notice of rating folded neatly in his treasured footlocker. In spite of this near perfect score, he was not able to obtain meaningful employment. He never appeared bitter or defeated. He grew up in the North and was raising his family in the South. He was a man of faith and never adapted to Southern ways. In spite of not graduating from high school, he was self-taught. He was an avid reader and devoted to learning. He taught my siblings and me to love learning. He taught us how to navigate successfully through life.
My Christian parents had standards for their home and were not afraid to protect their family. We moved to a military community of caring people who helped and supported others in the community. We went to church, got baptized, and even though poor, we volunteered in various capacities. We became close friends with a family in the community. This family and my family became life-long friends. Being poor didn’t mean we didn’t enjoy life. We participated in community, school and church activities, and had many other friends in the community.
We lived in dilapidated shacks without electricity or indoor plumbing. After moving to this community, it felt like we lived in a home. We had both parents who taught us, supported us and each other. We didn’t have much but we had plenty. We had many meaningful conversations around a pot belly stove that was located in the center of our shack. We were taught to respect ourselves and be respectful to others. We learned to live with racism but not compromise our values or aspirations. We were taught the importance of voting at an early age. We never felt powerless.
MaDear scoured the worn and rotten wooden plank floors with lye soap. My sister brought colorful scraps of material from school to decorate our sparsely furnished dwelling. We pumped water from a neighbors pump and carried the heavy buckets home with wobbly arms. We used some for drinking water and cooking. We had to make many trips to the pump to get enough water to pour into a number 10 tub to bathe. During the day, we used outhouses to relieve ourselves and slop jars at night. MaDear’s hands lovingly prepared our scarce meals, sometimes consisting only of poke sallet that was grown in the yard or nearby woods. For three days, we survived off corn in the nearby field that was meant for mules. We prayed before eating each meal. Over time, the meals became bountiful. We picked cotton during the summer and chopped cotton in the fall. My siblings and I rode an old yellow school bus 32 miles round trip to the segregated school. We studied our lessons by the light of a coal oil lamp. We were expected to go to school, respect our teachers and others, and learn.
Years after being laid off, Dad obtained his first meaningful job at the nearby Naval Base. as a result of the Manpower and Training Act of 1962 and Older Americans Act of 1965; he eventually obtained a meaningful job with benefits. He dutifully placed these documents in his treasured footlocker He was nearly sixty years old but never lost his faith or resolve.
Our parents prepared us for life by being the examples. Dad brought his footlocker home with him after he was discharged from the Army. Each time they moved, the footlocker moved. This old tattered footlocker was the only thing they owned. They kept their valuable and treasured items inside the protective walls of this footlocker. Over the years, the footlocker began aging on the outside but the inside contained so much history.
When Dad was in the military, he wrote loving and supportive letters home to my mother. She kept those letters in plastic and put them in the treasured footlocker. After her death, I inherited the footlocker of treasures. I didn’t realize the value until recently.
Nearly 40 years after Dad’s death, I read the many books and writings he had preserved inside the footlocker. His bible was one of the books easily identified. I had to research some of the others. I could tell that he used these books as references and devotionals. There was one non-descript small book with a dark cover. The title of the book was so faded it was difficult to see. As I opened the book, the title was The Imitation of Christ by Thomas A. Kempis. It was apparent that Dad had read this book frequently and kept notes. One of the references was this, “I had rather be poor for Thee, than rich without Thee.” There were many other interesting books he read, studied, and kept.
Our parents trusted and had faith in God. They were married for nearly 40 years and journeyed through life together. They knew that one day; we would survive the clutches of poverty. It would be a long journey but they showed us the right way. In spite of our circumstances, we all graduated from high school, went to trade school or college, married, had children and enjoyed successful careers. They taught my siblings and me how to have the power to rise up from poverty and remain out. It is my hope that sharing my journey will help empower others to do the same.
Francie Mae. December 30, 2020.
Reference
Thomas A. Kempis. The Imitation of Christ. Revised Translation. Grosset &Dunlap Publishers. New York.
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