I grew up on a farm in South Georgia. My papa was a “share cropper”. He was a World War I Veteran and suffered from a nervous disorder, as well as memory loss from extensive use of chemical weapons used to kill or injure Soldiers and civilians. He also worked on the railroad laying cross-ties.

He was 20+ years older than my mama. There were six sons and two daughters born to this couple. Mama had two sons by a very early marriage that didn’t work out , but we never heard the words, “half brothers.” My papa treated all of us the same. Dad was “papa” to all of us.

During those hard times on the farm, which was most of the time, we enjoyed visits by friends and relatives on Saturday evenings. You may not know it, but folks haven’t always been the way they are today. We used to know all our neighbors and even our neighbors’ kin. Neighbors and kinfolk looked out each other, and when some neighbor or kin had an sickness or other need, everybody pitched in and helped out and didn’t hesitate to do it.

I remember one time my papa stepped on a nail, and because the bottom on his shoes were worn out, the nail went completely through his foot. I recall seeing the tip of the nail at the top of his foot. As us children gathered around and watched in awe as our papa gently pulled the nail out of his foot. I don’t reckon there was such a thing back then as a “tetanus” shot. Then infection set in, and papa was laid up for a good two weeks. By the time the news made it around to all the neighbors and our kinfolk, there were families of folk of all races from miles around that took care of our farm chores and carried on just like my papa would have. At the end of every day, they all gathered around his bed, knelt down in their old, torn and sometimes dirty overalls, and prayed for at least half an hour. You never heard such praying in your life. They anointed his head with a drop of olive oil just before the praying started. The poultices that were placed on his foot were gathered in the woods by some of the folk that were learned in herbal medicine.

I recall many times when we’d see one or two wagonloads of folk headed toward our house. Down that old road, the dust clouds rolled up and surrounded the wagons. We knew they were coming to see us, since no one else lived for miles around in any direction. When the folks got down from their wagons, us younguns’ knew we were fixin’ to have a good time. After all the hand shaking, hugging and bragging about all the babies that we hadn’t seen in a while, mama and all the ladyfolk would head for the kitchen to cook up a meal that was fit for a king.

The men folk would head out to feed-up the livestock, maybe even milk a cow or two, and gather up some eggs to help out in the kitchen. When the men finished their round-up in the barn, they would all go “rest” on the porch in the old porch swing or in those big old rocking chairs with the nearly torn-out cane bottoms. They’d chew the fat, smoke their pipes, talk about the weather, and maybe even tell a joke or two.

All of us children, and sometimes there were as many visiting as there were of us; together, that was a lot of fun waiting to happen! Why, we’d have a contest to see who could catch the most “lightening bugs.” And we’d play “hop-scotch”, “jump rope”, and “chase” until somebody saw a “ghost,” and then we’d all sit on the doorstep below the men folk and eavesdrop on their conversations.

But sooner or later, one of the men would break out a rusty ole’ jew's harp (or harmonica), and that was a cue for my papa to go to the old “chifferobe” and unwrap his old banjo. All of us youngens knew that things were fixing to liven up. The old banjo was more glue and cracks than wood, but the melodies and sounds he’d make come out of that thing rang loud and true. Way into the night, there was singing, dancing, hand clapping, and sometimes someone would say, “Praise the Lord,” or let out a big “Amen” when a hymn was sung, like “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder, I’ll Be There”, or our all-time favorite, “Amazing Grace”. When the children began to fall asleep on the porch, that was a sign it was time for the visitors to pack up and go home. And papa would always say, “We’ll see you at church in the morning.”

I have no idea how my parents, as well as all those precious people, raised all of us children with so little, and yet, we never went hungry or naked. Maybe it’s because they knew it was their responsibility and not that of the government or the taxpayers. I’m proud to be the daughter of a sharecropper, one who served his country and never complained, even though he was wounded. He never gave up his responsibilities to raise his family. He taught his family to be honest, to work, and most importantly, to love one another, and that included our neighbors, too. I think that it was a gift from God to my siblings and me to have been raised in this environment. We were blessed, not with material things but with things that money cannot buy!

Written by: Mollie / Georgia