Columbus Mississippi Dream World

As a child school meant a lot to  me. It was school that nurtured me with consistency. No matter where I lived, school life was the same. Every school had teachers, classrooms populated the same way, the same rules, praises for jobs well done and guidance when there was a lack of understanding about school work. I loved school. I vividly recall a film I watched one day at school and that film told me who I was. What I can't recall is where I was or how old I was. All I recall is being mesmerized by the story of a girl who I felt was just like me. I quietly watched the educational film about the life of the poor girl who finally was able to attend school and it was school that gave her a sense of stability - just like me.  I so related to the girl in the film I cried and desperately attempted to hide my tears when the film ended. Like the girl in the film, I was and still am grateful for the security and the safety that school provided. I learned from her, the actress, that no matter what there is hope and that I was somebody. I was somebody that was still discovering life and as long as I went to school I was going to be okay. That bit of hope melted later in life, but from the time I saw that film until I reached 8th grade I was burning with a passion for education.

(Ben Kimberly Prins (1902 – 1980) Vacation Plans )

Upon arriving in Columbus Mississippi I was enrolled in Caledonia School, K - 12, one of the largest schools I had ever seen. I was a small kid, and Caledonia was a big school and I was always in awe as I would enter the big schools door each school day. Walking into Caledonia School made me feel as if I were walking into a mansion giving me a sense of wonder and awe. I loved Caledonia. Caledonia's classroom's had tall tall windows that needed a special hook on a pole to open and close them. Each day the teacher would pick a different student to open and close the massive windows. I always crossed my fingers while squinting my eyes  while mouthing "pick me pick me" when it was time for the teacher to walk the class rows in search of the day's special window monitor. I must have been picked one day because I can feel the burn in the back of my neck as I looked up, searching for the hole where the hook connects with the window. Once that little hole in the latch was spotted I inserted the hook through the hole and that allowed the pulling of the window open or the shoving of the window closed.  Perhaps it is just my imagination, but either way, I love the school room window memory. Caledonia had massive hallways too, hallways that lead to wide stairwells that lead to the upper levels where the older kids attended the higher grades. Us little ones attended school on the first floor and on the first floor was the hallway that lead toward the cafeteria.

For the first time in years I felt like a princess.  I felt like royalty because I was dressed nicely and I had lunch money! I recall standing in line with my lunch ticket and waiting my turn to be served my meal. Our meals at this school were served to us on thick white glass plates and as I  carefully carried my warm plate filled with food to my seat on a tray, I would grab a napkin and a fork and a spoon and even a table knife!  Lunch room attendants would bring each of us students little glass bottles of milk as we awaited permission to eat. Before that permission to eat was given we bowed our heads in prayer and we were guided in giving thanks for our food. I was very thankful for my food and did not mind letting God know I loved all the food on my plate! I had not experienced so much food at one time, on one plate so consistently. I was beyond thankful. On special days we were served chocolate milk - in real glasses, all frothy and icy cold. The chocolate milk deserved another prayer of thanks. After eating lunch and carrying my plate to the dish washing area, I waited with all the other kids to be excused to go outside and play. If I was still hungry, which I always was, I would get in a line behind the cafeteria with other hunger kids and wait with anticipation for some extra goodies. The top of the dutch doors would swing open and a smiling laughing woman would appear in her crisp white apron and hair net and hand out all the extra biscuits and cookies making sure she gave each one of us a big smile and a wink. At Caledonia, I was served fresh food made from scratch everyday, I no longer sat and waited for other students to share their left overs with me.  In this moment, over 50 years later, I can close my eyes and smell the fresh made biscuits and gravy and chicken and green beans and corn and taste the chocolate milk. I can still feel my chocolate milk or plain milk mustache wet on my upper lip and still feel the anticipation to gobble up every morsel on that thick white warm glass plate. I was an expert at  devouring everything on my plate, everyday. Sometimes, I would bend over my plate, getting my face close enough so I could lick that plate clean! I was not docile enough or tamed enough - yet - to know that to lick one's plate is a bit crass. To me, licking my plate clean meant life was tasting really good in Mississippi.

Photo courtesy of http://www.georgiaencyclopedia.org/special-collections/food-power-and-politics-story-school-lunch

I loved Caledonia. I loved being in Columbus Mississippi. I loved my new life. I had new clothes. I had new shoes. I had a brush for my hair. I had a clean bathroom with a working shower. I had clean bedding and actual pajamas to wear to bed. I had breakfast every morning, I had lunch every day at school and I had a hot meal at night. Columbus Mississippi was truly heaven on earth.

My wild weedy nature began to thrive. I was ravenous in all ways. I gained weight and my hair began to grow again, or so I thought. My mother would inspect my body after I bathed to make sure I removed the all the days dirt from my ankles. I know I had dirt on my ankles and elbows that must have been at least a few yeas old because while with my father I was leery of showers and tubs because of bugs.  I recall crying one evening in particular when my mom decided to remove the darkened skin from my feet and arms and the removal of years of built up dirt requires a scrubbing that also removes skin. My skin went from being dirt brown crust to brand new fresh red raw skin that throbbed with burning pain. I quickly learned the proper way to bath so I could be  in control of my skin's happiness. I am certain my bath time was the beginning of my control issues!

I remember one day while I was playing badminton with my cousin that my hair was actually long enough to get stuck beneath my arms as I swatted the birdie! I don't know if my hair actually began to grow longer or if the longer hair on my head was merely because it no longer was a matted mess. I lived with knots in my hair for a long time and it was a painful process to remove those knots. Not something I ever want to feel again. Living with my mother was painful, physically painful but that pain was worth it for somehow the burning and the pulling equated to being loved. Little did I know my long hair days were numbered.

My cousin. In Mississippi I re-met a cousin of mine. I remembered her from before my parent's divorce when we were crammed together in the back of the Pontiac traveling across country. My cousin and I were always the ones to be put up in the back window or made to lay on the floor boards. Now we were together in Mississippi. My cousin had also been living a life filled with uncertainty, poverty, a lack of nurturing, and navigating a life filled with monsters - much like my own life before my mom rescued me from my dad. My cousin and I were only a year apart in age and bonded immediately. To this day, she and I are like sisters and I know our hearts are one because they grew together.

My cousin and I played and played and ate and ate and dreamed and dreamed and supported one another and kept one another company. We laughed and invented games and pretty much did whatever we wanted because in the early 60s, children were to be seen and not heard and our duty was to stay outside until called inside. My cousin and I were both little wild ravenous weeds growing fast in the security and comfort of Columbus.  Our favorite game was to go out to a field behind the Restaurant and Hotel where my mom's trailer was parked and where both our mom's worked. We would go out in the field which was part of a tree nursery. The field was where the nursery grew its evergreen shrubs.  Evergreens that are readied to be sold have their root balls wrapped in burlap and we would crawl between the burlap root sacks pretending we were soldiers or wild animals in burlap tunnels. One of favorite sports was to hold the top of a tree to the ground while the other mounted the green beast and upon the count of 1, 2, 3 release the beast for a wild ride! Our bodies would get whipped back and forth and the winner of course was the one who could hold on the longest. I know our thighs bore the marks of the evergreen beast claws that dug into our skin as we strangled the trees with our bodies. We had so much fun. Our lives felt unreal. We both savored the time in which we were allowed to stay in one place for a small amount of time. Happiness can make the days feel like years, so can a broken heart. Here in Columbus, my long long days were stretched out because of a happy, healing, well fed, content, heart.

Evergreen trees awaiting shipment, and Nehi soda image courtesy of Google images

On our after school activities was to go out back, behind the restaurant where the sign, "Colored's"  was and hang out with the folk of color. We were not supposed to do so, but that was where we loved to be. Out back was where all the good music was. Out back was where all the good food was. Out back was where all the laughter and knee slapping was, out back was where everyone danced and sang and whistled. Out back, with the happy people, sitting on the unpainted splintery benches is where my cousin and I loved to be. It was out back in Columbus Mississippi where I learned to love RC Cola with peanuts at the bottom. Behind the restaurant proper is where I discovered Nehi soda too, and loved the orange Nehi sodas the best. I'd open up the big cooler and reach in pulling out a frosty soda pop, then open the lid using the opener on the side of the chest and sit on the splintery benches and chug down the soda so fast the bubbles would grab my throat. Ahhhh, that was so good!

My cousin and I lived like children were supposed to live, for the first time in a long time in our lives.  We took advantage of everyday without thought about anything other than going to school, doing our school work, learning how to dance, and riding trees. Life was as it should be. But, alas, our fun times were coming to an end, but for the time being we squeezed every bit of happiness we could from every second we had.

Columbus Mississippi was indeed a dream world that I am still grateful for.


(All stories blogged by me are my property and protected under copyright laws. No part may be used or reproduced in anyway without my permission ~ Maryanne Mesplé) 

God Listens ~ Sometimes

One moment I am so sick I can barely breath much less interact with life and I fight everyday to find food and companionship. The next moment I am rescued from my tenuous existence by my mother whom I had been told was dead. My next memory in line finds me standing in a J.C. Penny's store being fitted for a coat then I sleep and then like magic, I am standing in the most beautiful little trailer home I have ever seen. I feel as if I have awakened from a bad dream. My mother is beaming as she looks at me and she is talking so fast that I have trouble following what she is saying. It slowly dawns on me that I am standing, once again, in a place that people are referring to as "home". I am home. I am home in Columbus Mississippi and I have my own bedroom and that bedroom is clean.

(http://mobilehomeliving.org/10-great-manufactured-home-floor-plans/)

God did indeed answer my prayers. While living in Arizona I must have worn God's left ear off with all the prayers I sent him begging him to rescue me and my brothers from hunger and the cruelties of people. One night in Arizona, just a short time before my mom showed up,  I prayed especially hard after my father made me go with him to his most recent girlfriend's house for dinner. I felt like a doll on display the way my dad talked to his friend about me and as she listened to him she fussed with my stringy hair. This woman talked at me, not to me. She went on and on about how she would cut my hair and scrub my face and buy me lacy dresses and nice shoes. I listened intently, not moving, barely breathing, trying to disappear but obeying the commands that I sit still and not get up. As I sat in my assigned seat my father's lady friend decided to stop touching me and began to cook hamburgers for our dinner. I was stiff as I listened to her voice. She had the voice of an agitated goat as she brayed and brayed about her cooking abilities. I was afraid to say anything about the pending meal because I hated hamburger, even in the pains of hunger, it took every ounce of strength in me to chew up and swallow hamburger.  I did not like hamburger because it always had gristle in it and gristle did not feel good in my mouth. The lady eventually placed a piece of cooked, ground beef on a plate in front of me and I got a good smell of her alcohol laced breath. I then realized that this is where my father must have been staying lately. He loved to stay for long periods of time with his drinking buddies and this woman cooking hamburger was most definitely one of his drinking buddies. I felt like a trapped bird. I did not know what to do.

(Image from Google, no credit given)

As I sat almost stock still, looking at the disgusting hamburger in front of me I saw a motion outside the window next to the chair I was sitting in. Outside, I could see the younger of my brothers, waving his hands about wildly! I put my face to the window as he did and he pointed at the hamburger. I knew what he wanted, I knew he was hungry. I turned to my father as my brother ducked below view. I asked if we could take some food home to my brothers and my father snapped at me that I was being ungrateful toward his friend who cooked a burger just for me and that she did not have enough food to feed everyone. My dad then assured me that my brothers could fend for themselves. "After all", my father exclaimed with pride, "I taught you all jungle survival so you can make a meal out of anything."  He spoke the truth.  When my father and his friend began to smooch between their drinks making disgusting noises, I turned to the window again and saw my brother had made a little sign that said, "please, I am hungry".  My heart became heavy and I slipped my burger into a napkin and wearing my invisible cloak, I walked ever so slowly toward the door. As I was about to open the door and leave, a hand reached above me, holding the door shut. I looked up into the face of a a drunk woman whose sneer made her red lipsticked lips look like twisted up carnival taffy. She ripped the meat from my hands as my father produced a pair of panties he claimed were mine and shoved them under my nose carrying me by one arm across the room. I was grilled as to why there was blood in my underwear. I had no idea what was being said or why because I was not aware of blood in my panties! I was dizzy with thinking of why my under ware were at this woman's house, why were my under ware under my nose, why was I being yelled at? I suddenly realized that the reason I was even at this lady's house was solely for the purpose of rubbing my under ware in my face.

(Photo by Maryanne Mesplé)

I had no answer to offer about my clothing. I was grilled by my father and a strange woman over and over. Their slurred words of, "why? why? why?!!" smelled of stale beer and cigarette butts. I wanted to run but I had no energy to do so.  I was accused of messing my pants and then with a slap across my face by the woman, I was shoved out the door. Before the door slammed I could hear my father's smirkish words telling me to go home and bath because I was an embarrassing dirty little girl.
I stood outside the torture chamber in a daze. My brother walked up to me and hugged me and together he and I walked home. Neither of us ate dinner that evening. As I grew older, I could imagine why my under ware were soiled the way they were and the explanation is just too much to think about. That night,  when I crawled into my never made bed, I recall almost yelling at God. I raised my voice to a respectable level of intensity and pleaded with God to please send his angels to rescue us!  Atop of my begging pleas I made a million promises that I believed would seal the deal. I prayed and prayed and prayed. It must have been my prayers from that night that got God's attention and God got my mom's attention, and my mom began a search for me and my brothers until she found us - I imagined that that was how God worked and that was how God helped my mom find me.  I was convinced, that God did indeed listen but only if you were super motivated and you prayed super hard while making a million promises of obedience. Plus God expected 100% sincerity which being scared guarantees.

(Poverty Praying Child, image from Pinterest, link to Flicker did not work)

God answered my prayers by sending my mom plus by making Mississippi our new home. I did not miss my father. I did not let myself think of him. I lived in the moment and the moments in my life were filled with amazing wonderful things and events! I eased into having planned meals without difficulty and loved every savory bite served on my plate. I discovered that the strange tall man that had been with my mom to rescue us in his brand new car was my mom's new husband. My mom was no longer a Hughes, she was now a Finley. My mom went by Ellie Finley, no more Eleanor. James a.k.a. Jim I was told was my new dad, my new step-dad. I have never figured out why we refer to our  replacement parents as "step" parents but back then, in Mississippi, that thought did not keep me awake at night. In fact, my nights were filled with wonder instead of metal buttons on an old smelly mattress. I learned quickly that Jim was a fabulous cook! My new step father ran the cafeteria at Columbus Air Force Base and he always brought home sweet goodies that were left over after all the service people were fed. We ate chicken and roast and goulash and mac and cheese! We feasted on grits and eggs and bacon and hot dogs and cakes too! We even went to restaurants on occasion and right next to where my new trailer home was parked, was a motel/restaurant/gas station where my mom and Aunt T worked. I had not had the privilege of eating a grilled cheese sandwich at a restaurant counter since leaving the 331 Roadhouse. I began to believe that God was going to forgive me after all and I was excited to be alive again.


Heaven. Columbus Mississippi was Heaven.


(All stories blogged by me are my property and protected under copyright laws. No part may be used or reproduced in anyway without my permission ~ Maryanne Mesplé)