My mom said the thirties were hard;
She and her siblings put out of their home
At the death of their father.
Then their mother got married
To a not nice man
Who didnít want children.
No regulations back then.
They lined them up Sundays,
Shined up their faces
And starched their scant rags.
Her brother was brave -
Heíd beg, ďPlease,
Take all seven or donít take any -
Please donít split us up.Ē
And they never did.
She tells a painful memory:
She owned two dresses.
One red, one blue
And they couldnít wear jeans to school.
So Monday was red dress,
Tuesday was blue,
And on Wednesday she wore her coat -
Whatever the weather.
Then red dress on Thursday,
Blue dress on Friday.
Everyone was poor then, but still
They laughed at her.
Jeans on Saturday! Ah!
Sunday go to meetiní was whichever struck her mood.
And then it started over again.
She tells the story of the matron
Who sold babies
On the black market
For many years before
She got caught.
Iím glad my mother wasnít a baby then.
In her teens she sneaked out to the movies
With her friends
But a fire broke out
While they were gone
So they got caught coming back.
She loved country music
And learned the guitar.
At sixteen she left and joined a band
That landed in the club my father managed
After he got out of the army.
He bought her lots of dresses.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.