Essay Two: 1946-1949

When I made my entrance to the world, my father declared that I was the ugliest baby he had ever seen, and joked that my mother should put me back in awhile longer. I had no hair, no fingernails, and was only five pounds. I could not tolerate her breast milk and had to be fed a formula substitute. Speech was impossible for me, and my mother believed I might be retarded. In fact, as she was informed, my tongue was restricted by the ligament underneath it, which was connected too far forward toward the tip of my tongue. That made it impossible for me to move my tongue enough to form sounds necessary to speak.
During these first three years, my family lived in or near Dallas, Texas. Photos of the time show us all sitting on am upside down metal washtub, four of us, barefoot and with just underpants on. My sister RosaLee, the oldest, then me, then Margaret Ann, and lastly my brother Edward Lawrence. We were ragamuffins. The earliest Christmas I recall, we each were given a sock with an orange, pieces of hard candy, and a small toy in it. Each of us also got a new pair of shoes. The Dallas winter was a cold one those years, with snow on the ground outside our impoverished white frame house. For some reason, a package of sliced bread was always left on the kitchen floor. Probably it was because Mom had to be gone all day to work and she did not want us to be hungry and unable to reach any food. I remember baby rabbits and chickens. We were living in this house when I began to walk in my sleep. I would get up in the middle of the night, walk through the house and out the front door, down the porch, and then across the dirt street to the porch of the only other house for miles. Several times they found me there the next morning, dirty with a runny nose and red eyes from crying. I had awakened and gotten afraid, sitting alone in the dark. One morning a cat came ambling toward me and of course, like any other three year old, I said "here, kitty kitty.. " and embraced it. It bit me on the arm. My screams were heard. It must have been a weekend, because both Mom and Dad were home. Dad ran to catch the cat, as Mom screamed, "Ed, Jo has been bitten. It might be rabid !" Dad and she took me to the hospital with the cat in a box, clawing to try to escape. The cat was sent for testing and it was found to be infected with rabies. I had to take shots in the stomach for many days. The rabies shots saved my life.
Decades later, my mother told me that during one winter at that house, my father had shoved her down in the snow and raped her. She almost cried as she was telling me about it. She said he ruined her white rabbit coat as well as killed her respect for him. Despite this attack, she continued to be married to him and had still more children. She was that devoted to children. Just two weeks ago, at the age of 87, she said to me that she always loves her babies. God bless her; she is a bit odd but so loving. I kissed her brow and told her I loved her so very much, and then had to leave her there alone in that miserable long term care home. She is such a tiny woman now, not the strong woman I once knew. Goddamnit, Goddamnit.