daddy’d decorated my birthday present with this clown and i’d kept it in my scrapbook.  deciding to use it for baby bro’s wall, i loved it – daddy had made it and it was something connecting me to the baby boy.

the original clown

really cute, painted on baby bro’s wall…. hell, once we tried to paint over it.

my mother told me stories of growing up in the 50s, raised by her nanny and the inequality the woman faced.  that someone would have treated her unjustly, unfairly, and with prejudice was more than I could grasp.  “why?” was unanswerable.

“lulu” (her nickname, not mine) and husband

“I lived at this woman’s little house and for quite some time as I was just a tiny girl, I thought she was my Mother - and for all intents and purposes she was. She had no electricity, no gas, and no running water - but she had an abundance of love. We went to bed when it got dark and got up when it was daylight. When we walked downtown to see my parents she had to walk behind me - and when we got to the restaurant - I went in the front door - and this woman who was charged with protecting me with her very life - had to go in the back door. It wasn’t that my parents were mean people - it was just not done any other way - or my father would have had to close his business. This woman fed me, cooked my meals on a wood stove, taught me my manners, bathed me in a tin tub, and I slept on her arm every night. She walked me to church every Sunday and held my hand when I was sick - but she could not go with me into public places. She was a simple woman, yet wise, courteous, and concerned - and I owe much of the person that I am today to her! I loved her dearly and named my daughter after her.” - from my mother

i was 2.  we’d just moved in and i remember standing in my playpen, a couple of toys at my feet, watching as my dad put the paneling up in our den.  i wanted ~out~ so that i could help daddy.

taken years later, my parents standing in front of the ~infamous~ paneled wall, preparing to go out.