The Bus Ride

 During the summer of 1966, I was 11 years old. Once a week my mom would drop a friend and I off on Congress Avenue, right in front of the Capital Building. We would spend all day walking, or riding the bus up and down the Avenue. We would usually go into Woolsworth, look at the make-up, then go to the soda fountain and have a chocolate malt. We would go see a movie, and go into the stores one by one, just enjoying the day. Mom would then pick us up after she got off work, at the same spot she had dropped us in the morning.



Congress Ave. 1966

 Well, one sunny day when I was downtown with a friend we wanted to take the bus all the way to Town Lake, so we got on the bus, sat down and settled in for the ride. At a bus stop about half way down Congress Avenue, an elderly black woman got on, carrying a bag of groceries. She was wearing a pretty navy blue dress with tiny white flowers on it. She had stockings on, which didn't match her skin tone, and  shoes which were made for working in. She also had a cute little hat on too. I watched as she walked to the back of the bus, but there was no place for her to sit down. Since my friend and I were sitting towards the second door of the bus, I got up and told her she could sit in my seat. She sat down, thanked me, and the bus doors closed.

Just about the time I expected the bus to start going, I felt the brakes being applied very abruptly. Then a booming voice came from the driver, "Miss, you cannot sit there." I, in my innocence, looked around me, and didn't see any problem. Again, the driver spoke sternly, "There can be no coloreds sitting in the white section of the bus." Then I realized he was talking to the elderly woman I had given my seat to. I spoke up then, "There are no seats left in the back section for her to sit in, so I gave her my seat. She can sit there."

At this point the driver got up, and came back to where we were, and was going to physically make the elderly woman get up and stand in the 'colored' section of the bus. I stepped in his way, "My parents have taught me to respect my elders, and this woman is my elder, and she needs to sit down." The driver said, "Little girl, this bus line does not allow coloreds to sit in the white section of the bus. She has to move."

I said, "She is a human being just like you, sir, I mean no disrespect, but if you were to take your skin off and she were to take her skin off, you would both be blood red."



This woman reminds me of the woman I encountered.



At that, the driver said, "You three off the bus NOW." So, the elderly lady, my friend, and myself all three stepped off the bus and stood motionless and wordless as the bus drove away without us. I apologized to the black woman, and she said these words, which  I will never forget, "Chile, I ain't never seen anything like that. Where did you ever learn to not be afraid of the while man." I said that my daddy was a white man and I was never afraid of him. I told her that my daddy had taught me that there really is no difference in a human beings color, we were all the same, body, soul, and mind that God gave us all. She hugged me and my friend. She started to walk away, and I took hold of her shoping bag, and told her that we would walk with her to where she needed to go. She said that we could go just over two blocks and she could catch a bus over there that would take her home, and it wouldn't have the same bus driver on it.



My last memory of her was her hand waving to us through the window as the bus drove off, her sitting in the colored section. I told my friend it was a stupid and crazy world we were growing up in.

And it was. And remains so.

I still do not see color.

The Memory Box



some of these symbols adorn my memory box



I see it there before me, this box of memories. I know when I open it, there will be so many memories that will come to the surface of my mind. When I decoupaged it (circa 1969) there were magazine cuttings from fashion to famous people on it. I took a lot of time deciding just what to put on it, because I wanted to save it for my future children and grandchildren.

Slowly I open the lid, the smell of old flowers filling the air. That is what I reach for first. I have a carnation given to me for Valentines Day from my first boyfriend in high school. I remember how sweet he was, and how shy when giving me that pink carnation. He really was such a nice guy. I have memories of him walking me to class, with his arm around me, always watching for the 'touching police' so as to not be caught touching each other on campus. Anyway, all through 9th grade I had to wear a brace that went around my mid section, for some back problem I had. It was embarrassing to me, but he made light of it, and made me feel like I wasn't weird because of it.

There is also a dried mum, with white and gold streamers on it, which came down to my knees. It said: Lanier Vikings Homecoming 1969 in gold glitter. There is a little golden band from a hat I wore being part of the Valkyries or Vikettes, the pep squad from Lanier.

There are ribbons that I used to wear in my hair, and little braided leather bands that served as 'sandals', a bottle of patchouli oil, and lots of torn tickets from the Sunday afternoon Hill of the Moon concerts, held on Howard Lane out I17. I have such fond memories of all the bands we heard and just dancing and dancing and dancing all afternoon. Not a care in the world, just being free to dance.

There is a stack of instant Polaroids, of my girl friends from high school. I got the instant camera for Christmas one year and tried to make sure I had a photo of everyone to go into my memory box. For some reason it was really important to place things in this box. When I think of it now, it was sort of what we would call a time capsule that is popular in today's world.

There are ticket stubs from the State Theater and the Paramount too.

There is a bus ticket in there from when I was 11 years old. That's a good story for Black History month.

How I remember Janice

There is a mood ring in there from my right hand when I shook Janis Joplin's hand as she went back into Armadillo world to sing. I remember sitting on the back of someone's car, listening to the bands play, and here comes Janis with some guys, and she waved at us, walked over and thanked us for appreciating 'good music'. We laughed and she walked in and within a few minutes we heard her singing. There definitely were perks to growing up in Austin, Texas.

There are my personal diaries, each once pink with a lock on the outside. Whew, the stories they contain....

There's an empty bottle of Andre Pink Champagne in there, and a photo of boy I drank it with who is the birth father of my oldest son. I remember sitting out in his back yard drinking the champagne and watching fireworks go off in the sky from the neighborhoods surrounding his house. It was New Year's Eve 1970. We watched 1971 dawn together, still in what we thought was love.

There are my annuals from High School.

Everything I saved from my high school days are in this memory box.

Lots and lots of memories, some funny, some sad, some just to acknowledge that events happened.

I close the box, put it back on the shelf, walk away with a sigh of....that's what it was like to be in high school.

The year is 1972....I was living in an apartment with my boyfriend at the time, it was the last time I would see that box of memories.

We moved to Huntsville, Texas to attend Sam Houston State University, but when we unpacked everything, the box was gone. When asked, my boyfriend said he threw it in the dumpster back in Austin. He said such nonsense wasn't needed, since he was 'my life' now.

Well, he might have thrown the box away, but he can't take the memories away. They are kept secure in a decoupaged box, filed away in a corner of my mind.

Dishwalla Angels or Devils (acoustic) lyrics

A song for My Mom...... I love you and I forgive you. I see you.

The Scarlet Letter - otherwise known as "I just want to be loved."

.

There are times, I believe, in the lives of many of us women who have survived sexual abuse that we find ourselves acting out of a desperate need to really be loved, not as a sexual object, not as someone that our abusers want us to be...but we long to be loved for just plain old 'who we are.'

It is a natural response to the abuse that we really do not know what true love is, and that we go looking for love in all the wrong places. We fall for the first person who gives us attention, and abusers just seem to have an inner sense of knowing where they can find some woman to prey upon. They can be the sweetest, kindest men in the beginning...and slowly over time, they gain our trust, then much like the vampires we see on television today, they know when to bite and suck the life out of us. Oh, they let us live, only taking as much of our 'blood' as they need, leaving us weak and immobilized. But then they come to us, apologizing and helping to care for us until we are back on our feet. When we least expect it they begin the ritual again. And again. And again.

This pattern of abuse usually begins from a very young age, and continues until we get the help we need in the form of counseling and a lot of hard work on our part to recognize in our own self the codependency, and learn how to bring healing and wholeness to our broken spirits.

I was pretty much the typical abused child, growing into my teenage years with a lot of confusion about how love and sex fit together. There were a lot of confusing messages sent out to us girls who grew up in the 60's and 70's. It was a time of Women's liberation, the sexual revolution and a world where 'Make love not War' was truly the motto of the day.

That is the world I grew up in, dysfunctional attitudes towards sex and love in my home life, a very strict religious upbringing, the attitude of making love not war in my social life, and a huge need to be accepted and loved. All of that combined made it very hard for me to make choices that were for my highest good.

But, the choices I made, were my choices. I own them.

And in owning them, I can tell my story embracing the girl I was, the young woman I grew into, and the strong woman who sits now typing these words. I do not think of myself as a victim. I think of myself as a being who experienced a lot of trauma and abuse, who took what could have destroyed me, and turned it into strength and power to move through my life today healed and whole.

My mother put a scarlet letter on me, in her mind and verbally, from the time I first started dating. And that is where I shall begin the next chapter. 

Fear

I began 2011 with the intent of being able to write the chapters of my life, here in the safety of my blog. Yet, when I began to write the stories of my childhood, that dreadful shadow creature of Fear loomed over my desk and I found myself paralyzed. I could not write any more.

As the year progressed I recognized that I was afraid of how my children would react (not respond, but react) to the events which shaped me into who I am today. And yet, in order to really BE who I am, I continue to be drawn to this keyboard, stories flood my mind, and I am convinced that even if my story helps one woman know she is not alone, then it is worth any condemnation I might face from anyone. Actually they have already sat in their own judges chair, put me on trial and judged me already....so really there is nothing else to fear.

I spent the majority of my life truly living in fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of the dark. Fear of being a bastard. Fear of being overweight. Fear of what people thought of me. Fear, fear, fear. I wore that blanket of fear every minute of every day. All of it really can be summed up in this: Fear of not being good enough.

I cannot sit here and say that I have overcome every fearful moment I experience. What I can say is that I can sleep at night in peace. I honestly do not spend time worrying about what people think of me. Through a lot of therapy, a lot of trial and error, a lot of prayer, and a whole lot of love and support from my wonderful husband and youngest daughter, I have been able to lay down the fear blanket and am rising into a beauty filled place of joy, love and contentment.

So, once again I am going to attempt to share more stories from my journey. A journey from fear to power.

Being empowered, I stand tall and face the past as one faces a beautiful sunset. The dust of the journey is what makes the colors of the sunset so vibrant and breathtaking. And so, I see myself as not just being good enough, I see a beautiful strong woman who has emerged like the phoenix rising from the ashes...to fly, to soar, to live, to dream, to BE ME.

Crazy Love

Today is a very special day, not because it is Valentine's Day necessarily, but because this day 15 years ago something started that carried within it a life of its own, that brings me to this day, to write these words.

I am sure there are a lot of people who do not like Valentine;s Day because they look at it as the day when people 'in love' celebrate being with someone in a relationship. To me, however, this day has been continually about just sharing love.  It is a day when I could let people I know just how important they are to me. I have done this since my early childhood, and continues to this day.

Love has many definitions. We each hold in our minds our own definition of what love is, and we look through those beliefs to shape our beliefs about Valentine's day.

Fifteen years ago I was in Paramedic School. I was also in a marriage which had not really been a marriage for a number of years. That is a whole other story, but I will state here that I stayed married for as long as I did (16 years) due to my religious beliefs. As the years past by I grew, I learned that staying with someone out of duty, or out of fear is NOT what God had in mind for two people to be together. In my new found self assurance and independence I went back to school to pursue my dreams and a life without abuse.

Classes began in the Fall of 1996. It was awesome. The old Charlotte came back to life. To LIFE. The dead parts of my soul were revived by the lives who touched me so deeply. My classmates allowed me to grow, to see that happiness is a way of LIFE, and that I did deserve happiness. For those people I shall always remain grateful.

My plan when I entered school was to get my Intensive Care Paramedicine degree and get a medic job and divorce my husband, take my children and create a loving happy life for the three of us. That was MY plan.

But fate, or destiny, or God stepped in and took those plans away and replaced them with another plan which I was not prepared for at all.

My best friend from Plainview, Tom, and I drove together each Tuesday and Thursday night to Winona for our classes. We were on the volunteer ambulance in Plainview, and went on so many calls together that I lost count. We made a great team. Tom became the only person I could tell the truth to about how difficult a decision it was to make a plan for my future. We spent many many hours talking during the our and a half we drove to and from class. Neither of us were 'happy' in our marriages, and we trusted each other and quickly Tom became the brother I never had.

I am not sure of the exact time which I found out that someone in class had a crush on me, all I remember was us driving back to Plainview in a blizzard. We were talking about the relationships that were showing up between people in our class, and I told Tom that there was a guy who I really thought was just very special, and sweet. He in turn told me that he knew there was someone who liked me. When he told me it was Marty, I just couldn't believe it, because Marty was the guy I had these feelings for. It was just crazy. Not only was I married and I kept reminding myself that I shouldn't have feelings for another man, I was a lot older than Marty. I just thought it was an infatuation. Something that would pass with time.

The weeks went by, and soon I found myself doing my nromal baking for Valenite's day, which included some special cookies I made every year since I had my home based bakery back in the late 70's in to the early 80's. I made special cookies for everyone in class, and homemade chocolate candies too. I gave everyone there cookies in class except for Marty. I waited until he was walking to his car after class was over to give him his gift. It was this heart shaped cookie box filled with homemade candies.

As I gave it to him I thought my heart was beating so fast and I was so nervous. I didn't want him to get the wrong impression, but I did want him to know that I thought he was a very special man. He thanked me, and many years later told me that he threw away some of the candy, chocolate covered cherries that he hates! And he thought, Oh, boy, I am going to get lucky!

So months past, my marriage continued to crumble more and more until there was nothing but ashes laying in a heap all around me. The soul contract I had with my husband was complete. It was over. I won't write here that I made really wise decisions about how to end the relationship, and about how to handle the kids. I had already been a single Mom to my oldest two, and knew how hard it would be for me to work full time, finish paramedic shool and take full care of the kids, so we reached a compromise. I would finish school, get a job and then the kids would come to live with me. That is a whole other story too, one which I will tell in the future. So, that is what I did. I moved to Winona, shared a home with one of my classmates, had one bedroom and Marty graciously said I could move some of my furniture into his apartment, since it was really crowded at the other place. I did my homework at his place and did my work study for our teacher there also. Truth be told, I was living with Marty. I moved in on May 1, 1997, and we have been together ever since.

Didn't see that coming at all. Yet this man, three weeks into our living together, turned to me one night when we were in bed, and he said, "Charlotte, I love you." I was speechless. Totally. Thought he was just infatuated with me, and that we would enjoy each other while we were in school, and then say goodbye once we graduated.

That didn't happen either. Obviously, cause we are still together 15 years later.

There is a lot more to the story, but I will close this by saying that he still makes my heart beat faster when I see him. He still winks at me and my heart just melts. I love him so much that every day is a miracle. He is all I ever dreamed of, all I ever imagined was possible in a man. He is my soul mate. Tried and True.

So this year, the 15th Valentine's day that we have known each other, I gave him another cookie heart....

So, for all the people who supported us, encouraged us and stuck with us through our relationship I send huge amounts of love and gratitude. For others who thought that this would never last, I say to them that I hope that they can find a love as true as ours. For my children and some of Marty's family who were (and maybe still are) embarrassed about our relationship, I say...look at us know, look at how we made this work, and be happy for us, that we have found true love in each other.

All of us want to love and to be loved. Love knows no age, no race, no religion. Love only knows love.

May each of you really know Crazy Love in your lifetime.

It is awesome.