My Aunt Johnnie: A Tribute

Actually she was my great aunt, sister of my grandmother Ollie. Aunt Johnnie is a woman who loved a good story as much as anyone, with a gentle laugh I'll always remember. Sometime years earlier, grandma Ollie and she had some sort of falling out. Sometimes I'd hear uncles say derogatory things about her. Daddy just said the difference was between her and grandma, and nobody else's business but theirs.

One early story was shared by my grandma. Aunt Johnnie was little girl at the time, maybe 4 or 5 years old. She had wandered out into a corn field. Someone sighted her coming towards them, and what they saw made them scream. "Johnnie you put that down right now! NOW!" She dropped it and it crawled away. "It" was a rather large rattle snake. She had been dragging it by its tail and it had coiled back and was about to strike.

Aunt Johnnie finished the story. "I didn't know what a rattle snake was. Good thing it was a cool day. Apparently the snake had come out to take in some sun. It's a wonder I wasn't bit. Momma wore my butt out for that."

Her husband Luther had been gassed during WWI. He suffered with chronic problems with his lungs for the rest of his life as a result. One day at a family gathering, he was sitting there. He had false teeth and I noticed he didn't have them in. He grinned at me. "Want to see what those teeth look like?"

I nodded yes, moving closer.

"Here, I got em here." They were wrapped in a piece of cloth. Unwrapping them slowly, he proceeded to set them on the table. I moved even closer, to get a good look. He set them on the table. CLACKETY CLACKETY the teeth opened and closed making a loud clacking noise and I jumped backwards. They were trick teeth and they sure tricked me. He laughed out loud, and red faced, I joined right in.

Back in another time, Aunt Johnnie and Uncle Luther lived in Amarillo, Texas. My daddy finished the tenth grade which was as far as school lasted in Petty in North East Texas. The photo of that old school house is the one I chose to post above. Grandpa wanted him to work on the farm but daddy would have none of that. He was planning to move to Alaska to make his way there. Then he received a letter from Aunt Johnnie. She told him he would not do so well without an education, and asked him to come to Amarillo to stay with them. "You'd have to get a job to pay your way, but you can stay with us and finish your highschool.

Well he did, and entered college there where he studied until WWII broke out. It was in Amarillo that he met my momma, who worked there for American General Life Insurance. He saw her in the second floor window working as a typist and when he got off from his job at a service station across the way, walked over and yelled up to her. On the spot he asked her out. She said no, but he kept coming back, and finally she said yes. Which created a minor problem because he already had a date for that night. No problem because it was momma he wanted to go out with.

Daddy always felt a great sense of gratitude towards Aunt Johnnie. She came often to visit us, more so after Luther died. During those visits, she showed her own wit and intellect, encouraging me to take my education seriously. When I had my accident in my senior year, she came to sit with me. She discouraged talk by some that I should just wait and make up what I had missed the next year. She and my parents agreed I should use homebound training and I'm so grateful for that.

She slowed down a bit as she got older. I recall one day when she was about 85 or so, complaining because when she mowed the front yard, she had to rest a bit before tackling the back. "Must be arthritis," she said. The last time I saw aunt Johnnie was when she came to visit my mother in Louisiana. She arrived with Aunt Willobeth, and my cousin Alice Jean. We had a wonderful visit, then went to walk through Hodges Gardens before they headed back. Sadly all three are no longer with us. Alice had an accident a year or so later and did not survive, taken way too soon. Aunt Willobeth died just this past year. Aunt Johnnie lived to be 101, active until near the end. She was around long enough to touch not only daddy's life, but my own as well.

Love Lasting a Lifetime

What is your happiest moment in a lifetime?

I asked myself that this morning, and there was no pause whatsoever. For the older readers you know how sometimes things get lost up there for a while and a file search in that marvelous computer that is our brain is initiated? This memory was right up front, with no search required.

It was September 4, 1975. The occasion was the birth of my daughter. There was her momma Peggy. For days before we had been trying everything to get her to deliver this baby. Exercise, jumping. Then there were those pesky contractions, coming closer and closer together. She would call the doctor. Wait an hour and call me back. But they would have stopped. Finally it was decided she should come to the hospital and have induced labor. We were already running overtime.

That moment we arrived at the hospital and were given a room, suddenly the emotion of it all just overwhelmed me. I became dizzy and had to sit down for a few minutes. Today we would have a brand new baby daughter! Peggy was hooked up and a drip started. Midway into it all she decided to have an epidural injection. Peggy at that time was an obstetrics nurse and knew what to ask for. She was feeling no pain, and as they were wheeling her into delivery she was talking about craving Mexican food. “Some tacos really sound good!”

I called back, “Have the baby first, then we can talk about tacos.” I was shown the way to the waiting room.

Now this was another generation, and while the idea of Dads being in the delivery room was starting to catch on about that time, it had not quite made it to Mother Francis Hospital in Tyler, Texas yet. So I sat and waited. A few minutes later a nurse came out to me. Bending over, she whispered in my ear. “Don’t say anything, just get up and follow me.” Rounding the hallway she said, “I could not say it there because it is against the rules, but if you wish, you can come into the delivery room.”

“Wow, I’ll say!” I must say I was breathless with excitement. Standing by, I watched bit by bit, my daughter emerge into this world. As they cut the cord, she was totally covered in slimy ick. Her face was contorted into a scream about to happen, and then the scream itself.

She was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. In this moment, we shared together a love more powerful than anything we could imagine. This one small baby, being bathed to clear off the gooey mess to show a bright pink skin underneath, had captured our hearts forever. Her name would be Jennifer, named after Jennifer Warnes who I had seen years before in the west coast cast of Hair.

Over many years we had such happiness. Even though Peggy and I were not meant to be a couple, we were united in our love for this young girl. We went to dance recitals, band events, tee ball and softball where her mom, always the athlete of the family coached the other girls her age. Later it would be football games with her in the band at Elsik High School. She stayed with me when her mom went on vacation and went with me when I had time off.

One year we traveled to Arkansas, spending time camping and fishing and hiking. In one restaurant we saw a stuffed animal. “What is that? She asked.

I looked at the jackrabbit with deer antlers attached. “Hmm… it’s body looks like a rabbit.”

“Yeah, but the antlers are like a deer!”

“You are so right. Hmm… what do you get when you mix a rabbit and a deer?” ::pause:: Grinning I said, “It must be a Reer!”

She started to laugh, and when she got home, she told her momma, “We saw a reer!”

“A rear?” She responded.

Jennifer was fun to travel with. We would sing songs along the way, or play games like Doodlebug or Out of State License or just talk about anything. Recently I found an old tape from when she was 6 years old singing Chantilly Lace and “Doe, a deer, a female deer”… On that trip we rewrote the song to Reer, a female reer, Re a drop of golden sun… We made trips to Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky, New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona. We also for a time traveled around the state staying at Texas historical sites.

Another memory was from her 8th grade year. She entered the History fair with two of her friends. Together they put on a video presentation with musical accompaniment in a tribute to Scott Joplin who was born in Texas. She won the fair and traveled to Austin for the state competition. They finished third which I thought was wonderful. Her heart was broken though, expecting to win the event. Sometimes she could be as competitive as her mom.

This of course only scratches the surface. She was a beautiful sensitive child and exceptionally good. The memories still bring a smile to this day. But also a few tears as well. Hindsight is 20/20. I made two mistakes as I look back. First, as long as I did not have a permanent partner, I saw no need to tell her I was gay. That proved to be a big mistake. She was close to grown when I told her. She just sat there and cried her eyes out. From that day on, the relationship was strained. She did not come over that much anymore, and after Skip moved in, not at all. When Skip died, I was furious with her and everyone else. This was my soul mate, and how could people I loved be so uncaring. I felt so alone at that time. I should not have shared that with her, but I did. I have a confession. I’m terribly human. Mea culpa.

Then there was the second mistake. I should have dealt with the transgender thing when she was young as well. I was well on my way before Skip passed away. Her momma was opposed to my transition, but as we talked about it, she felt and I agreed that she could talk to her first, and then I would sit down with her. Okay that was the third mistake. After her momma talked to her, she called me up. “I talked to her. She is crying her eyes out. She does not want to talk to you. I told her if she didn’t want you in her life, I’d still be there for her. She is going through photos now cutting you out of them.”

So we began talking about our happiest moment. In that one conversation I lived my worse nightmare. That tiny baby I held in my arms, that little girl who had always been there, declared me persona non gratis. The rest of the family except for a few soon joined in.

So I still took my responsibility seriously. I continued child support payments after she was 18 and for four years of college. No letters. No phone calls. No news. I learned later she went for five years, but I had no way of knowing at the time. I wrote her every month or so, just to let her know I still loved her. A couple of years ago I got a letter filled with hate asking me to no longer contact her. I have honored that request.

Today, even as I write these words, tears are flowing. That connection of love formed when I first saw that little baby in that delivery room so many years earlier still burns freely. I may be gay and transgender, and sometimes or perhaps often stupid, but I am human. How does one end the love of a parent for a child? In my case, that is impossible. I miss her terribly. I had to do what I had to do. The same is true for her I’m sure. But the love, it’s forever for me. I can’t imagine it any other way, reciprocated or not.

“That love is all there is,
Is all I know of love.”
Emily Dickinson

Child Fights Back: Bullying and Growing Up

He entered the classroom and headed towards his chair near the back of the room. Walking down the aisle, someone stuck his leg out to trip him and he stumbled forward. Regaining his balance, he sat down, red faced and wishing with his entire heart and soul that he could be anywhere but here. If only he did not have to go to school.

The teacher came in and began teaching which actually was a sort of relief. This morning while walking to school he saw caricatures of him drawn by classmates on street signs and telephone poles. He had not done anything to them. He knew of course that somehow he was different. At eight years old he was not exactly sure what it was, but it must be bad. This morning one kid came up and punched him in the groin, calling him a "homo." In unattended moments his conversation could be excited and he used his hands a lot. Was that what it was? He had focused on controlling his arms and learned to speak an East Texas dialect, just to fit in. Nothing seemed to work. He sighed, thinking life really was a lonely sort of thing.

It was time for recess. Running out to the playground, as he arrived on the asphalted area for playing a ball game called 2 square, one bully walked up and pushed him hard. "Queer!" he shouted. Years later he wondered if that kid even knew what it meant. Time would prove him correct of course, but he didn't know it then. Later in recess, one kid dropped down on his hands and knees behind our hapless soul, while the other shoved him and down he went, banging his head. He felt his anger beginning to rise, greater even than the ever constant fear he felt. Another school yard bully, three inches taller with long arms punched him in the belly.

As the bully started to walk away laughing, our hero felt something snap inside. He slammed his body into the bully knocking him off balance. He struggled to get up, but the child who had been bullied for so long kept punching and kicking, knocking the bully on his back. BAM a crashing fist landed right on the bully's nose and it started to bleed. He just kept punching, wild eyed, furious, with tears flowing screaming "You... Will... Not... Do...This... To... Me..." Each word accompanied with another punch before a giant hand grabbed him by the shoulder and a teacher pulled him off and sent them both to the office. That night he cried himself to sleep.

There were so many fights over the next two years. Everyone had to take their shot at the sissy boy who fought back. He was no stranger to black eyes and bloody noses. One day two kids told him they were going to catch him after he left school one day. Frightened, he took a route which led him blocks out of his way to get home. As fate would have it, his dad uncharacteristically was home that day. Usually he would have been on the road working. "Where were you? You were late."

The frightened young fourth grader then made his mistake. He hesitantly told his daddy the truth. "Two guys in the fifth grade said they were going to beat me up. I took another route home."

Daddy's eyes grew dark. "No child of mine runs from a fight. You stand up to them tomorrow. If you don't, you get a worse whipping from me when you get home."

The classes dragged along slowly the next day. Then the bell rang and out he walked. Just as promised, there they were. He took a swing at the first as he approached. It reflected off his arm. The other jumped and grabbed him, and both kids began beating on him. He tried to fight back but to no avail. Then it was over. Bruised and bloody, he walked the lonely route home. Daddy would be so proud.

Of course the child was me. One more product of bullying and an ethic that prized physical violence, especially against kids who were bullies. I was one of the lucky ones. I survived, which means I came out stronger after it was all over. I developed verbal skills to talk myself out of situations. It would be decades before i learned to love myself, but I did eventually learn. Learning to stand strong was perhaps one of the lessons of those early days at Bell Elementary. The principal seemed to understand, and there was a chair they said was just for me when I was fighting. Having said that, intervening in the bullying cycle was something that would not come till years later.

Today I have many friends and a somewhat normal life. I credit my life experiences for bringing me to where I am today. But my prayer is that young children never have to face that sort of bullying. Too many don't make it to be grownups. Controlled studies in Massachusetts shows that glb youth are 3 times more likely to have tried to commit suicide than their straight counterparts. I've not seen numbers for transgender, but my guess would be that is even higher. I'd rather have these young folks alive myself.

Tomorrow I will talk about something more upbeat. But this needed to be said.