Christmas on the Side of the Road, by my mother, Alcie Neal McGown
When Alice and I were six years old, my father left us and remarried and had four more children (one later died). My father was forty-two and his new bride was 14 years old. After dad left, my brothers became our protectors. Mother worked hard to keep us all together.
One night in December about 1936, we were traveling in the lower Rio Grande Valley of south Texas. (We were always traveling somewhere.) We stopped on the side of the road and we all slept sitting up in the car, since it was too cold to sleep outside on the ground as we usually did. During the night I had to get out to use the “bathroom”; and when I tried to get back in the car the girls had all scooted together and filled in my space so that I could not get back in. So, I spent the rest of the night on the floor board on their feet. I was very uncomfortable.
The next morning we drove into the next town (I don’t remember which one), and got us a cabin in what was then known as a tourist court. They had covered carports in between each cabin to park your car in; but we hung a tarp over the front and that was where the boys slept.
The next day while my brothers went looking for work and my mom and older sisters were readying the cabin, my twin sister and I went exploring around the camp. We noticed that every child had at least one new toy. When we asked them where they got their new toys, they told us that Santa Claus had brought them. And then someone said, “Didn’t you know this is Christmas?” We were shocked. When we ran back and asked Mother about it she said, “I guess Santa couldn’t find us on the side of the road.”
When my six children were small and complained about not getting enough presents for Christmas, I would tell them this story about the Christmas when Santa couldn’t find us because we were sleeping on the side of the road.
Friday, May 8, 2009
My Mother's Stories
My mother has started writing stories she remembers from her childhood. Here is the first.
How many of you have read the book, The Grapes of Wrath? Well, if you did, you know the story of my life until I was fifteen years old. My parents were living in Paris, Texas, which is located in northeast Texas. In 1926 when their sixth child was born, my father lost his job. He was a cabinet maker. For the next three years he worked odd jobs. Then in 1928 he did what thousands of dirt farmers were doing. He sold everything he had, piled his family and his few personal belongings on a truck and headed for California. Daddy never made it to California. But some of us did.
They made it as far as west Texas when mother learned she was pregnant with her seventh child. So they headed back for Paris and on September 29, 1930 her seventh and eighth children were born, my twin sister and me. We were delivered by a midwife.
When we were a few weeks old and mother was able to travel, we took off again. Mother washed diapers in roadside ditched creeks and any place she could find that had a little water. The next two younger sisters babysat while mother helped the others work in the fields. Although sometimes she put us on her cotton sack and pulled us along wither her.
When my twin sister and I were about a year old, a terrible thing happened. We were living in McAllen Texas in south Texas, in a sharecropper’s house, working the sharecropper’s fields. On this particular day Mother had stayed home to wash clothes. The four younger children were with her. She boiled her clothes in a big iron pot and when she finished she took the water and scrubbed the floors and also the outdoor toilet. And, she always turned the old iron pot down over the coals so the children couldn’t get into them. While she scrubbed the floors she put the babies on a pallet out under a tree for a nap. (We were called “the babies” until we were married.) The other two girls, who were about five and seven at the time, got bored playing paper dolls and went out and moved the wash pot and with broom straws were making fire wands. They played there for awhile but they soon tired of that and left, but they forgot to put the wash pot back over the coals.
Meanwhile, the babies woke up from their nap and sent exploring. About that time, my mother looked out the window to check on us and discovered us gone. She said she came out of the house just in time to see me step into the coals, and before she could get to me I had fallen into them. She pulled me out and ran out into the fields to find my father. The only transportation we had was our old truck and it was full of cotton. But we made it into town and found the nearest doctor who did the best he could for me and sent me home. We couldn’t afford a hospital. I lost four toes and had severe burns on both hands and feet. Mother said it was at this time she found the Lord. She prayed every day for me out in the old outdoor toilet. It took almost a year for me to recover and learn to walk again.
How many of you have read the book, The Grapes of Wrath? Well, if you did, you know the story of my life until I was fifteen years old. My parents were living in Paris, Texas, which is located in northeast Texas. In 1926 when their sixth child was born, my father lost his job. He was a cabinet maker. For the next three years he worked odd jobs. Then in 1928 he did what thousands of dirt farmers were doing. He sold everything he had, piled his family and his few personal belongings on a truck and headed for California. Daddy never made it to California. But some of us did.
They made it as far as west Texas when mother learned she was pregnant with her seventh child. So they headed back for Paris and on September 29, 1930 her seventh and eighth children were born, my twin sister and me. We were delivered by a midwife.
When we were a few weeks old and mother was able to travel, we took off again. Mother washed diapers in roadside ditched creeks and any place she could find that had a little water. The next two younger sisters babysat while mother helped the others work in the fields. Although sometimes she put us on her cotton sack and pulled us along wither her.
When my twin sister and I were about a year old, a terrible thing happened. We were living in McAllen Texas in south Texas, in a sharecropper’s house, working the sharecropper’s fields. On this particular day Mother had stayed home to wash clothes. The four younger children were with her. She boiled her clothes in a big iron pot and when she finished she took the water and scrubbed the floors and also the outdoor toilet. And, she always turned the old iron pot down over the coals so the children couldn’t get into them. While she scrubbed the floors she put the babies on a pallet out under a tree for a nap. (We were called “the babies” until we were married.) The other two girls, who were about five and seven at the time, got bored playing paper dolls and went out and moved the wash pot and with broom straws were making fire wands. They played there for awhile but they soon tired of that and left, but they forgot to put the wash pot back over the coals.
Meanwhile, the babies woke up from their nap and sent exploring. About that time, my mother looked out the window to check on us and discovered us gone. She said she came out of the house just in time to see me step into the coals, and before she could get to me I had fallen into them. She pulled me out and ran out into the fields to find my father. The only transportation we had was our old truck and it was full of cotton. But we made it into town and found the nearest doctor who did the best he could for me and sent me home. We couldn’t afford a hospital. I lost four toes and had severe burns on both hands and feet. Mother said it was at this time she found the Lord. She prayed every day for me out in the old outdoor toilet. It took almost a year for me to recover and learn to walk again.
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