I was born in Alabama, USA, in 1958. I lived through the turmoil of the 1960s, the Vietnam War, and the Civil Rights movement. A little white girl, watching the news from the security of a white middle-class neighborhood. Our family of six engaged in many discussions around the kitchen table about current events. Someone always taking an opposing view regardless of the topic at hand.

Watching the daily news, I often tried to determine who was winning the Vietnam War based on the daily casualty numbers. The Vietnamese were dying in greater numbers that Americans. Obviously, this meant we were winning, and the War would soon be over. A neighbor across the street, worked at the nearby Air Force base. He explained that some people claimed the numbers were false. We could not always trust the news or what the government was saying. This was one of my first experiences with questioning authority.  

The neighbor was a diplomat and preparing to move his family overseas to a place called Moracco. His daughter was my age, and we often played together. Learning about his plans, I told him about my plans to also move away and do something important one day. Maybe becoming a missionary like Lottie Moon. I attended a Southern Baptist Church and knew about her life.   

My father owned a small trucking company which he began with the guidance of my grandfather, his father-in-law. I often went to work with my father. Spending days being pushed on trollies by the workers, climbing into the backs and over packages in 18-wheelers. His shop where trucks were repaired was in a poor black community, with red dirt roads and few amenities. One day the local store owner and I were talking. I told him about my desire to go to Africa as a missionary. He pointed to the neighborhood and said this is very similar to what you will find in Africa. I stared through the fence and said, “There are poor black people in Africa?” He and my father laughed at the little girl with big dreams.  

 The day my father integrated the bathrooms in his company, I was there. I remember the angry snarl on a white man who quit and stormed off the property. My father told the remaining men, white and black, to just call the police if the man returned. Then father took me home and retrieved his gun before returning to work. The angry white man never returned. The other employees were unconcerned about the integrated bathrooms.

At different times, I would drink from the black water fountains. If adults told me to stop, I would say, in my most innocent child voice “there must be a mistake, because the water from the black water fountain tasted better than from the white fountain,” My father did put an end to that behavior.  Jesus told me my middle name was Trouble. I did not know if he was telling me what I was or what he wanted me to become. I did like the name.

In elementary school, at the end of the day, I often walked to my church to discuss things with the pastor, Brother Green. He was very patient and willing to answer my questions and explain things which made no sense to a child. One of the early discussions concerned if God actually knew all the people in the encyclopedia, even the dead ones. A few days before, I was reading biographies from the encyclopedia and God told me he knew all those people, where they were now, and even what that had for breakfast that morning. I was accustomed to believing what God said. But this just did not seem possible. I needed verification. Brother Geen assured me it was true and possible for God to know about all those people. Wherever people are or when they die and leave our world, they never leave God’s sight. He even knows people before they are born. I trusted God. I trusted Brother Green. I did not understand but I was beginning to trust and believe without needing it to be understandable.

I attended public schools for nine of 12 years. First grade was in a private school because my birthday was late in October, and my parents did not want to hold me out for another year. In the seventh and eighth grades my younger brother and I were sent to a private Christian school because my sister learned things in the public school which my mother did not know until she was married. (Don’t really know if my mother was naive or my sister was well informed.)

In the Christian school, I learned of a new type of hierarchy. Some people got to go to heaven because of the church they attended. Others were destined for hell because they did not attend the true church. I was Southern Baptist, and we were not considered the true church according to several seventh graders. That was one of my earliest experiences taking up a Bible and the encyclopedia to argue for truth rather than misinformation. Turned out that the “true church” of the school was not the original church in the Bible, which was the Catholic church. Some of seventh graders, who attended the “true church”, thought other people went to far outside the rules of the Bible to really be Christians. People like the Southern Baptist. But, we were kids and we were friends despite our expected eternal separation.

My father sold the trucking company when I was 12. He and mother opened an arts and crafts store in a strip shopping center. I was expected to work and help out, stocking, pricing, directing customers, and going for lunch at the grocery store steam bar. My mother was very artistic. I inherited her creativity and made many of the crafts on display. I took art classes at school. My parents let me take private acrylic painting classes from a local artist. I always enjoyed doing art projects, paintings, and drawings. My work was lost through many household moves. I do wish things were saved. Just so I can look back and remember how I saw the world in earlier years.

After turning 16 and passing the driver’s test, my father bought me a 1970ish white mercury cougar hard top. I was ecstatic. I drove fast and loved taking corners as fast as possible. My best friends, Cindy, Kathy, and I drove home from high school with the radio blaring, windows down, and singing loudly. We were cool and we loved it. I drove to school, church, work, and ran errands for anyone. The freedom and power to be sixteen and unfettered was thrilling.

Several months after turning sixteen, my parents decided to move an hour and a half north to Birmingham. New school, new friends, new everything. It was still Alabama. But a much larger city with increased opportunities. I stopped attending church. My brother, Russ, was a year younger than me. We met a brother and sister, Sandie and Ronnie, who were the same age, in the same school, and living nearby. We became a gang, a click, four musketeers. Four teenagers with two cars to share while navigating through high school and college. We lost touch over the decades. The memories are still with us.    

I finished high school in 1976 and started college, living at home, working, and commuting to school. Mt first degree was a BS in computer science. Later, receiving a master’s in computer science and a master’s in English. All the degrees from the University of Alabama in Birmingham, UAB. Not the football school. The medical complex and school.

This blog is a beginning to my story. A lite touch on where I came from and how I began. There will be more details on another day.