Page 20 - A Soldiers Exposition

WHO WAS I?

I was a boy from an underprivileged family.

So what? Everyone in the town was poor.

My life’s journey begins early one morning in a small southern town of fewer than two thousand people. It
was a segregated, God-fearing community. My circle of influence consisted of my mother, father,
maternal grandparents, sister, brother, paternal uncle, aunt, cousins and one close friend.

The little town was poor. Everyone knew everyone. A railroad track literally ran through the middle of the
town. Danger awaited the black boy that chose to cross those tracks. But, to be fair, danger also awaited
the white boy that chose to cross those tracks the other direction. Inside, I felt something was just not
right. I could fill a book about the incidents involving those who dared to cross over. It was a dark period
for our nation. I did not fully understand segregation until I entered the Army years later.

I recall my grandmother reading the bible. I remember her making breakfast for my grandfather. Her
biscuits and gravy were belly-filling and delicious. My grandfather loved to smear sorghum molasses on
a hot out of the oven biscuit. He was much taller than my grandmother, but she was the loftiest person in
the room when she handed him that morsel. My grandmother never met a vagrant, a tramp or a bum.
She did feed hundreds of hobos. Her demands were simple. Wash up, watch your mouth, be respectful
and never waste food. I was never afraid of the visitors to her backyard. In return for the food and
kindness, the visitors would often help in the garden, cut wood, help with minor repairs and leave with a
full stomach, warm heart and thankfulness. I know she made a difference every day of her life. She lived
her life with a purpose:

MAKE A DIFFERENCE BY BEING THE DIFFERENCE.