Right now Im reading the book with almost the same title. It resonates with my own childhood. Living in Dallas in the 60's meant we had "help", as well. Of course, reading this book gives me a totally different perspective, I mean, now as an adult. Im embarrassed by some of our actions back then but we certainly didn't mean any harm. I guess we can feign ignorance of the time.
Our maids were part of our family, maybe, up to a point. We didn't have an outdoor toilet for them to use but they didn't sit down and eat with us either. Somewhere in between perhaps. The first one I remember was Pearline. She was kinda scrawny and had a large jaw but it might have been her clump of snuff. Pearline was very interested in her TV "stories" and while she ironed and watched her stories, she would set me on the ironing board, I reckon so I wouldn't get away. I would sit motionless and terrified as the steam hissed inches from my leg. If I were still enough and didn't cry she would reward me with a few M&M's.
After we moved to a bigger house, Lynzettta Jackson came to work for us. I remember her being real large and soft. Her clothes were held together by giant safety pins and I thought that was so cool and I asked if I could have lots of safety pins to dress up my clothes, too! I have fond memories of Lynzetta. She would iron in Sister's room though, I never knew why, but I didn't have to sit on the ironing board. By this time I was in grade school so there really wasn't any danger of me getting away! Occasionally she would leave her "spit can" in Sister's room, much to our horror! It seemed all of our maids dipped snuff.
Daddy sometimes took Lynzetta home and occasionally I would ride with him. It made me sad to see where she lived. Driving past the City Dump and seeing coyotes strung up on fences made me hide my eyes. During the holidays we would take gifts and grocery bags of food to their house. I actually went inside once and remember the floors being all uneven like the funhouse at the Fair and made of scraps of linoleum pieced together.
Daddy was from Henderson, Tennessee. When I was very little (pre-school age) we would pal around together. Sometimes we would go to the lake to check his trot lines and then stop at the tamale hut for lunch. I would eat anything Daddy ate. Sometimes we would eat sardines and mustard on saltine crackers, it didnt matter, I loved our time together. If he had fish on the trot line, he would take them off and gut them right there on the spot! He showed me the guts of the fish and told me what all the parts were.
On the way home we would stop at the liquor store. He had a favorite one by White Rock Lake where this nice old black man worked. We would go in and Daddy would set me on the counter and tell me to do my "bit". It was a crazy thing Daddy taught me, So I'd start "I'za bone in Tupolo Mississippi. I'za shines shoes and picks cotton alllllllll dayz long" then I'd say "Awwww Hawwww" and slap my thigh. They would both laugh. I must have been a sight.
One day Mother was having bridge club at the house. Everything had to be perfect. She always served little finger sandwiches and those bridge mints I loved to suck the air out of before chewing them up. Dessert would be an exotic looking 'Black Forrest' cake. How could anything that looked so good taste so awful? I still feel that way.
Daddy wanted to play a little joke on her. He was supposed to take me out someplace while they had their game. But what he did was put my hair in little pig tails all over my head and dress me up real tacky and then he sent me into the living room where all the ladies were enjoying their dessert and coffee and I stood there until I had everyone's attention. I'll never forget the horrified look on Mother's face. I stood there for a few seconds before launching into "Iza bone in Tupolo Mississippi".......
Our "Help"
Monday, January 24, 2011
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