My mother was the 8th child and last of a cotton mill family. I saw the house she was born into (next to the railroad) before it was torn down.
My father’s birth wasn’t recorded for several years since my Grandmother propped a sewing machine against the door to give birth to him. She wanted him to hurry up so she could pick crops (he was born August 13).
My parents were born into poverty. I Joke that I come from a long line of cotton pickers and share croppers.
Both sides of the family have done nicely. Pop’s side is really into medicine (I HAVE to mention now that Grandma never seemed disappointed that I chose otherwise), Mom’s side is into music (and finding jobs to support the music). Actually, both sides of the family have produced wonderful musicians, . . .
I’ve been thinking about my dreams of my Grandmother. She passed a couple of years ago. I think I need to remember these dreams!