Turning Points

My Childhood

This is the autobiography of my life, which I began writing while incarcerated in Kirkland Correctional Institution in Columbia, SC.  Time and time again, and often while in prison, I sat down to analyze my childhood to see what effect it had on how I evolved as an adult.

I was born in Charlotte, NC on June 5, 1958 in a taxi while my mother, Rosia Lee Woods, was on the way to the hospital.  My biological father is James Robertson,)  I was raised in the small rural town of Ridgeway, SC in a little area called The Ray Place.

In addition to me, my family consisted of five brothers -- Frank D; MacArther, "Mack;" George, "Flute;" Albert, "Munk;" and Gregory, "Boo Boo."  My sisters are Martha Ann, Beatrice and Mary Carolyn

I recall that when I was about three or four years old, my mama, my brother Frank, my sister Martha and I lived with my granddaddy, Albert Kennedy.  His two daughters, Betty and Flora; and his son, Albert, Jr., were already living with him.

We all lived in granddaddy's big board house which was set far back in the woods.  The house consisted of four rooms -- two bedrooms, a living room with an old fireplace, and a kitchen.  Because there was so many of us, the house was overcrowded and we used the living room as a bedroom too.  In the winter, the house was always cold.  We had no inside plumbing, and that meant, of course, no running water, nor bathroom.

We got our water from a spring, which was down in the woods.  At night, we used tin buckets for our bathroom needs.  The buckets had to be carried out and dumped in the woods every morning.  I can still remember those white tin buckets with their red tin lids. They were common in poor rural areas during those days.  Today, they are antiques.

My granddaddy was a tough old man, about six feet tall and sturdily built.  I don't recall him ever working anywhere.  My moma told me he had had a heart attack, and I guess that explained why he walked with a cane.

Granddaddy would punish us severely if we did something wrong.  When I was about five years old, I remember my sister knocked his radio off a table, causing it to break into bits and pieces.  He whipped the daylights out of her.

Sometime later he wanted to punish me for something I did, but because of thoughts of how cruel he could be, I ran away from home.  I went to a neighbor's house and stayed there until that afternoon.  Finally, I found the nerve to return home, all the time fearing Granddaddy would get me.  To my surprise, he didn't punish me at all.  Perhaps he figured I had endured enough turmoil and suspense, and that was punishment enough for my innocent young mind.

As I reflect on my childhood, I realize that my granddaddy was tough but fair.  Most of the time, he was one of the nicest people you would ever want to meet -- he just didn't put up with any nonsense.

Another vivid memory from my childhood was the day my moma and Aunt Flora got into a fight.  We didn't have a telephone so granddaddy went to a neighbor's house to use theirs to call the police.  I can still recall that awful fear I felt during that time, mostly because I thought my moma was going to jail.  Thankfully, Mama and Aunt Flora resolved their conflict and neither went to jail.