Thick as Glue

On December 13, 1955, I, Annette Gaston, was born, along with my twin sister, Annie Gaston, at D.C. General Hospital in Washington, D.C.  Growing up during my early childhood years; I lived in a raggedy one-bedroom apartment at 1125 23^rd Street, N.W., in Washington, D.C. from 1955 to the 1960s. My mother's name was Laura Bell Gaston. She was a typical homemaker, and my father's name was Augustus Gaston; he was a barber by profession. My mother and father were strict on us.  All of us shared this one-bedroom apartment with my brother and sister. It was such cramped quarters; there was no privacy for anyone. When I turned eight years old, my mother had a baby whom she named Delores. This made the one room even more crowded.

When I was very young, I did not understand why my sisters, Lana and Inez, lived across town with foster parents. My mother would tell me that my father did not treat them well because they were stepchildren. Our family was poor, and my father did not provide sufficiently for the children. He used to beat the oldest child, Inez. Inez had problems living in the house. Sometimes, she would play hooky from school.

He did not beat Lana because she was pretty with long hair. My mother said she had to make a decision to give them a better life. So she placed them in foster care. I never understood why. I guess since my mother was not educated to hold her own, she felt that was the right decision. Even though she was not educated, she was a beautiful woman and knew it. She told us as kids she looked like an Indian even though she was African-American. She had black curly hair and a reddish-brown complexion. My mother would make trips to the foster parent to visit them. She would attempt to buy personal things they could use. She had to save the small amount of money our father gave her.

Since my father was in the military, he was very strict. He wanted my retarded brother to grow up and become a barber. He even kept all the barber equipment from the military. Since my brother was born mentally retarded, this shattered my father's dreams. My father would take my brother Mancie on fishing trips with him. It seemed to me that my father was mean to us girls because he was so disappointed about my brother's condition.

My father was African-American with a light brown complexion and gray eyes. My mother called him “cat eyes” when she got mad at him.

My brother, Mancie Gaston, was born January 15, 1953 and died July 17, 2001 of a massive seizure. It looked like there was a curse over him because it seemed as though something negative was always happening to him. When he was a baby, he had a hernia on his stomach that required surgery. After his birth, my mother found out he was not responding to sensory things like other babies. The doctor diagnosed him as mentally retarded. My mother said before he was born that she was too active. She said when she was carrying him, the house had a back porch that did not have steps. My father did not have money to repair the porch. She would leap down when she had to use the yard to take trash out and hang clothes on the line. She would have to leap when she was pregnant.