2 -A World-Changing March
I saw the movie Selma in the early springtime of 2015. I was moved in a way that only a few films in my lifetime have affected me. Suddenly, that time in my southern upbringing came rushing into my consciousness like an unpredictable thunderstorm. Tears streamed continuously down my cheeks for that two hours in which a story unfurled that sent flashbacks.
At that moment I also remembered the importance of putting words to paper. What would it be like to reflect on a childhood growing up in one of the most transformative eras in American History?
As children we are sheltered and our parents and communities selectively share pieces of the real world with us, as they feel we are ready.
Certainly, I have flashes of that 1965 Selma march as televised through the nightly news, but what was happening locally in a community only 130 miles away from that moment in history?
I lived in a community where in 1965 there were two schools in our little town of 2000 people. If I may use the terminology of that day — We had a white school and a colored school, a white swimming pool and one for the colored folk, and a movie theater of the upper floor for one segment of our town and the main floor for everyone else. At the corner gas station, I recall the public restrooms labelled for “men” and for “women” and the just round the backside of the station one labelled “colored.” I was a young girl. My impressions of the world came from my everyday life.
Here’s what drew my attention as a 12 year old in March 1965. Most of these annotations are directly from my diary.
While civil rights groups were organizing and planning the events about to unfold in Alabama, my little community observed an otherwise normal month come and go.
Although the adults around town might have been talking the politics of the day, the children saw nothing more than the normalcy of everyday. I was in the 7th grade. Six weeks tests came and went at school. My family took a road trip to Tennessee to see my oldest brother and his family during the Easter holidays. My other brother turned 16 and I made his birthday cake (my first ever cake making all by myself!).
My grandmother turned 85. Sadly, she fell and broke her hip before the month of March ended. I made a note on March 20 that “the negroes in Selma, Alabama were uprising.” (This language is from a by-gone era, not language I would use today.)
My best friend broke up with her 9th grade boyfriend. I went to 4-H Club meetings and dutifully went to my weekly piano lessons. Once in awhile I tried my hand at babysitting, but I didn’t really get into that very much. “I babysat Gina and Shaun [neighbors just up the street].”
My mom had the ‘birds and bees’ talk with me providing me with a small kit with samples of items that all girls needed as as I plowed into puberty full steam ahead. Semi-annual trip to the dentist; High school boys basketball team went to state play-offs; My first serious crush: “ I don’t know, but I think I really do “love” Hal with all my heart. Maybe I’m too young to really feel that, but at least that’s what I think.”
Teachers issued report cards. The local Lions Club had a 30 Year Anniversary celebration. Several of my friends and I had the honor of ‘serving’ at the festive occasion. My father was a charter member of the town club.
The Lions Club district governor was a local farmer, Jimmy Carter — a little known name outside of our tri-county area. Oh yes, he was also actually serving his first term as a GA state senator, but was still rather ‘local’ from our perspectives.
NASA sent up a two-man space ship; Methodist church revival kicked off. I made a few random annotations about my dad “fussing and cussing.” My former sixth grade teacher discovered she was pregnant at age 41. We discovered our little dog, Tiny, would soon be having puppies.
A small one ring circus came to a neighbor town nine miles away.
Life unfolded and townsfolk seemed to have no real notice of events about to shake up the complacency of small town southern culture.
After having been a university professor, Lt. Colonel in the US Air Force, and an avid traveler, I'm finally fulfilling my dream of writing. This is my perspective looking back on my life growing up in a small town in southern Georgia. I've changed names for the sake of folks' anonymity.Thank you for reading my story. - DonnaIf you enjoyed reading, please hit the "heart" button below. Click "follow" if you're looking forward to more.
