| Author: | Ann Roy | ISBN: | 9781453538517 |
| Publisher: | Xlibris US | Publication: | September 7, 2010 |
| Imprint: | Xlibris US | Language: | English |
| Author: | Ann Roy |
| ISBN: | 9781453538517 |
| Publisher: | Xlibris US |
| Publication: | September 7, 2010 |
| Imprint: | Xlibris US |
| Language: | English |
"I found myself asking as a child and as a grownup, What is happiness? I did not know that there could be so much sadness and unhappiness in anyones life. So many times I would ask myself, is this a dream? Does a father suppose to treat his family like this? Money was not a problem. We, as an African American family was not lacking in this capacity not at all. We went to church every Sunday, but were cursed out before we went, by daddy, who would hit the top of the bedroom doors as hard as he could with his fist, and say, get your black asses up. He was a so-called diligent church worker. We were an upper middle-class family that lived in this big house. We live better than most of or the average Caucasian family. We had cattle, horses, chickens, goats, lambs, pigs, and cotton fields, and property. He was the general labor foreman over the rest of the foremen, at a giant petrochemical company as a contractor as far as I remember. This was in the late 1950s through about the mid or late 1970s. Why was my, my sisters, my brother, and mothers lives so miserable and horrible? We also had cars, trucks, and some money. What was or went wrong? My father was not a drunk, not on narcotics, and not a gambler. I invite you to read this story and you may see why there was so much Pain and still so much pain. The pain was through almost my entire life."
"I found myself asking as a child and as a grownup, What is happiness? I did not know that there could be so much sadness and unhappiness in anyones life. So many times I would ask myself, is this a dream? Does a father suppose to treat his family like this? Money was not a problem. We, as an African American family was not lacking in this capacity not at all. We went to church every Sunday, but were cursed out before we went, by daddy, who would hit the top of the bedroom doors as hard as he could with his fist, and say, get your black asses up. He was a so-called diligent church worker. We were an upper middle-class family that lived in this big house. We live better than most of or the average Caucasian family. We had cattle, horses, chickens, goats, lambs, pigs, and cotton fields, and property. He was the general labor foreman over the rest of the foremen, at a giant petrochemical company as a contractor as far as I remember. This was in the late 1950s through about the mid or late 1970s. Why was my, my sisters, my brother, and mothers lives so miserable and horrible? We also had cars, trucks, and some money. What was or went wrong? My father was not a drunk, not on narcotics, and not a gambler. I invite you to read this story and you may see why there was so much Pain and still so much pain. The pain was through almost my entire life."
