FEATURED POST: AN ALBUM OF HOMES by Joshua Foy

This week's featured post comes to us from former Literacy Connections intern and Wayne Community College graduate, Joshua Foy. Many thanks and congratulations to Mr. Foy who will be attending East Carolina University in the Fall of 2019.  

Originally published in: Renaissance: The Writers' and Artists' Magazine of Wayne Community College. 2019 Spring.Vol. 35. Pgs. 3-5

The first was a big house. It was multiple levels, had a car port, and was very bright yellow. Each window was outlined in white and helped the house stand out from all the others on the block. From the front door sprung a covered porch filled with potted plants of all shapes and sizes. In the backyard was a small family-run garden. It never produced enough to live off, but it was fun to work in during the spring. There was a birthday party there. Three candles burned on the cake, and a toy buzzed around the yard, chased by a toddler and two others who would never be able to catch it. A mother and father watched but didn't join in the fun.

The second to come was much smaller; this one was a tan trailer behind a grandmother's house. She always looked after them when they needed it. It was nearly hidden by trees, but what stood out was the chickens that always clucked around the house, laying eggs wherever they pleased. The children here played in a giant sand pit next to the house. Even after they were long gone from that place, toys remained in the sand, some buried too far to ever be found again.

The next was another trailer, this one smaller than the last. There were only two bedrooms, so space needed to be shared. It was blue and had a chain-link fence around it. The kids could play freely inside but weren't to leave the fence. The backyard sloped down, forming a nice hill. When winter came, an ice storm coated it in a thick layer of ice that the kids spent countless hours sliding down with the mother, no father as he had not come with them when they moved. They weren't lonely, however. The mother met a truck driver who lived in Oklahoma. He came to visit them often enough that he convinced the mother to bring them to his own house.

To get there they lived on a bus. It was a school bus remodeled for them. The seats had all been removed, some of the windows had been painted over for privacy, and separate rooms were formed from the way dressers and couches were stuffed into it. At the back, a kennel had been built for the family's two dogs, so they could be comfortable as well. On the outside, it remained a bright yellow school bus with just the name of the school painted over. All their belongings fit into this temporary home. The trip was long but fun for the children. They enjoyed getting to see all the sights.

When the bus stopped, it was in a forest, but the trees were much shorter than at the other houses. There was a trailer nestled into these short trees with a giant stone platform in front of it. This is where the stepdad would leave his truck when he was home visiting. The house had a comfortable feel to it, with enough room for each of the kids to have their own space. They could venture into the forest and explore as far out as they wanted to as long as they could still see the giant stone platform, so they could find their way home. The kids grew here, going from learning their ABCs to learning multiplication before the mother found out the reason the stepdad spent more time on trips than at home.

As the children were old enough to help, moving was much easier, this time to a decrepit house next to a rock quarry. It was an older home, bleached a light tan from the once-dark brown it had been painted. On the inside both mushrooms and mold grew on the walls. At one time the water heater had fallen through the floor, which needed to be rebuilt. They worked hard on this home, attempting to make it into their own. It never really worked. One day a lady showed up with an officer and left the mother worried. Things were packed up, and again they were moving.

They ended up in another old house, one where the ceiling was falling in in several rooms, and the floors were all uneven. The outside looked new and clean; that's what drew them in. They didn't have time to look past the recently painted green walls. During the winter the house couldn't stay quite warm enough, at one time growing so cold the toilet bowl cracked and water poured throughout the bathroom, freezing solid before anyone woke up. The mother met another man, one who promised to fix the bathroom for them. He insisted that the children be homeschooled because he didn't trust what happened in the schools. This led to the lady and the officer returning, and the mother moved everyone again, too afraid to stay any longer. The bathroom never had been fixed.

This house was another trailer, small enough that all the children had to share one room. However, nothing was falling in or breaking in the winter. The house was a light blue and was in a trailer park of just four small trailers. Everyone was friendly with each other and shared what they could amongst themselves. They were within two blocks of the school, so the children opted to walk instead of getting on an overcrowded bus. They grew much older here and constantly bickered over the tiny space they all had to share. Word slipped in a class somewhere from one of them, and the lady returned a third time. She gave no more warnings. This scared the mother once again, and even faster than before, everyone was moving. This time out of the state, far from the lady and her officers.

The house they ended up at was as big and as yellow as the first house had been. It even had a stone porch. Inside the ceilings that had at one time been white were stained a dark yellow from years of cigarette smoke. The walls had cracks down them, and no matter where they put a marble on the floor, it would always roll away seemingly never able to find a flat place. There was room here, so each of the children had their own space. They continued to grow, but as soon as they were ready for high school, a tree was ripped from the ground by a storm and deposited on their roof. Instead of reaching out for help, the mother and current stepdad worried about the lady coming to take the children away. So, they gathered all their belongings and rushed away with the children again.

With less and less options presenting themselves, the stepdad convinced the mother that it would be best to hide. Deep in a forest behind an old man's house, they set up tents to live in, a circle of blue and gray tents with a small

tarp over the top of them to keep some of the heat off. Sand got into everything they ate or wore. The children would walk to the road in the mornings and get on a bus to school. They

hadn't changed school systems, and the children were too afraid of the stepdad to say anything, so the school officials

did not alert anyone to their troubles as they had no way of knowing. The mother and stepfather would beg for food, and at night when the old man would sleep, everyone would steal water from the hose that was attached to the house.

Of course, it did not take long for them to be found and forced out. Before the old man could even call the police, their stuff was packed, and they had moved again. It was several days before the mother could work anything out, but scared from the last time, they made an honest deal with someone to rent a piece of land just outside of town. The man thought that they would be putting cattle on it, but instead the mother rented a small shed and had it placed there to live in. The shed had one door and two windows. It was made from a light orange wood and had a green roof. This land was very open, with hardly any trees at all. It was hidden from the roads by a giant hill. At the bottom of the hill was a creek, right next to the shed. The children dropped out of school now that they were old enough to and stayed on the land trying to understand their lives as the mother worked small jobs and the stepfather begged. There was no electricity ever run to the shed, nor water. If a bath was needed, they were told to bathe in the creek. They raised chickens and rabbits for food, letting them roam free on the land around the house to feed on bugs and grass. As time wore on, the children learned life was not supposed to be this way, and they convinced the mother as well.

They found a house in the town that they could afford if the mother picked up another job. It was a giant blue house with more attic space than yard. The carpets were all bright red which looked odd compared to the outside of the house. Just like all the homes before, the ceiling was falling in in several rooms, and the floors were all uneven. Electricity for the house could not be turned on as the wires were so old they needed to be replaced. This was heaven for the children. They could bathe in the bathroom, albeit with cold water. They all had room to breathe, and they could walk to the library since they were in town again. They spent many days going to the library to learn on their own, hoping one day to do something with their lives even though their chances would always be slim. The stepfather refused to let them do anything to help or to better themselves beyond just reading what they could find on their own at the library.

Being back in the town, back in view of others, the children hoped that someone would alert the lady with the officers again, but nobody ever did. They were old enough that people expected them to take care of themselves, even though they were never shown how. Instead, people looked at them as if they were lazy drop-outs by choice. They weren't given handouts by anyone, but they worked together to raise money without the stepfather learning of it. Twice they let it slip, and he took it for rent even though the landlord never saw a single penny of it. Finally, they had enough for three one-way bus tickets. Before anyone knew what was happening, they had packed and disappeared like they had done so many times before.

Instead of just another house, at the end there was hope. The bus they boarded wasn't like the one before. It was white and filled with nervous people. They could only bring a single bag apiece, clutched tight to the chests of the kids. After they had gone three days without even a wink of sleep, a no-longer-familiar grandmother listened to their story and received them with open arms. Help had always been just a word away, but the mother had been convinced not to take it.

This new home was foreign to the children. It was painted white and had a big wooden front porch that they could sit on. It only creaked a little. Inside, the floors were all even, the ceiling stayed in its place, and electricity buzzed through the wires in the walls. They didn't all get their own rooms, but that was okay because for once they felt safe. As time moved on, they went back into school, and as even more time passed, continue to better themselves, but they would never forget the many houses that led to this new life.

GET TO KNOW A CONTRIBUTOR! SIMON LEBEDINSKIY

Simon Lebedinskiy was born in 1938 in a Russian East Siberian city, not far from the border of China, in a kind of Eastern Babylon. He grew up surrounded by people of different nationalities where he enjoyed listening to: Ukranian, Belorussian, Tatar, Yiddish, Korean, Chinese and a variety of native languages. These experiences led him to acquire a passion for languages and influenced him to become a student in the Foreign Languages Department at a local university where he studied the English and German languages. After graduation, he was sent to India as an English interpreter for a group of Russian workers. He spent three years in India before returning to Russia where he finally settled in Moscow, married and raised a family.  Soon after, he gained employment as a translator for a research center. He worked there for 27 years until he retired. During retirement, he sought to educate his fellow community members on literary and philosophical topics which led him to create a variety of literary gatherings wherein various speakers were invited to engage with community members.  Later in life, he and his wife joined their daughter and her family in the United States where he currently resides. 

CATCHPHRASES by Brie Smith

What's up, buttercup? 

What's the story, morning glory?

How many of you use catchphrases or rhyming catch phrases without even realizing it? According to Merriam-Webster, a catchphrase is a word or expression that is used repeatedly and conveniently to represent or characterize a person, group, idea, or point of view. Do any of these look familiar?

"Know what I mean, jellybean?"

"Why so glum, chum?"

"Okey dokey, artichokey"

"Mañana iguana"

"See you later, alligator" 

"After while or after a while, crocodile!"

Think about it, are some of your favorite catchphrases coming back to you? See! Try it with your family and friends. It can be quite catchy. 

"Hasta la pasta!"

SHE SIGNED WITH AN X by Dawn Amory

My grandmother, the only biological grandparent I’d ever known, passed away when I was eight years old.  It was the first time I’d ever experienced death and I’ll never forget when Mom told me.  

It was early November and I was asleep on the couch.  The tobacco barn house my step-father James had built for us only had a wood burning fireplace and a few gas heaters for heat.  My bedroom was upstairs without either, so most winter nights, I slept on the couch by the fireplace.  I slept that deadening sleep that only youth can give, and I normally slept through all the sounds of the household waking.  But that morning, I woke quickly when Mom sat down beside me.  She shook me gently, saying ‘Grandma Pope died last night’.  I remember seeing my Mom’s worried face, her glistening eyes, the catch in her voice. It is seared into my memory.

Grandma, Lillian Bell Pope, born in November of 1910, lived most of her life in a little house at Galloway crossroads near Greenville, NC.  It was on a lone country road with woods protecting one side and behind it. It was an L-shaped, 3-room, wood-panel house with no electricity or running water.  The kitchen sat on the short side of the L and had a gas range for cooking and a table and pie safe built by my grandfather.  The back porch ran the length of the kitchen and held a sink with a hand pump.  The living room and bedroom were on the other side where a long front porch, with a swing and a rocking chair, ran the length of the two rooms.  The living room was sparsely furnished, there was a couch and an end table with a gas lamp and her husband’s Bible on it. The bedroom held a bureau, a trunk, and a bed with a chamber pot beneath it.   

Before my parents divorced, we visited there on weekends.  My father would do any repairs she needed, and we would help in her garden. She cooked collards, potatoes, dumplings, fatback, and cornbread for us.  I can still see her there in her little house, in her straight feed sack dress with a V neck and short sleeves, watery blue eyes, long thin nose, graying straight hair always pulled back, hobbling around, cooking, fussing.  

Up the road from the house was a little country store.  We would walk down from the house and buy a Pepsi for nickel.  Across the street from the store was a grand, two story Victorian house with a wide front porch and lacy curtains in the window.  This was my great-Grandfather’s house. 

My great-Grandmother died when Grandma was just 15 years old.  She was the oldest child with two younger brothers and a sister.  Two years later, my great-Grandfather remarried and had five more children.  By the time I remember visiting, my great-Grandfather had already passed but his second wife still lived there.  Being the oldest, my Grandmother often had to take care of her siblings.  I am unsure of the relationship she had with her stepmother, but we always visited her and called her Grandma Mae.  

Grandma Mae was a stooped little woman with glasses and a shock of long, wavy, white hair that was always tied in a bun at the back of her neck.  I always though it looked too thick and heavy for her small head and body. I remember her being nice to me and giving me peppermints.  Grandma Mae’s life seemed privileged in comparison to Grandma’s.   

When Grandma died, she could only sign her name with an X.  Grandma never went to school past the second grade, she always worked on other people’s farms, harvesting tobacco or whatever crop was in season.    In 1937, when she married my Grandfather, John Pope, he was fifteen years older than she.  I hope that they had some happiness in their life together. He was a blacksmith and they settled on a little tobacco farm.  They had four daughters, like

doorsteps.  Mary was the oldest, then Nancy a few years later, then my mother Daisy, and finally Alma.  Alma was called Johnny Faye because my grandfather was so hoping for a boy that time. I still call her Aunt Johnny today. 

In October of 1947, when my Mom was two and Johnny was still an infant, my Grandfather died.  Grandma sold the little farm and left with those four girls and moved into the little wood house with her stepmother’s mansion down the road.  She took care of her girls as best she good.  Aunt Mary remembers their life there with Grandma caring for them, all sleeping in that little bedroom together, hanging clothes on the clothesline at the back of the house.  Grandma telling them stories after supper on the wide front porch, her in the rocking chair and the girls in the swing.  

In the fall of 1950, a visit from a county welfare agent would change their lives forever.  It was determined that the living conditions for my mother and aunts could not continue and they would have to be put into an orphanage.  In January 1951, my Grandma would have to say goodbye to her three oldest daughters. Johnny was too small at the time and would follow a few years later.  Grandma visited as often as she could and they would return home to that little house for just two weeks a year, one in May and one during Christmas. She worked in the fields for her cornbread and collards, walked to the store in the shadow of the mansion’s lacy curtains, buying Pepsis with her hard-earned nickels with the memories of her daughters following her like the dust from the road.

In the late 1970’s, when her health started failing, she came to live with us.  My Dad had left by this time and it was just my Mom and us four kids.  She was struggling to keep us all fed and the bills paid by working long hours at a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop.  There were a lot of empty cabinets and Mom’s tears at night in those years.  As a little kid, I mostly remember missing my Dad, thinking our house was haunted and how funny my Grandma was.  My sister had this huge Raggedy Ann doll that Grandma loved.  She would hold it, hug it and talk to it.   Grandma would take that doll, holding it out in front of her and shaking it, and say, “You are so lucky, you are so lucky!  You don’t have to get up and go pee every five minutes!” 

 She had her snuff box that she carried in the front of her dress.  She always had a little bit stuffed in her bottom lip.  I remember seeing her green ceramic ‘spit jar’ and thinking how gross it was and I made sure never to touch it or tip it over.  She had little change purse in the front of her dress too.  I remember her giving us nickel and telling us to go to the store and buy a Pepsi.  She didn’t believe us when we told her they now cost a quarter.   I remember being an avid reader in the second grade and being concerned that Grandma couldn’t read.  I got it in my head that I was going to teach her how to read. I remember trying to explain the alphabet to her. I think that was the only time I ever saw her get angry.  We only had one lesson.  

Mom started dating James, who would later become my step-father.  He built the tobacco barn house in the country for us and Grandma had her own tiny room in the back.  For reasons I never knew, it was decided that Grandma would go live with my Aunt Mary in Ohio for a while.  We took her there in James’ Volkswagen van.  It was square and orange and I thought it was awesome.  I don’t think I ever rode in the front.  The back had two single seats butted up against the driver and passenger seats facing backward and a bench seat across the back width. I spent most of the ten-hour drive curled up on the floor, my brothers and sister were either on the floor with me or sitting in the single seats.   Grandma had the bench seat all to herself.  As we were riding through the winding roads of the mountains, Grandma kept sliding from side to side the full length of the bench, flailing at each bend in the road.  She had finally had enough and yelled to my brother, “Michael!  Come sit beside me so I’ll quit sliding!”  I think we laughed a few miles about that.

My Aunt and her family did all they could to make Grandma feel welcome.  My Aunt didn’t have a full-time job and was able to devote more time to her.  They cut and permed her long gray hair so that it curled around her face and was easier to manage.  They taught her do crafts like gluing buttons and seashells onto a Mason jar and spray painting it silver.  They took her on outings and showed her the sites, but I don’t think she was happy there being so far away from North Carolina, from home.  I imagine it was difficult for her to be away from her little house and the solitude she had for so many years.   She came back to live with us right before she died.  I don’t remember her being back with us long before Mom and her sisters decided she needed more care than they could give.  I remember Mom struggling with the decision, she kept saying Grandma would die if they put her in a nursing home.  Three weeks later, she was waking me up on the couch.

After the funeral, my Aunt and Uncle took all of us cousins to visit Grandma’s little house one last time. We spent the night in sleeping bags on the hard, thin, plank floor in the drafty living room.  I remember us laughing and telling stories about Grandma, I remember Aunt Mary getting teary eyed many times.  We only had a few kerosene lamps for light that cold November night, but the warmth of that memory has stayed with me.  I think Grandma would have liked the fact that we were there again.  She would have liked that we said our goodbyes in the place where she lived alone for almost 30 years, without even the words of her husband’s Bible to keep her company.