#4

Last night as T and I were watching the news they had a story about the toy hall of fame. They were putting a stick in the hall of fame. That brought back memories of how as a kid in OK we played with stick horses. Not the kind made by a toy company, but a real stick we got from the woods. We would tie some string on the end we called the head as bridle reins. Some more string for a mane. We would play cowboy, happy as a cow in clover. Our imagination and simple things were all we needed. We lived on a share crop farm just down the hill from my Mom's parents. There was a field between the two houses. They grew corn, cotton, and watermelons in this field. I was about 5 years old. Mom and I would walk through this field to visit Dad and Ma M. I had a pair of cowboy boots without any soles, just the tops. I would get my stick horse and my cowboy boots and away we went. I remember going to town riding on a wagon load of cotton picked by hand from the fields my Dad farmed. The wagon was pulled by a team of horses. We drove to the cotton gin in town so the cotton could be ginned and prepared for sale. My Dad did all his farm work with horse and mules. Our house used kerosene in the lamps for light, wood for cooking and heat. Water was hand drawn from a hand dug well in the yard. No indoor plumbing, out house out back. Years later we lived in California and my Dad kinda wanted to move back to OK but my Mom was not willing. I can see now why she didn't want to move back. Her life in OK was very hard, compared to what she had in CA. I have told the story about being born in a log cabin with a dirt floor. I didn't know any different. As a kid that was all I knew. My parent's worked hard to provide food and shelter for their family. That was my world. Nothing to compare it with. I was happy, we were happy.

When I was six we moved from OK to CA. More about that later.