Music like many Southern family's was a cornerstone, with grandfather playing piano by ear, aunts and uncles on guitars. My own talent was nil but I was young and cute and cute is like money in the bank. One day I cashed cute in by taking an old cigar box & pretending it was a juke box taking requests from the family and extended family to hear me sing songs. Many of the requests I didn't know so I made up lyrics, taking in pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters in my invented juke box. I scored a lot of loot but we had no place to spend it near our home so I had to wait till we went to town.
It was the downtown five & dime, a kid's idea of Heaven with a treasure trove of candy and toys. I think I picked out some candy, memory fails me there but I remember the small metal boat you would wind up a key that would turn the propeller. I didn't have many toys during this time in my life and most of what I played with I invented out of old wooden thread spools, boxes and things of nature I found outdoors. The boat I could play with in one of my father's steel wash tubs he used to clean his brushes in. I was happy with the one toy but still had a nice piece of change left over.
The church we attended was just down the road and we went fairly often. I would sit, exploring the pictures and stain glass along the walls, people dressed in their Sunday best, surrounded by family. I would listen to the stories the minister told, the music and watch the people around me. I knew who the Baby Jesus was and stared at his image feeling an emotion for him that could only be love. When the men came by with their wooden plates to pass along to the people, I watched them place their offerings of dollars and coins, so when the plate came by I placed the remaining sum of my vocal earnings. I wanted to send it to the Baby Jesus and in my mind it was like the US mail.
Gospel music was the lion's share of what I heard in my early years, along with Country and folk tunes. Mom use to put me to bed with gospel tunes by Tennessee Ernie Ford and Elvis Presley. I fell right to sleep hearing "The Old Rugged Cross" and "I Walk Through the Garden". My tastes for gospel music today has only expanded a little, some Country, I love "I'll Fly Away" and bought the song writer's autograph of that tune, a Mr. Albert E. Brumley. I do enjoy some black gospel, not sure how much I listened to as a child though.
When I was age six we moved from North East 23rd Street to the South East part of town and started to attend a Methodist Church. I remember liking the Sunday School but didn't care much for the sacramental wine and bread of Christ. Watching the end of the movie "Places In the Heart", taking the sacrament was very much like it was at my church. Like most children I imagine I would get restless during services kicking my legs back in forth, waiting for Sunday School.
We didn't attend much church after that I can remember but when I was in Fort Worth I remember my Aunts taking me to a Holy Roller Church. Scared the pee waddling out of me, I tell ya. People were rolling in the floor in convulsions, going into fits and when my aunt did like wise I was really freaked out. I was clinging to my Memaw, I didn't want any part of this freak show. When we got home I stuck my finger in my aunt's husbands back and told him to stick em' up. He did and I told him, 'now you got the Holy Ghost'. He chuckled but it was the first indication to me my aunt had a big stick up her ass.
Seems like years later until we started to regularly attend church and it was when we moved to the North West part of town and attended an Episcopalian Church, still looks the same today. I loved it, us kids were Baptized and took communion. I became a Alter Boy, a C-Server for Father Bradshaw. I was sick as a dog on Midnight Mass one year and tried to beg out but Father Bradshaw did not have a replacement so we worked out a plan if I got sick. I was horribly I'll and all the incense that night seemed to zero in right towards me. As planned I made my exit returning when I was better.
I forget the name of the place we got dressed for services but while we were there Father Bradshaw asked me a favor. He wanted me to talk to my younger sister Robin about hogging the sacrificial wine. He said it was like a tug-of-war with her and he would have to refill afterwards. I must say the wine and the bread of Christ there was much better than at the Methodist Church.
For some reason mom got the notion I had a problem with my self esteem and had Father Bradshaw talk with me about it. I think it was all wrapped up with my poor grades which we also discussed. He had a phone call and needed to attend to something so he gave me paper and pen and I was to practice signing my name as it was my first gift as a baby and something to take pride in. Well I practiced well into adulthood, never totally satisfied but think this grew into part of my interest in autograph collecting.
This was the last place of worship my family attended as a child, I don't know if it was moving to Welcome Mountain or something else that pulled us away. I had some great times there, I loved the Wednesday night pot luck suppers, the food was so good. I can still remember Father Bradshaw sitting, drinking and smoking with the Bishop when he came. I had them both sign my Communal book. I have it somewhere around hidden away, like memories I search for and occasionally locate.
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