My grandfather had a very loud bark, but his bite was as gentle
as a lamb, and I soon figured that out. He used to threaten to
play "Yankee Doodle" on my backside with a fence rail if I
didn't start picking more cotton. I continued to pick about the
same, however, 250 to 300 pounds per day.
My sister, who had always looked out for me, worried herself
sick about me. She kept telling me that he would whip me if I
didn't work harder! But I knew he wouldn't. She used to pick
like crazy and put cotton in my sack to keep me out of trouble,
and I kept telling her not to worry.
Living with my grandfather was not an easier life. With four
additional mouths to feed, we were all expected to pull our own
load -- and this meant picking cotton, which created a big
problem for me. I hated the cotton fields as much as ever, but
had matured enough to know I had no choice -- I had to help earn
the way for my family. My father never helped support us. So,
I went to the cotton fields, but I hated it so much that I
rarely did the amount of work I was actually capable of doing.
Get your own Free Home Page
