Excerpt
Introduction
Before I begin my story, there are some people I would like to acknowledge.
They have given me the inspiration to tell my life story through the power of the Holy Spirit. As you read on, you will find that my life was anything but ordinary. It was and is the direct power of the Holy Spirit through Jesus Christ. This book is to help guide our young people in today’s world who are being seduced by drugs, alcohol, sex, and the occult.
Most importantly before I begin, I would like to take this opportunity to thank God our Father, Jesus his son, and the Holy Spirit for shining their light through me during my life and during this testament. I would also like to thank several other people in my life: my dear friend Anne Marie, for giving me the inspiration to write this book; Sister Mary, my friend and my confidante, who encouraged me to follow my path and journey as a deacon; Rev. Dominic Finn, who gave me his blessing on writing my life story; and my son Demetrius, who I love and who inspires me; and finally my dear wife Carmen, who stood by me all of these years with her steadfast love and commitment.
This story is not for self-glory but to give glory to God and, by the power of the Holy Spirit, to overcome all of the obstacles we have to face in our lives. I am truly a witness to this glory! I will start at the beginning.
My grandparents meant the world to me: my grandfather, Cracker Isley; and my grandmother, Minnie Pearl, who raised fourteen grandchildren by themselves. They were so special to all of us. For without their love and support, we would not know who we are today.
Cracker Isley had four half brothers who lived across Maple Hill in Ashborough, North Carolina. Cracker got his name because his skin was white and fair, and his mother was black, and his father pale as the moon. Cracker was born out of wedlock. His father was married to another woman—a woman of much wealth. My great-grandfather Walter loved my great-grandmother Lila; he could not take his eyes off of her. In those days, divorce was unheard of; but Cracker’s pop wanted to be with his woman, and she was across the hill and lived among her own people.
My granddaddy’s father had lots of wealth and owned most of the whole county. My grandmother, Minnie Pearl, met Cracker Isley one day as she was walking down from Maple Hill. Minnie and her momma had a job cleaning and cooking for the wealthy people of the county. Cracker knew the moment he set eyes on Minnie that she was the woman for him, and he wanted to settle downwith her that very moment. Minnie was tall and slender, her face was shaped like a heart, and her eyes were as green as the river. Cracker’s heart melted every time he saw Minnie. Until the day he died, his life and love was centered on Minnie just as Minnie’s life and love centered on Cracker. My momma (Lily) was the middle child, and she was beautiful. She was named Lily because on the day she was born, there were lilies circling around Cracker and Minnie’s big old house; and the scent of those lilies gave Cracker the thoughts of her, so she was named Lily. Lily had the face and all the best qualities of Cracker and Minnie; she was their favorite child. Growing up, she got everything she needed and wanted. The day came when my mother Lily met Garland, and she fell in love.
Soon after, I was born as Brouycie Isley in Ashborough, North Carolina, in 1949 to Lily Donaldson and Garland Siler. When the winds of March came on the fifth day of that month, I was born out of wedlock. A few minutes after I was born, as I lay on my mother’s breast, my father Garland came in through the door and took a few steps. As he watched, my beaming life came alive through my mother’s breast; he ran out of the room, and I did not see him for years.
Garland ’s family was very wealthy, and they did not like my mother or my grandparents. When Garland’s parents found out about me, they drove him away from Ashborough to another state; so he would not have to acknowledge me or my mother.
During the first three years of my life, my mother struggled as a single parent—still very young and already taking care of me. My grandparents did not approve of my mother being unmarried and having a child. It was not the way my grandparents had wanted for my mother’s future. But still, my grandparents loved us very much and supported us to the best of their ability. We all came from a cotton-picking family, and there was hardly any money but lots of labor and, most importantly, love.
One day my mother came in from the white cotton fields. It was 1952, and the years were stormy in the South especially for us folks. I do not remember those early days, but my grandpa used to tell me about the events that took place in the town and the counties around us. It would be years before our people would be free from the restraints on us, and years before we would be finally free. We did not know at that time that the man who would set us free would be Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. As I would lie in my bed, I would hear Lily and her mother, Minnie, whisper in secret for several nights. Finally, one early evening, my mother said that we were all going to the bus station early the next morning. I remember that morning so clearly. The sun was hot like fire; the fields were as white as silky cotton. It was going to be a hot humid day, and walking to the bus station would be a long trip. As we walked miles to the bus station, I held tightly onto my mother’s hand. I loved my mother; I could feel the love as a young child—it was a strong bond. As we approached the bus station, my mother took her hand away from me and told me she was going to New York to get married and that she would be away for a long time. My heart began to hurt so bad. As the bus pulled up, my mother jumped on the bus; and my grandmother took my hand. As I tried to run after my mother, my mother put her hands on her back; then she pushed me away. In that moment, something died in me; and until this day, the thought of that moment brings tears to my eyes. As the bus pulled away, my mother never looked back at me. I sank into the dirt. I was now alone—alone in the world. I will never feel safe—never. Never. “Momma, Momma, Momma,” I cried.
After my momma left, my grandfather and my grandmother raised me. They were very religious people. Their actions and words instilled in me the values of being God’s child, and, most of all, those of a human being. My grandmother loved me especially; she was the only mother I had. Both of my grandparents were the center of my life as I was the center in their lives. God bless them both. They are finally home with the Lord. My family picked cotton all their lives. It was hard work but decent work. Our families took pride in their work, and they offered all of their hard work to God’s glory.
There were fourteen of us cousins—all born out of wedlock, and my grandparents raised all of us. Minnie and George raised us in a house built by their hands. My grandparents were faithful to each other and married for many, many years. Ironically, after raising their children with the highest religious standards, every one of their children gave birth to children out of wedlock. In those days, back in the ’50s it was hard living in the South. The prejudice amongst the people especially due to our race was very hard. We children were not aware of life outside our home. Our grandparents kept us in our circle of love; and no matter what they faced, we were not touched by the hatred or the hell most of our people suffered because of the color of our skin.
We all worked in the cotton fields all day. The youngest baby who just started to walk would also go with us into the fields and work. We started at 7:00 a.m. and worked until 4:00 p.m. picking cotton. My grandfather and grandmother would alternate working in the fields with us; they both had two jobs. The second job for both of them was working in the cotton mill in town. One grandparent was always with us; we were never alone. We worked six days a week. On Wednesday night, we would go to Bible study; and Sunday was our day to go to church. My grandparents were very close to their church and the pastor. When I was growing up, I was a very happy, loving child. I forgot about my mother because my grandparents loved me. Yet the thoughts of my mother still lingered in me. The hurt I felt that morning when she left never left my heart or mind. Memories of her would fl oat in my mind during those early years. I remember especially when I was three years old, my mother would read to me. The smell of her lingered in my senses, reminding me of the sweet lilac bush beside our old house and the vision of her face with wisps of her dark hair around her heart-shaped face. I still loved my momma. Oh, did I love her and miss her. I could not overcome the loneliness.
It is now 1954, and I am getting ready to start school. I was very close to my cousin, Alice. How could I explain my feelings for Alice and how much she meant to me at that time? Alice was fourteen years old, and she was very intelligent and well educated. She used to read many, many books. My grandma was so proud of her, and she was the star granddaughter. Grandma and Grandpa kept a close eye on Alice. She was tall and slender with long legs; her black hair was down to her waist, and the color of her skin was sunny brown and soft. Many of the young men in town would look at her at church and try to talk to her, but Grandma was never far from Alice, wearing her large white hat that would block the boys’ view of my cousin Alice.
Alice was someone I looked up to, and she was my friend. Alice felt the same way about me, and that is why I knew her secret—a secret that a six-year-old boy kept close to his heart because his favorite person in the whole world told him so, and that was Alice.
Alice had a boyfriend; his name was Karl Goldston. His family were good Christians, and the only thing different about Karl was his looks. He had a white complexion and wavy red hair. He was tall and was built like Superman. Everyday after school, Alice and Karl would meet next to a cave under Maple Hill. I would be sitting on the porch waiting for Alice, and she would run down the hill, flustered and red-faced; and her lips, swollen. I asked her one day why her lips were so swollen, and she got very upset. Shortly after that, she told me about her secret—Karl was her secret. One day, Grandma asked Alice to help me prepare for school. At first, Alice was not so sure about teaching me because her thoughts were about Karl. Finally, one day she got very excited I would be a good excuse for her to stay out late. She asked me if it was all right with me if I came along to meet Karl, and I could not contain my excitement because I would get to spend more time with Alice. I loved Alice; she was so special. I would do anything for her.
Every day she would come up the street after school and bring me something special. We were so close, so happy. We would play games that would enhance my mind—numbers and spelling. She would bring me popcorn, and my favorite was the large fluffy pink cotton candy on a cone. This was heaven. After Alice and I completed our studies, we would go to the cave near Maple Hill. Karl would spread out a blanket, and we would sit there and eat the food that he brought. We would play games, laugh, and just sit there in the quiet of the day. Karl was nice to me; I liked Karl. He took an interest in me even though I had Grandpa who I can to talk to; I never had a brother or a father figure like Karl. I did learn a lot from him. I could see why Alice liked him so much. After we ate, I would take a walk to the cave and explore the rocks outside the cave. This was one of my favorite times. It also gave some private time for Alice to be with Karl.
When I would finish playing with the rocks, I would go back to Alice and Karl. Again, I noticed that Alice had that certain look on her face; and Karl had the same look as well. I just knew that those two were doing hanky-panky.
One day, as I was waiting for Alice on the porch, I saw this canary yellow 1949 Ford with the top down. I almost died. In the front seat, my grandmother sat wearing her big white hat with pink flowers; and guess what? Karl was driving. My favorite cousin Alice was in the backseat with a very unhappy look on her face. I knew then that things were going to change drastically.
Grandma found out about the two of them liking each other, so Alice and Karl expected the worst. What they did not realize was that Minnie liked Karl’s family very much; they were good people. Grandma gave the two of them her blessings to continue to see each other on one condition—they take me with them at all times. We were all so happy because that meant Karl could drive Alice and me to town in his fancy car. One day, Karl took us to the town’s diner; it was called the White Castle. As I was about to get out of the car, Karl asked me to stay inside. I noticed that Alice also stayed in the car, and we parked way over on the other side. As we watched Karl going in the back door entrance, Alice and I both were wondering why Karl went into the back way instead of the front door. As Karl came out with our hot dogs and ice cream, we asked Karl why he did that strange thing. Karl got very quiet and seemed upset; there was a dark cloud that appeared over his wavy red hair. He told Alice and me that colored people were not allowed to go in the front entrance of the store; we had to use the back entrance because we were colored. The cloud got darker; and at this very moment, I came so close to realizing why our families could never do things that the other people could do. We could not go the same places, eat the same food, drink out of the same water fountains, or be on the same buses. Because of racism is a form of prejudice for a six-year-old boy, it forever remained in the back of my thoughts, words, and deeds. I awoke in the morning of September, and it was my first day of school. I watched the sun rise over the white fields and knew it was the day I would begin my life as a young man. Minnie took me to school; I was so excited. I felt so special that day. She packed me my favorite lunch; and when she got me to the schoolyard, she handed me over to my teacher.
At lunch, I sat in the middle of the field, and opened my lunch bag. It was my favorite, homemade biscuit. It was so delicious—as I ate the last part of the biscuit, I noticed the kids around me looking at my biscuit and laughing at me. As I looked at their sandwiches with thick white bread, and lots of meat, I realized how poor we were. I was so embarrassed of my grandmother and of myself I lowered my eyes, and began to cry.
During the next several months I adjusted very well to my studies. I was very intelligent, and I had good test scores; and it was because of my cousin Alice who never stopped teaching and supporting me through the years. It was the beginning of March, and the Isley family was very excited. My cousin Wayne was coming to visit. I finally had someone my own age I can play with. All those girls can make a young boy weak.
I saved up some of my pennies from working in the cotton patches; and when Wayne got here, I wanted to show him the new general store, which was down the highway. The couple who owned it had lots of candy in the store and soda pop and all kinds of fun things.
Wayne and I were racing each other to the store, and all we could think of was that candy in the store. As we were racing along the highway, I did not notice the car. The car hit me square in the middle of my body; I then fell, and the impact of that car dragged me several blocks down the road. I lay there unconscious, and the next thing I knew was that my grandparents were beside me at Randolph Hospital. The doctors did not expect me to live. My grandparents were with me for days. I awoke days later with pain all over my body. I had a broken nose and lots of broken bones in my body, and it was months before I could even walk. My grandmother stayed with me during the day, and my grandfather during the night. Their love and strong faith and prayers kept me alive. During one of my unconscious moments, a beautiful woman appeared in my dreams—a woman who until this day has been by my side throughout my life. I did not know her at the time, but she did appear to me during my dreams quite often. She was beautiful; and after I would see her in my dreams, I felt peace, and I felt her love. I did not know then, but I know now it was Mary our Blessed Mother.
While I was in the recovery room, Wayne returned to Philadelphia. I want to say a little about Wayne, my cousin, who played an important role in my early life in the South. He would come to see me every year; his parents would send him to my grandparents. Wayne had everything a young man would want. He had nice clothes, lots of material things that we did not have, such as a radio, and lots of money. I used to look up to Wayne especially because of his shiny shoes and nice, sharp white sneakers. I was unkempt because I worked hard picking cotton. Wayne’s hands were smooth. His nails were always nicely manicured and clean. My nails were sharp and cut crooked from the cotton picking. I used to notice things about Wayne that were not right. He used to steal things in the store or from my grandparents’ home. My grandparents used to impress on us to be good Christians, do good for others, do not steal or cheat—ah, but Wayne was different. In him, I saw something evil; and it was my very first introduction to an evil spirit named Satan.
