My Genesis

I was born on April 2, 1962 at Baylor hospital in Dallas, Texas to Billy Marshall and Donna Leigh Jerger Fugitt. Both my parents were 20 years old at the time of my birth, young. Both had entered their marriage with baggage. I will save this for another day because I am really finding it difficult to share.

I know not from my memory but from being told that my parents started their life out living in the projects of Dallas. This was a place my mom was very much familiar with as it was where she had lived with seven of her siblings and her mother, Anna Mae. I love that name but to me she was my Memaw. I too would become familiar with the projects of Dallas but that is later down the road.

After living in the projects for only a year my parents lived a short time with my Dad's mom and dad. They were George William and Pauline Fugitt, To me they were my Gran-Gran and my Papaw. They lived in a huge house 6048 Bryan Parkway. Why do I remember that when I can't even remember my own cell phone number? This house is one block off of the famous Swiss Avenue of Dallas. We are talking big and beautiful homes. These homes have often been used by Hollywood for movies. W.A. Criswell owned one of these homes. I remember my Dad telling me that working for W.A. was great, he was kind and generous; his wife on the other hand was quite the opposite. Anyway my grandparents house was thrilling to me. It had a big front porch, wonderful architectural details and wide steps. I dreamed of living in a home just like it.

I think I will stop here and talk about my grand parents and then end until tomorrow. I adored my grandfather. He was kind and affectionate with me. He had a small office in the back of the house. This office was where I entered the house when I came over. He seemed to always be sitting in his chair with a cigar. His wonderful fancy cowboy hat was sitting on it's hat stand. His hat-stand was a big 'ole round bellied Buddha. I always thought that was funny that he used it as a hat stand. I found out just recently that my Dad and two of his brothers had given it to him as a gift. I guess it was meant as a joke but it makes me grin thinking of the way he used it. Every time my PaPaw would see me he would ask me if I had a Yankie dime for him. Now how many of you know what a Yankie dime is? It is a kiss. When I gave him his Yankie dime I would be rewarded with a buffalo nickle. The interesting thing about this is that he was Indian, American Indian. When I saw him I always visualized him with one of those big chief feather headdress. My grandfather did not make it to my wedding he was in the hospital and would die from bone cancer three months later. My Dad would be at the hospital more than once a day throughout his hospital stay. My grandfather was in so much pain that he would beg my Dad to end his life for him. I can't even imagine what each one went through mentally and emotionally. thought he was the wonderful and kind one.

My grandmother always seemed very formal to me not very affectionate. I don't ever remember her hugging me or telling me she loved me. I was always somewhat afraid of her. She never gave me reason. I can remember when my grandfather was very sick her talking about him to my parents when he was right there in the room with them. She would always talk about all that was negative going on with him and his illness. This happened in my later teen years. It made me so angry that he was treating him the way she did. Today, with some experience and wisdom she had to talk. His slow death right in front of her, the man she had shared her life with and raised 10 children with was leaving her. She desperately needed to talk. My anger was misplaced. Not only was I wrong about this I was wrong about her. A few years after the death of my grandfather my Dad arranged to buy a house (my grandmothers money) that was right across the street from my mom and dad's house. He would be there every morning fixing her breakfast and talking to her. He would see her sometime in the day and my mom would fix her a plat of dinner each night. My Dad was a good son and my Mom was a good daughter-in-law.

I was given my grandmothers Bible a few years back and when I opened the pages and saw all the clippings that were stuck here and there I was astounded by what I learned. After talking to my Mom and Dad recently I had an even bigger picture of who my grandparents were. My grandmother had listed seven of her children and the dates of their baptisms. My Dad was one of the ones not listed. My Mom shared with me that my grandmother went to church and she took all the kids to church with her. I found that my great-great grandparents were names Sarah and Issac. I asked my Dad, cautiously about his going to church. He told me that his mom took him and but when she went into her class he and two of his brothers would sneak back out and go and get into trouble. I believe there was a bit of sadness with my Dad as he shared. My mother then shared that my grandfather was known to be a drinker and a bit of a harsh man and father. I didn't know; my perceptions were the exact opposite. By the time I came of age they were older and their health had began it's downward slide.

What did I learn? In my youth I lacked the wisdom, experience and understanding to rightly divide truth from error. Our perceptions of people and circumstances are not always accurate. God was right when He said to honor the aged...no matter what (mine.) It takes knowing someones whole story before we can really appreciate them. Grace, mercy and forgiveness come so much easier when we take the time to know others stories. We all have stories.