How do you tell if someone has awful parents?

These things happened to me in the late 50s, but I cried all the time away from home. I cried at church, at school, on the playground, and in our neighborhood. Not one person asked what was wrong. I would look at leaders and teachers, almost begging with my eyes to get them to ask if things were okay at home. I waited outside until the last child was called inside the house, hoping we didn’t have to walk inside the cold, dark house alone. I told my brother it was an adventure. We had no food many times, so I found some dry cereal and gave it to him and then started his bath and made sure he was in bed. The following day, we dressed, and I was worried about lunch money. I would scour around and find enough change for milk and lunch money for my brother. I was so concerned about lunch money for some reason.

I would say for my brother and me; it was the sadness on our faces that never left. You can’t pretend laughter or joy.

It was also never passing a class and doing homework. We were the ones that never did our homework. We were fearful, but we were more afraid of my mother, and we knew she didn’t care what had happened to us. I was the child that didn’t want to make anyone sad because of me. I worried if I would make my teachers upset if we didn’t do our homework. Yet, my little brain had so much crammed inside it that I barely made it day by day.

If you notice a child looking sad, fearful, and especially crying, ask if they are okay. I imagine now it would be more watching to see if a child goes alone or with someone else alone. Do they have clean clothes or shoes to wear that are the right size? Are they hungry when you get your snack or lunch, but the child isn't eating? Do they walk in the bitter cold or the blistering heat without shoes? Do they come to school late, or do they get into trouble so someone, somewhere, will pay attention, even if it’s bad attention? These are just a few of the issues I had as a little girl.

Thankfully, our grandmother got my two brothers and me at 73, and we were almost 6, 4, and 1 years old. My baby brother was very sick, and my grandmother happened to stop by, a “God thing,” I like to refer to it. My grandmother asked where the baby was, and I told her he was cold because he kept shaking, and I covered him in his crib.

Long story, she took the three of us with her, and he was hospitalized for German Measles and almost died. The Pediatrician told my grandmother later that he would have passed away if she hadn’t brought him to the hospital within an hour. We are so thankful God allowed him to live.

Our grandmother was a strong Christian, and when my parents divorced, they also told the Judge they didn’t want us. He was going to put us in foster care, but my dear grandmother stood up and said she would take the three of us and provide. He asked her questions, and she assured him she would be fine in taking three. He talked to me privately, and I told him we loved our grandmother and would be happy to be there.

She was our Angel.

Many wonder how hard it must have been for her to raise us at 73. She was born in 1890 and became a school teacher and taught in a one-room schoolhouse for years. She rose early and rode her horse to get to the school early enough to build a good, warm fire. She was very energetic and remained very active and told us we kept her YOUNG. I doubt that, but she kept us alive and whole. God allowed her go live to be 96.

I'm enclosing the last picture of the 3 of us and our dear grandmother as adults many years ago. She is always in our hearts.

By Shannon M Rogers (Studied Child Development at University of Arkansas, Fayetteville)