I thought I was holding up emotionally pretty good over my
sister’s death until a minister at her church asked did, we have any stories to
tell about her. At first, we couldn’t
think of any, then I remembered the time our parents told Frances to keep an
eye on me and not let me out of her sight.
I was six years old then and wandered a lot. The event would be crowded. The
event was at the Confederate Cemetery in Marietta. All white school children marched there and
stabbed a Confederate flag in graves. And I disappeared and Frances, when she
realized I was not in eyesight, panicked.
(I wandered back to our home in the Clay Homes and was playing in the
front yard when I was found).
When telling this about Frances to the minister I cracked up
sobbing. I had a job trying to finish
it.
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