And my Daddy picked cotton. Used the saying “cotton-picking” all the time instead of cursing (Strict Southern Baptist). I’m told us white folks can’t say that and it’s racist but I feel my Daddy certainly owned it as well as I if I choose to say it!
Dear black people, I am a white woman. I have worked in the tobacco fields just like you. I have set it, topped it, chopped it out, cut it, picked up leaves, housed it and stripped it. Stripped it the old way a few times by tying it and putting it back on the stick and later simply stripped it and baled it. I have sweated in the hot fields and froze my butt off in the cold barns finishing it up. So call me White Privileged if you like.
I stripped tobacco for the first time when I was 13 yo with my grandmother and grandfather. I didn't realize I would be doing this periodically throughout my lifetime. But hey! It taught me what hard work was and that no one can get away without working hard at least once in your lifetime. Except of course, IF you are the ELITES. I wouldn't trade places with these rich people for anything. I was born a poor girl and I'll gladly die one.
I got to work for years scooping dogshit for my parent-in-law's poopy-scoopy company out of Denver.
Poop Van Scoop! We "Eliminate Gross Encounters of the Turd Kind"......."Number 1 in the Number 2 business"......."We pick up where your dog left off......"
Nothing like driving around on a hot day with a big black garbage bag full of shit in the back of your SUV to freshen things up!
I wanted to kill myself until I realized how privileged I really was.
In 1970 Mom ran off with the current woman beater, the worst of the bunch. The Bird who was 13 had to steal food for her and Little Pitchers Have Big Ears (Gram's saying to me, who was 12. Mom was workin' down a mile or so as a drug store snack-bar attendant and cut the tip of her finger off in a meat slicer, Webb's Drugs fired her... Jimmy the worst sort of drunk, was being cheated by his roofin' job boss, and fellow woman beating drunkard. Weird how there was beer and cigarettes in the house, but no food.
So needless to say, mom lost her 235 Home (Whatever that meant), and the Bird and I were sitting on our pile outside the flop-cottage mom and pop, side of the road (17-92) that only lasted a week. Gram and Pop came and got us for the third time that mom ran away and dumped us for several years. Thank God for their stability, both born in the 1890's.
So a few years later, the bird snuck her BF in the window, quite a task they were jealousy panes and got herself a baby in the oven. I was surprised 'cause Pop had chased that boy backpedaling' down the front sidewalk "You don't work!, You Don't go to school!, What the Hell Do you do!" Well anyways mom wrote a letter to the Bird and she connived me into going to Virginia with her. In the letter Mom swore they had quit drinkin' and fightin' and we could come to the farm and work, 2 bucks an hour!
We worked the entire Tobacco season season and had to enroll in school late, laws on the books allows it. Well 4 months of workin' 12 hours a day, only 4 hours Sundays, then 2 months of school and we were able to talk mom into leaving him and returning to Florida, the drinking and woman beating drunkenness had resumed after we were there a week. I can't imagine the love the Bird had for mom, the POS had chased my sister down the street naked when she was 13, and yet the Bird, pregnant, took the risk.
I was happy at my Grams house, I didn't need a job, I had lots of ways of makin' my own dough, started collectin' soda bottles at age 8... But the Bird talked me into going chasing that invisible mom. I started out pulling tobacca', the kind on the farm we were at the leaves ripened bottom up in sets of 3. I was the only white in the field and after a week I got the white privilege of pulling the sled with the tractor through the field, he got a kick that I worked as hard as the other workers.
Problem with that since I was the tractor boy, I had duties before breakfast, I had to let the cows through the gates to be milked, and had to dump trashcans of feed across an electric fence for the big pigs, then had to feed and water the piglets in the weaned pen hauling a big tank of water to siphon. Then after supper duties was doin' it all again.
So white privilege was being the first one to start work in the dark and the last one done at night in the dark. That's a long day at 14. We never got the 2 bucks an hour, I don't know if the farmer was cheating, or Mom and Jimmy spent the money up. I got a carton of cigarettes a week, like the "smoke up Johnny" scene in the breakfast club. Cigarettes in Va. in 1972 were 35 cents a pack, 3 for a dollar, or a carton for 3...
Will continue with the picking oranges part of the story should there be an interest. It's more about rich people privilege in my book, and people who had parents that maintained a non-addicted life had a leg up too. One thing I gained was a strong work ethic, God always turns bad things into good.
And my Daddy picked cotton. Used the saying “cotton-picking” all the time instead of cursing (Strict Southern Baptist). I’m told us white folks can’t say that and it’s racist but I feel my Daddy certainly owned it as well as I if I choose to say it!
Dear black people, I am a white woman. I have worked in the tobacco fields just like you. I have set it, topped it, chopped it out, cut it, picked up leaves, housed it and stripped it. Stripped it the old way a few times by tying it and putting it back on the stick and later simply stripped it and baled it. I have sweated in the hot fields and froze my butt off in the cold barns finishing it up. So call me White Privileged if you like.
NOt many black peiple left who picked cotton.
They'd be mighty old if they did. I heard it was very hard and hurtful work.
You tell 'em Mary, it's rich privilege...
I stripped tobacco for the first time when I was 13 yo with my grandmother and grandfather. I didn't realize I would be doing this periodically throughout my lifetime. But hey! It taught me what hard work was and that no one can get away without working hard at least once in your lifetime. Except of course, IF you are the ELITES. I wouldn't trade places with these rich people for anything. I was born a poor girl and I'll gladly die one.
Yeah, never been rich, never been broke, worked and lived on my own dollars.
I got to work for years scooping dogshit for my parent-in-law's poopy-scoopy company out of Denver.
Poop Van Scoop! We "Eliminate Gross Encounters of the Turd Kind"......."Number 1 in the Number 2 business"......."We pick up where your dog left off......"
Nothing like driving around on a hot day with a big black garbage bag full of shit in the back of your SUV to freshen things up!
I wanted to kill myself until I realized how privileged I really was.
lol thick garbage bags order of the day
In 1970 Mom ran off with the current woman beater, the worst of the bunch. The Bird who was 13 had to steal food for her and Little Pitchers Have Big Ears (Gram's saying to me, who was 12. Mom was workin' down a mile or so as a drug store snack-bar attendant and cut the tip of her finger off in a meat slicer, Webb's Drugs fired her... Jimmy the worst sort of drunk, was being cheated by his roofin' job boss, and fellow woman beating drunkard. Weird how there was beer and cigarettes in the house, but no food.
So needless to say, mom lost her 235 Home (Whatever that meant), and the Bird and I were sitting on our pile outside the flop-cottage mom and pop, side of the road (17-92) that only lasted a week. Gram and Pop came and got us for the third time that mom ran away and dumped us for several years. Thank God for their stability, both born in the 1890's.
So a few years later, the bird snuck her BF in the window, quite a task they were jealousy panes and got herself a baby in the oven. I was surprised 'cause Pop had chased that boy backpedaling' down the front sidewalk "You don't work!, You Don't go to school!, What the Hell Do you do!" Well anyways mom wrote a letter to the Bird and she connived me into going to Virginia with her. In the letter Mom swore they had quit drinkin' and fightin' and we could come to the farm and work, 2 bucks an hour!
We worked the entire Tobacco season season and had to enroll in school late, laws on the books allows it. Well 4 months of workin' 12 hours a day, only 4 hours Sundays, then 2 months of school and we were able to talk mom into leaving him and returning to Florida, the drinking and woman beating drunkenness had resumed after we were there a week. I can't imagine the love the Bird had for mom, the POS had chased my sister down the street naked when she was 13, and yet the Bird, pregnant, took the risk.
I was happy at my Grams house, I didn't need a job, I had lots of ways of makin' my own dough, started collectin' soda bottles at age 8... But the Bird talked me into going chasing that invisible mom. I started out pulling tobacca', the kind on the farm we were at the leaves ripened bottom up in sets of 3. I was the only white in the field and after a week I got the white privilege of pulling the sled with the tractor through the field, he got a kick that I worked as hard as the other workers.
Problem with that since I was the tractor boy, I had duties before breakfast, I had to let the cows through the gates to be milked, and had to dump trashcans of feed across an electric fence for the big pigs, then had to feed and water the piglets in the weaned pen hauling a big tank of water to siphon. Then after supper duties was doin' it all again.
So white privilege was being the first one to start work in the dark and the last one done at night in the dark. That's a long day at 14. We never got the 2 bucks an hour, I don't know if the farmer was cheating, or Mom and Jimmy spent the money up. I got a carton of cigarettes a week, like the "smoke up Johnny" scene in the breakfast club. Cigarettes in Va. in 1972 were 35 cents a pack, 3 for a dollar, or a carton for 3...
Will continue with the picking oranges part of the story should there be an interest. It's more about rich people privilege in my book, and people who had parents that maintained a non-addicted life had a leg up too. One thing I gained was a strong work ethic, God always turns bad things into good.
It’s all a scam my friend. I no longer take the race stuff seriously.
It’s a form of fraud in my view.
Black Privilege: https://i.imgur.com/8USEULP.jpg