Open Writing

We accepted Mama's strength and love as a given. It is in hindsight that we realized her determination and strong attitudes were shaped by the hardships that came early in life.

My mother was born near Muskogee, Oklahoma in 1919 as Felia Beatrice Counts, a name that she detested and later changed to just plain 'Bee' Counts. She was second in a family of six children, born between an older and younger brother. Her family was poor and her father earned what he could by share cropping and carpentry.

When she was five years old the family lived on an old run-down farm in Oklahoma. She and her older brother, Horace and younger brother, Dick, were in the loft of the barn eating green peanuts. This was in direct defiance of their mother's orders. Just that morning she had warned, "Now, don't go eatin' anymore of those green peanuts, they'll give you the runs again." They made every effort to avoid discovery and stayed as quiet as they could as they stuffed the forbidden peanuts into their mouths. They certainly couldn't risk crawling down from the loft when they felt the desperate need to pee. The sensible decision was clearly to pee where they were.

As Horace and Dick approached the opening in the front of the loft to relieve themselves, Horace, recognized the opportunity to play a game he was sure to win, and said, "Dick, I bet I can pee further than you." With a giggle, Dick unbuttoned his overalls and challenged, "Let 'er rip," thereby entering the competition. Bee, who never wanted to be outdone cried out, "Me too," as she lifted her skirt jerked her underpants off, pushed her pelvis forward and proceeded to empty her bladder by peeing as far as she could.

The result was nothing she could have foreseen; a little stream of her pee dripped through the crack in the floor and onto her father's head as he was milking a cow in the stall below.

"What in the hell?" Grandpa yelled. "You kids get down here right now."

Although Bee was punished in accordance with the degree of her peanut transgression and unlady-like behavior, she never got over the urge to accept physical challenges. The fact is her whole life could be summed up as one continuous "pissing contest," especially where the opposite sex was concerned.

In his younger days, Bee's father, Jack Counts, was a tall handsome man whose own father ruled his family with an iron fist. After the family moved from Missouri to Oklahoma, Jack liked to go to Indian powwow dances just
to watch. It was there he met his first wife, a Choctaw Indian woman.

Great Grandpa Counts thought she was probably rich from the oil royalties of her native land. He insisted Jack marry her.

"You marry that Indian woman and you won't ever have to worry about money again, Jackson," he assured his son.

A few weeks after exchanging vows, the honeymoon along with his libido, were becoming faded memories. At that point, Jack insisted that he take over their finances. This didn't sit well with his wife and she soon discovered that Jack had married her for her money. The marriage didn't last long after that. She drove him in her buggy to the banks of the Canadian River where she held a gun on him. Her dark eyes were black with rage. His had turned round with fear.

"Jack, get out of this buggy," she ordered. If you can swim to the other side of that river with me shootin' at you, you get to live."

Knowing she meant business, he ran zigzagging to the river dodging bullets. He was a good swimmer and would later say as he shook his head with a sigh of relief, "I felt damned lucky not to have been turned into a sieve."

A few years later he met and married my grandma Bertie, whom he adored. He remained loyal to her for the rest of his life even when she changed. She was so lovely and sweet when he first met her that he could not imagine living without her. Perhaps those memories were what kept him in love with her when, after years of hardship and child bearing, her tongue became as sharp as a knife. She ignored him, blaming him for her unhappiness. He rarely addressed her by her given name. Instead he used endearing pet names. However, all his "sugarpots," "sweethearts" and "darlins," cloaked in steadfast love, fell on deaf ears.

Grandpa was a very musical man who danced and sang beautifully. He played the harmonica too, before asthma stole his breath. Grandma was quick to take credit for their musically talented children, but her lack of rhythm denied this claim. She could not keep time and danced no better than a hobbled horse. Her singing was not very good, and time had no positive influence on it.