Family Dynamics

It was a cold February morning in 1922, when Mattie McCloud gave birth to what would be her fifth of eleven children in a small shotgun house on North Harlan Street in downtown Indianapolis. "Failure to thrive" was the name the doctor used to describe the baby's condition. After several days, when little Harriett Louise didn't improve, her mother resigned herself to losing yet another child. Harriett would be her third baby who died at or close to birth, so Mattie gave up on trying to save the baby who was just going to die anyway and hurried back to the many responsibilities screaming for her attention.

When he did have a job, he worked at the railroad. There wasn't much for a man with no education or a trade to do in those days. Times were difficult but not just for Tommie McCloud's family; being poor was commonplace and widespread. But yet, according to Tommie's always-angry wife, he could do better for his family. He'd turned out to be such a disappointment--so different from the man she'd married when she was sixteen. How could he be so cavalier about his duties to his ever growing family. Why wasn't he more responsible? Why did he always act happy and carefree with so much on his plate? With a wife and five children (one dying), why couldn't he see his failings and change?

Mattie never wanted children. She had plans for her future that didn't include children. One or two might have been okay, but no more. There was just this one itty-bitty problem: sex. Her husband liked it and because her faith instructed her to never say No, the babies kept coming. She had four now, well, five but that baby was dying. Four was enough. No more babies.

As it is supposed to be, according to the First Church of the Nazarene, on Washington Street, we should love God and Jesus above all. Everything else will fall into place as it should. My grandmother was 100% committed to God and Jesus. She read the Bible daily and followed all of the rules in our church's rulebook and expected her husband and children to do the same. Gray did not exist. Life was black and white. No exceptions. She loved her children but she would think nothing of drawing blood by beating a child if that child broke a rule. Better to take a beating now and then if it meant saving one from the fiery depths of hell.

While the McCloud family waited for my mother to die, a neighbor lady just happened to stop by to see the new addition to the family. She was told the baby had failure to thrive and was dying, so best to leave her alone. It was part of God's plan and his will. Instead of walking away from little Harriett Louise, the neighbor took the baby in her arms and began talking to her. She refused to believe that God wanted this baby to die, that God had brought this baby into the world so he could just take her away. While the baby, at first, refused the bottle, the neighbor didn't take no for an answer. She was tenacious; she persevered. Soon Harriett Louise was drinking from the bottle and began to improve rapidly.

Mother was the middle of nine surviving children: four boys, five girls. The boys were my grandmother's favorite. It is as it should be; it says so in the Bible. Men are more important than women. She spared the rod on the boys, but not the girls. The reason she was so hard on the girls was because they were not strong like their brothers; girls are weak and vulnerable. She told the girls to make it their priority to find a good Christian man and get married. They needed rescued because they couldn't make it in life by themselves.

When Grandmother's children were growing up, she could be loving but also a brutal tyrant. They knew she loved them and she did the things she did to protect them from the devil and hell. They all accepted that, but the one who suffered the most was my shy, emotionally fragile mother. Being the middle child, she felt neglected, ignored, left behind. With eight siblings, a mother and a father, she often felt alone, lonely. This translated to low self-esteem, a strong need to find love and acceptance, and the unshakable notion that she was unlovable.

By the time I came along, my grandmother had shrunk and shriveled down to a ten-year-old child. She was very old and tiny and wrinkled and kind and sweet and harmless. She wasn't a hands-on Grammy; I saw her seldom. She just wasn't into children.

I've heard that family dynamics have a tendency to trickle down through the generations. So I'm here to tell my grandchildren this: I'm old and tiny and wrinkled and kind and sweet and harmless. So whatever you hear about what I did to your parents when they were children, don't believe them. It's all lies. No, really it is.