Scribbled Memories of My Childhood

  BECOMING Mr. SNOW

The Autobiography of 

David DeLane Snow

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 After re-reading these scattered thoughts I came away feeling a little sad about my own life.  I always felt like I was living in a haze, and way behind the learning curve of everyone else; especially as I got older and entered Junior High School.  In scribbling these memories down it was amazing how so many other thoughts came to mind.  It was meant to be an autobiographical collection of scattered remembrances from my childhood, seems more telling things arose.

  I was born in Irving, Texas, just four months before Dallas became infamously known as the place where Kennedy was killed.  July 12, 1963 became the date I entered the world stage.  My name is David DeLane Snow, and this is the story of me.  I was named after my father's father: John David.  He was born in in 1886 and saw many great changes in the world.  During the 1920's he and his family lived in tents and there was a season there he was even a bootlegger; running illegal booze.  My middle name, DeLane came from my mother's father: DeLane Townsend.  He was an above average mathematician who enjoyed Vodka a little too much.  Both David and DeLane were men of strong moral character who left impressions on my father, and I suppose that he hoped the same in naming me after them.  Many years later into my adulthood dad actual told me, "Son, I'm very proud of who you've become."


  I had only one brother, Tracy Lee.  He was named after John David's wife: Alma Tracy.  My brother, being the eldest got our father and grandfather's name of Lee.  Bobbie Lee was our dad, and Elmo his father.  But I favored our mother: Linda Lucille Townsend more in my soft spoken demeanor and very emotional personality.  Though passion did not always lead Linda to make the best of choices at times.
  For awhile there we lived in a small family home that had french doors, and constantly smelled of moth balls.  My grandmother, DeLane's wife, Mamie enjoyed packing every things with them.  I loved her very much; the smell was a fragrance whose pungent order always evoked memories of her smile for me.  For many years there in my twenties I would carry some with me as they claimed my moods and depression; maybe I should carry them again.

   Very few images or memories of my of my childhood are easily recalled.  A Christmas present I peaked at only found the whole I made getting bigger as my enthusiasm of uncovering a red fire engine with a later to boot got the best of me; I was four at the time.  I remember being memorized by the slowly turning four colored disc that back lite the tinfoil silver Christmas tree we had placed in the corner of our home.
   One of my earliest and most beloved memories that tends to fade like smoke is that of my brother's smile.  Parting through the french doors into a dimly lit living room I brought him the offering of a caramel apple.  Our family had gathered about the small TV's glowing image of Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock's many space adventures.  I liked The man with the pointed ears and was fascinated at how even being green people accepted him as he was; different and special as he was.  I wanted that.  As we ate our caramelized snack my smiling brother assured me that the fighting monsters on TV would never harm me as long as Tracy was around.  They never did.

  My dad worked a lot, I recall Shakeys Pizza being one of his jobs.  They tossed hand made pizza dough in the air as paid guest would step up and watch through the huge window.  I remember the stage where old fashioned quartet singers wore bushy mustaches or a piano played all by itself.  Later they would play old black and white movies like Laurel and Hardy.  All the while the adults enjoyed tankers of beer.
  My dad had other jobs at the time, I never knew what they were.  My mother, I suppose she was too busy raising my brother and I, along with Sandy our puppy of the time.  One day dad came home from one of the three jobs he worked.  Actually, truth be told I can not remember what happened that day or even what came later; just vague blurred shadowy half-finished stories from others.  Just know our family fell apart after that day.
  Dad found Linda with someone else in their bedroom. Dad beat him up, and spent the night in jail; a story uncle Rick shared after dad's passing many years later.  Voices, and arguments and a divorce later Tracy and I were without a father.  As our mother won custody as was the custom of the late 1960's; even though Linda's personal life was scattered by her heroin use.  We were left at a babysitter for more than three days and the sitter having no recourse but turning us into CPS.  For some inexplicable reason no one came to our rescue.  Grandparents or aunts and uncles were overwhelmed by their own family responsibilities or were just out of the loop.  No one came for us.  Our father was off struggling to cope with his own depressive life elsewhere.
   The black void that swollen those memories is forever gone.  It might have been weeks or a matter of months; it could not have been years we were held in captivity.  The Buckner's Children Home for boy in Dallas - was not the best of memories.  So much so - bunk beds, long hallways, fights and tears.  I can not recall other images just lonely emotions.  I stopped trying to remember.

  I remember waking up in the front seat of the car sitting beside Brenda Joy smiling down at me.  I asked, "Are you my new mommy?"  She answered, "If that's okay with you Sweetie."  My father pulled away from the gas station's night glow as my brother and new sister slept in the back seat.
  Dad had found comfort in the conversation with a woman who had herself been newly divorced, with a daughter of her own.  Cynthia Diane was a few months old than Tracy and three my senior.  Apparently dad had been encouraged by his cousin to seek insight of God's Organization; and sought refuge from the coming doom to befall Satan's old system of things.  In the Summer of Love, July 1969 Bob and Brenda were married in the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses in Graham, Texas.  Soon after that Tracy and I were recovered; just days from being adopted out into a different timeline.

   I remember watching The Brady Bunch on TV and being compared to their combined family.  Funny thing was our family never seemed as bright nor any where as exciting or filled with canned laughter.  Being raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses I remember NOT remember ever seeing a football game, or ever getting any more Christmas trees or the wonderment of specially wrapped gifts nor any birthday parties.  I DO remember bitter angry faces of teachers singling me out to step into the school hallway as the other children got to stand up with their hands on their chest talking to a piece of cloth.  I recall going back into class and a bully calling me retarded.  I never knew what that word meant but had heard both mothers having called me it and the negative emotions it always conjured from them; never learned why I was so unwanted at times. I knew it made me feel unimportant even though in school my classes were always with the Special kids.
  I did however find my "special" niche in the Kingdom Hall.  I created the role of door-man for myself.  Holding the door open for everyone to enter Jehovah's House got smiles and warm greetings.  Everyone thinks a seven year old boy in a bow tie as adorably cute.  I loved the WATCHTOWER's amazing illustrations and study books.  They and its complex doctrine sparked my imagination even more than Star Trek!  The flood waters pouring over the wicked Egyptian armies as the Hebrews fled into Jehovah's Promised Land.  Never forget the images of Armageddon's crack and the houses and evil non-Witnesses fell to their doom as his people went into Paradise.
  Other worldly children had their Christmas robots and dolls, I had the beauty of The Watchtower books to stimulate my growing mind.  With no wicked Halloween candy begged from strangers for me; we always hid with the lights off early.  I looked  forward to the Dramas of the Assemblies.  Every so often our family would leave the small community of Ballinger and journey the long trip to the Sodom of Dallas to be with Jehovah's people.
   I remember spending those weekend retreats with Elmo Lee and Drucilla Frances.  Granny Snow always got THE TEXAS SNOW book of genealogy out for me to read as I enjoyed reading my own name on page 22.  Stories at the kitchen table amid hands of Spades I heard even more family names.  I never knew these extended ghost because they did not belong to Jehovah's People; we shunned them and they us.  Besides, staying with the grandparents was cheaper than getting a hotel room when you have three mouths to feed; something I always over heard.
  I recall whenever I did things wrongs I was reminded by mom that Jehovah was a loving God because in the Biblical times disobedient worthless boys like us would have been stoned outside the city walls.  I never knew the city had walls.  I was glad we did not know Linda because whenever mom thought about how much I seem to resemble her appearance upset her.  Brenda could be as harsh as Judge Judy, (who she resemble) even though she sang as nice as Loretta Lynn.  She loved Country music, I came to dislike it for some reason.  Seemed a great deal of my childhood was a mixture of duality and bi-polar depressions.

   I remember on religious convention seeing the Wheel within a Wheel filled with eyes and the four faced Cherubim and the four corners of the center stage; I was spell bound by it and the fact we were in the presence of God at those events.  The early 1970's were filled with door-to-door knocking and selling books. We were about God's work of separating the sheep from the goats, (they have since changed that doctrine as well as many others of the time).  My summers were filled with be persecuted for Jehovah's name sake, (no, not Jesus). I learned to feel sorry for the people who sprayed me with a water hose, or had their dogs chase us away, but mainly I recall the many slammed doors by disinterested goat-like people going to their Baptist churches.  The power of a cute seven year in a bow tie did not go very far.  I came to detest that bow tie.
   1975 was leading up to The Battle of Armageddon and the destruction of all those people.  The adults would laughed about it at he coffee shops as they marked down their preaching time; it was how they worked their way into Jehovah's salvation.  I remember in 1975 dad reading the Bible more than The Watchtower and how it made others so uncomfortable.  Cindy and Tracy got baptized after they passed their 80 question interrogation before the board of elders.  I wanted to get baptized but was afraid to the Elders; dad always said I asked too many of my own questions.
  I mean I didn't mind the Field Service.  What bothered me was, I wanted to be just like Sister Green, (no, not an old lady); she was one of the Anointed 144,000 and was going to heaven.  I had Paradise Earth as my offering.  I was a very sad child; I wanted to go to heaven.  No one ever knew I loved Jesus more than I did Jehovah; he smiled at me in all his pictures, Jehovah killed people.  Heaven was filled with things that could be on Star Trek and I knew they would never hurt me, I know these were strange thoughts for such a twelve year old, wicked boy like me.

  Hand-me-down clothes, those made from tissue-paper patterns from Sears, potatoes with every meal, and cars with no seat belts.  I remember playing outside way past dark, eight-tracks, and no cell phones.  Mom collecting green stamps just to get dishes, Tide for the glasses, and women with bee-hive hairdos.

   I remember strange stories and odd happenings.  Once, in the army green stucco house we lived in, in Ballinger, I was playing in the kitchen on the floor with my cars.  An odd visit from John David, all dressed in a suit and coat wearing his hat; walking up to the screen door of the kitchen to the car port garage.  I got up off the floor to open the door, but my great grand father told me he was alright.  He said not to worry when I heard everyone crying, and that I would live to be an old man like him someday and I would understand so many things.  

   Mom came in the kitchen and asked who I was talking with, yet before I could answer the telephone rang.  My father was espically hit hard by the news of his grandfather's death 70 miles away in a Nursing Home.  Dad had spent many summer adventures growing up in Comanche, Texas with his grand parents.  John David's funeral was my first.  I cried not because he had died, he encouraged me before he left.  I cried not so much that I would miss his stories of seeing Indians in New Mexico as a child, nor watching him play dominoes with mom, but I cried because he was a heroic figure to me.  Though my great grand father had never been one of Jehovah's Witnesses I always thought of him as one of The Anointed.  He and Alma deserved to go to heaven, I knew they would not have lived through Armageddon in '75.  Mr. Spock and The Brady Bunch made more sense to me that seen John David being resurrected in the new earth to come.  I had too many questions.  I loved Jesus more than Jehovah.  

   By 1976 my dad left the Witness as did my brother and sister.  I followed my mom we were faithful. In time it was just me. But that changed too as all things tend to do.  Jesus was there through all those difficult times and "tenacity" became a major character trait of mine.

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