MY Black History #2 - My Daddy, Arthur P. Yarborough

The majority of this post is going to be an update to a previous post, which was written on October 4, 2016, which was 19 years to the day that I'd lost my father. Please click on the links to read more about my dad, from previous posts I've written. Thanks!

Arthur P. Yarborough
June 21, 1924 - October 4, 1997

Introducing... Arthur P.

My father, Arthur Person Yarborough, was born June 24, 1924 to parents Anna Beatrice Green and Calvin Yarborough, Jr., in Louisburg, North Carolina. He was the couple's third (and last) child, together, and was named for his father's employer, Arthur Person. Arthur lost his father at the age of 4, to tuberculosis. He spent his early years in the Franklin County School System, but was sent to live with his uncle, during his teen years, and graduated from the Nash County Training School, in 1942.

Nash County Training School, Class of 1942
That's my dad at the top with the open-mouthed smile. :)

"Arthur P.," as he was usually referred to, married a hometown girl, Novella Alston, in 1947. They married in Florence, SC, which I believe must have been where my father was stationed at the time. Most of the details of this marriage are unknown to me, but I'm told that Novella deserted the marriage sometime after my dad adopted my brother, Henry, when they were in Okinawa, Japan. (Or, maybe it was right after they got back to the States.) They were formally divorced in 1958. Sometime in the mid-50's, when my father was in the Hampton Roads area of Virginia, he met a beautiful young divorcee and single mother at the Officers' Club at Fort Story. They quickly fell in love and were soon married, after which Arthur's new bride left her teaching job and home in Virginia to join him in Bremerhaven, Germany. That young lady was my mother, Mary Anne Yarborough, who you can read about, here. Their (eventually tumultuous) marriage lasted 20 years and produced two children, to make a total of four little Yarboroughs. 

My dad with his two boys, Edgar and Henry, shortly after marrying my mom.

And then there were six...

23 Years Without My Dad
My father has been gone since October 4, 1997 - exactly 23 years, 4 months, and 6 days. I love and miss him, immensely. Before his death in 1997, I’d dibbled and dabbled a bit in genealogy, however, it was when faced with the task of writing my dad’s obituary that I realized how little I knew about him and his life “pre-Renate”, and I certainly didn’t know anything of his family history. And, so it was with his death, and the need to write his obituary, that I consider my real beginning as a genealogy researcher. I started my quest to learn as much as possible about my father , and subsequently my YARBOROUGH ancestry, which was soon followed by all of my other family lines.

That's me with my dad on his 65th birthday.

I Didn't Know...

There was so much I didn’t know about my father before I became a researcher. I didn’t know that about his distinguished military career – about all of the honors and recognitions he’d received, as he worked his way to the rank of Army Major, before he retired in 1964; nor was I aware of the racism he faced while on that journey. I didn’t know anything about the Montford Point Marines, or of the two-plus years my father spent as one of the first to integrate the US Marine Corps, at the beginning of his military service. I'm proud to have received the Congressional Gold Medal, on my father's behalf (posthumously), under the authority of President Barack Obama, in 2015.

Dad, the military man. Date unknown, but early in his career.

I don't know what's going on here, but what I do know is that everyone's attention is on my Daddy!

 I didn't know that, before he joined the military, my father spent a year as a student at NC A&T; nor did I know that he continued to complete college coursework while in the Army, excelling in all of his classes, and stopping just short of earning his degree. He also earned a certificate as an Army Surgical Technician!          

I think the pic on the left is Marines and I know the one on the right is Army. 
The bottom shows the medal again, with his Marine and Army dogtags.

I didn't know what a fantastic writer my father was, until I happened upon love letters he'd written to my mother before they were married, and editorials he'd written to an Ohio newspaper, when he was stationed outside of Cleveland (where I was born).                                               

I didn't know that my father had 2 half-sisters and a half-brother, all of whom were deceased before I was born, and that I had a first cousin, born the same year as my dad, who lived in the Bronx and just passed a few years ago. I didn’t know that my father played basketball in high school, and was the quarterback of his football team at Nash County Training School. I didn’t know that the reason my father had to move to Nash County to live with his uncle (the principal of Nash County Training School) was because he was acting up in school, and his mother (widowed since my dad was 4) needed some help with him!

That's my daddy - #10! Where are his kneepads?

These are just a few things I didn't know about my father, but my quest to learn more about him, led to my now 23+ year journey as a genealogist. So, on this day, I choose to remember my father, not with tears, but with a smile. Thank you, Daddy, for inspiring me to do this work. I only wish you were here so I could CELEBRATE all of your magnificent achievements with you, and so that I could ask you the questions I didn't know to ask, and hear some of the stories you probably didn't want to tell when you were here.

This is the house my dad where my dad grew up, in Louisburg, NC, known (affectionately) to me as "Grandma's House." The house, which is still in the family, was built by my grandfather, Calvin Yarborough, Jr. and his brother, Samuel Yarborough, in 1911. 

 

            

These are the only pictures I've ever seen of my father as a boy. To the left, you can partially see one of his first cousins, George R. Greene, whose family my dad lived with, during his teenaged years. To the right, there he is will all three of his cousins - George, John, and Rolland Greene. Because of my father living with them, their relationship with him was like a brother, not a cousin. They are all in heaven, now.

                   

            

My father absolutely loved being a "Grandpa."
Here, he's with my oldest daughter, Natasha, who was born on his 58th birthday!

He had at total of 8 grandchildren, and he loved them all; and he now has 5 great-grandchildren, and one on the way!

My dad LOVED family (just as I do). Though he never returned to Louisburg to live, he (we) always went back to visit his beloved family. Sadly, I don't seem to have any photos of my dad with his mother, but here is a photo of him with his siblings on one of his (many) visits home.

The Yarborough siblings - they were so close. 
Arthur, Susie, and Calvin III

This photo shows my dad on a visit to Louisburg, with some of his favorite family members. In front are my two daughters. L-R, his sister, Susie, my dad, me, his cousin, John Greene, John's wife, Nellie, my dad's first cousin, Geral Yarboro Sargent, and his brother, Calvin III.

My dad with his cousin Geral and an
unknown relative

Dad with my Aunt Ruby,
my Uncle George's wife

At the first of only two (ever) Yarborough Family Reunions 1993 in Baltimore.
Seated: Cousin Geral and Cousin Madie
Standing: My dad (Arthur), Cousin Ralph, and Uncle Calvin (my dad's brother)

   

I gave this shirt to my dad for Father's Day, one year, and he LOVED it. The pictures are of my two daughters. I think it said, "We love you, Grandpa!"

                                      

                   

I love and miss you, Daddy!

Thanks for reading!

Renate

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F is for FAITH and FOREVER: A Tribute To My Brother #AtoZChallenge

 This tribute was first written and posted in 2007, on the twenty-sixth anniversary of my brother's death. It's being updated and reposted as part of the A-Z Blogging Challenge on April 6, 2017.



Arthur Yarborough, Jr.

Twenty-six years Thirty-three years ago today, I lost my brother, Arthur.  We were only 17 months apart.  The two of us grew up together, almost like fraternal twins.  We did everything together, shared the same experiences, good and bad.  When Arthur died, he took all of the secrets of my youth with him, because he was the only person who knew and (in many cases), shared them.

 My mother, Mary Yarborough, poses with her newborn son, Arthur, Jr.

Arthur Yarborough, Jr. was born on August 23, 1960 in Bremerhaven, Germany, to our parents Arthur, Sr. and Mary Yarborough.  He was said to have been a very good-natured baby, with an even temperament and a quick and easy smile.  I remember hearing stories about how Arthur, as a baby, would always stop whatever he was doing when television commercials came on, and would watch and listen intently.  Once the commercials ended, he would resume his activity.  This was an interesting bit of family lore, since Arthur grew up to be a Mass-Media enthusiast and majored in it in college.

  Above:  Arthur as a toddler (Presumably, before I was born)

Below:  My dad, Arthur, Sr. and my brother, Arthur, Jr. in Louisburg, NC

circa 1968-69

As a boy, Arthur was involved in many community activities.  He was a Cub Scout, played Little League baseball, and enjoyed attending youth activities at our church.  In high school, Arthur was a triple-sport athlete, playing basketball, football, and baseball.  After two years at Bethel High School in our native Hampton, VA, he decided to go off to military school at Augusta Military Academy in Staunton, VA.  It was there that Arthur truly blossomed as an athlete, as well as as an ROTC officer.  He graduated from Augusta in 1978.

Arthur, the Little League's star pitcher

 Top left: Arthur's Junior picture @ AMA.  Right: QB Arthur (#10) and another player pose for their football picture at AMA.

Arthur returned home to Hampton to attend the alma mater of our mother, and our two oldest brothers, Hampton Institute (now Hampton University).  Known by the nickname, "Yang", he was very popular and well-loved by his fellow students. Arthur grew deeply involved in his major, Mass Media Arts, and became best known for his smooth jazz radio show, "Inspirations", on Hampton's radio station, WHOV.  In addition, he wrote for the school's newspaper, and anchored a 15-minute nightly broadcast on Hampton's "Newswatch 10" a weekday cable news program.  He also joined several social fraternities, including the oldest on Hampton's campus, Omega Sigma Chi.  Arthur graduated from Hampton in May, 1982, two months after discovering that he had cancer.

 Hampton Institute president, William R. Harvey, congratulates Arthur and hands him his diploma on Mother's Day, 1982

Though the news of my brother's illness was discouraging, he never let it stop him from working towards his goals.  What began as a mystery-illness, with symptoms of abdominal pain and blackouts, was first diagnosed as a hernia.  Plans were made to surgically remove the hernia while Arthur was on Spring Break during his senior year at Hampton.  However, what we thought was going to be the solution to his problems turned out to be just the beginning.  Once the hernia was removed, surgeons discovered a tumor on my brother's liver.  Primary liver cancer of unknown origin.  The fight began...

 Here, Arthur, wearing his fraternity tee-shirt, snaps a picture of himself in the mirror.  I kind of like the "halo" effect. :)

 For the next two years, my brother, with the support of my then-divorced parents, did everything he could to beat the odds.  Liver cancer was one of the toughest to beat, especially as the primary site.  Arthur tried traditional and experimental treatments.  He tried dietary changes and supplements.  He had good days and bad days.  Good weeks and bad weeks.  He underwent chemotherapy and radiation and was in and out of the hospital.  During this time, we remained in close contact, via phone and letters, but I was away in college and unable to be by his side as often as I wanted to.  Then, in June of 1982, while still living in Charlottesville, I gave birth to my first child, Natasha. and named Arthur her god-father, In the summer of 1983, decided we could stay away no longer.  I wanted my brother to know his niece, so I got a job as a teachers aide, and my daughter and I moved back to Hampton Roads, so that we could be near him and assist in his care. During that year, my brother got to know my daughter, and she, him. Though she was very young, the two of them developed a very close relationship, and she remembers him, to this day.  I praise God for my decision to move back to Hampton, because it was during that school year that my brother's health took a turn for the worse.

My brother, Arthur, with my daughter, Natasha, sometime in 1983.

Although Arthur was sick, he was determined to continue his quest to find employment in the media field, which he loved so much.  He completed an internship at our local CBS affiliate television station, and was being considered for an anchor position at the time of his death.  Additionally, he worked as a sports writer for the Daily Press, our local newspaper; and as a newscaster for WNIS, news/talk radio station. I give thanks to all of these companies who recognized his talent, and were willing to give him opportunities to do what he loved, despite the fact that he sometimes was too ill to work.

In March, 1984, Arthur took ill and was admitted to Riverside Hospital (now Riverside Regional Medical Center).  The doctors were pessimistic about his prognosis, and pretty much let my parents know that this was it.  But still, my brother stayed positive and hopeful.  He was in a coma for the first week or so, but once he became alert, he started talking about coming home and about wanting to get back out onto the golf course with my dad.  We were taking turns sitting with him - my mother, father, and I - and on my shifts we enjoyed reminiscing about when we were little, and he played with Natasha if she was with me.  A few times, when he was sleeping, he would seem to choke and stop breathing, but I would shake him and say, "Breathe, Arthur, breathe!", and he did.  At first, my parents and I were just quiet about the idea of him coming home, but he was so insistent, and he seemed to be doing so well, that finally the doctors agreed to let him go.  I believe the plan was for some level of in-home hospice care, although I didn't really understand what that meant at the time.  (I was only 22 years old, and I think the hospice concept was fairly new.)   My mother was so excited, and she worked hard to get his old room clean and ready for him, with a hospital bed on order, and plans to have nurses checking in.  Unfortunately, early on the morning of April 6th, the day before he was scheduled to come home, and with our father by his side, my brother, Arthur took his last breath.

Today marks the 26th  33rd year since the day my brother died.  Words can't explain how deeply the loss of my brother has affected me, and changed the course of my life.  Although I do have two other brothers, they are so much older than me, that they were both gone from home by the time I was seven years old.  So, it was just my parents, Arthur, and me for most of my life.  Arthur and I fought like any other siblings, but our love for each other was undeniable, and our paths (I'd thought), inseparable.  When he was in the hospital, I prayed and prayed, always asking God to help me to accept His Will, whatever that turned out to be.  My brother's death was, and has continued to be a lesson in FAITH for me.  I miss him so much, but I know that he is in a much better place, and that he is rejoicing now in heaven with our father, grandparents, and all of the ancestors that I'm working to learn about now. I will love and miss my brother FOREVER.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          This is my absolute most-favorite picture of my brother and me.  I think it says so much about us, without having to say anything at all! 

In closing, I'd like to share a poem that I wrote in 2007, on the anniversary of Arthur's death.  At that point, he'd been in heaven for as long as he was here on earth, and these are the words that came to my heart:

To Arthur

For twenty-three years you were here on this earth,
Now for twenty-three years you’ve been gone.
I know in my heart that you’re better off now,
As you rest in God’s heavenly home.
I’ll always remember the things that we shared,
The good, as well as the bad.
The ups and the downs, the smiles and the frowns,
And all of the secrets we had.
Without you, my brother,  life’s not been the same
But I’ll try not to dwell on the past.
God knew what was best when he took you with Him
To anchor on Heaven’s broadcast.
For twenty-three years you were here on this earth,
Now for twenty-three years you’ve been gone.
I’ll see you one day, when God chooses me
To rest in His heavenly home.  

                                                                
                                                      With love, from Renate
                                                April, 2007

 One of those Easter Sundays.  I miss you, Arthur.

Thank you for reading.
Renate

The content and pictures included in this post are the property of Renate Y Sanders, and should not but used, copied, or embedded without the express permission of the owner.  Please contact me via email at yarsan@aol.com.  Thank you.

19 Years Without My Daddy - I Wish I'd Known

This tribute started off as a very long, loving Facebook post about my father. However, just after I uploaded the first photo to go with the post, my computer froze, and I spent over and hour, trying to get it to unfreeze, so that I wouldn’t lose the post. Nothing worked, so I had to turn it off and back on again, losing (of course) my thoughtful and well-written tribute to my father. Now the hour is late, and I know I can’t get it all back, so here’s just a little of what I wanted to say (greatly paraphrased).

That's me with my dad on his 65th birthday.

Before this day comes to an end, I want to share that today marks 19 years since my father left this earth. I love and miss him, immensely. Before his death in 1997, I’d dibbled and dabbled a bit in genealogy, however, it was when faced with the task of writing my dad’s obituary that I realized how little I knew about him and his life “pre-Renate”, and I certainly didn’t know of his family history. And, so it was then that I consider my real beginning as a genealogical researcher, as I started my quest to learn as much as possible about my father, and subsequently my YARBOROUGH ancestry, which was soon followed by all of my other family lines.

There was so much I didn’t know about my father before I became a researcher. I didn’t know that about his distinguished military career – about all of the honors and recognitions he’d received, as he worked his way to the rank of Army Major, before he retired in 1964, or of the racism he faced while on that journey.  I didn’t know anything about the Montford Point Marines, or of the two-plus years my father spent as one of the first to integrate the US Marine Corps, at the beginning of his military service.

I still don't know what's going on here, but what I do know is that everyone's attention is on my Daddy!

 I didn't know that, before he joined the military, my father spent a year at NC A&T; nor did I know that he continued to complete college coursework while in the Army, excelling in all of his coursework, and stopping just short of earning his degree.  I didn't know what a fantastic writer my father was, until I happened upon love letters he'd written to my mother before they were married, and editorials he'd written to an Ohio newspaper, when he was stationed outside of Cleveland (where I was born).

I didn't know that my father had 2 half-sisters and a half-brother, all of whom were deceased before I was born, and that I had a first cousin, born the same year as my dad, who lives in the Bronx. I didn’t know that my father played basketball in high school, and was the quarterback of his football team at Nash County Training School. I didn’t know that the reason my father had to move to Nash County to live with his uncle (the principal of Nash County Training School) was because he was acting up in school, and his mother (widowed since my dad was 4) needed some help with him!

That's my daddy - #10! Where are his kneepads?

These are just a few things I didn't know about my father, but my quest to learn more about him, led to my now 19+ year journey as a genealogist. So, on this day, I choose to remember my father, not with tears, but with a smile. Thank you, Daddy, for inspiring me to do this work. I only wish you were here so I could CELEBRATE all of your magnificent achievements with you, and so that I could ask you the questions I didn't know to ask, and hear some of the stories you probably didn't want to tell when you were here.

Arthur P. Yarborough
June 21, 1924 - October 4, 1997

Sentimental Sunday - Remembering My Beloved Ancestors

Today is just one of those days.  As a matter of fact, it's been one of those weeks.  Well, to be truthful, it's just been one of those MONTHS!  Many of you know the kind I mean - those time periods where you just can't seem to stop thinking about those loved ones who've gone on to join the Ancestors. Everywhere you look, there are reminders.  Your mind seems filled with memories - some that make you smile (or even burst out into spontaneous laughter), and some that brings tears to your eyes or cause you to start weeping at even the most inopportune times. Yep, that's what the month of April has been for me.

To honor those whose spirits have instigated the roller coaster of emotions I've been experiencing, recently, I dedicate this post to their memory.  So here they are, the folks I haven't been able to get off of my mind:

My brother, Arthur YARBOROUGH, Jr. (August 23, 1960 - April 6, 1984)

Arthur and me - Probably Easter 1968

My daddy, Arthur P. Yarborough, Sr. (June 24, 1924 - October 4, 1997)

Me with my Daddy - Probably on his (and my daughter, Natasha's) birthday 1983



My grandmother, Anna GREEN Yarborough (January 18, 1891 - February 17, 1977)

My grandma and me - Probably 1968 or 1969



My cousin, "Uncle" George Royster Greene, Sr. (October 5, 1930 - March 17, 2013)

My "Uncle George" in his judge's robe, probably in the 1980's. 
He and my father were first cousins, but considered each other brothers. He was very special to me.
Stay tuned for a post about him, soon.



My grandmother, Mary DAVIS Thomas (December 26, 1897 - June 12, 1986)

My Grandma Thomas (Looks like she'd just come from church!)

These are the folks who have been on my mind, along with a few more, who weren't family members.  I've experienced a lot of loss in my life, and most of it was at a young age.  Not only have I been thinking of these loved ones, but I've also been reflecting (even more heavily than usual) on those of my Ancestors whom I never knew, and in many cases, never even knew about until I began my research.  I hope to get back to writing, so that I can share my thoughts (and revelations), and bring more information about those who've gone on to the LIGHT. :)

Thanks for reading.

A very sentimental,

Renate


The permanent link to this post is: http://justthinking130.blogspot.com/2013/04/sentimental-sunday-remembering-my.html

Wordless Wednesday - My Daddy and Me

A very skinny me, and my daddy.
June 1983

Renate

Happy New Year! (More to come!)

2012!

Well, it's a brand new year, and like most, I've set some personal goals.  This is something that I typically do quietly, and privately.  I don't make "resolutions", but I do spend time reflecting each year on the previous one, and making decisions (which I hope to stick to) about how I might do things differently in the new year.  Usually, I do a pretty good job of sticking to my plans, but of course there are some things that end up carrying over to the next year's goals.

Anyway, this is my third year blogging, and I've been reading everyones' genealogy-related goals.  I applaud those of you who diligently post your resolutions each year, and then, go back and "grade" yourselves (publicly) on how well you've done.  Certainly, there's an aspect of accountability that comes with doing it that way, and perhaps I'll graduate to such heights in the future.  But, for now, I just want to share a few thoughts about where I am in my genea-life, and to clarify, or perhaps, reassert my commitment to this work.

Although I've always been curious about my family, my official start as a family historian began in 1997.  Two life-changing events occurred that year, both of which contributed to my quest to learn more about who I am, and where I come from:  I got my first computer; and my father died.  As I wrote my father's obituary, and designed and published his funeral program (using my new computer), I ended up learning more about the man I called, "Daddy", than I'd ever known before.  Later, as the executor of his estate, and the one who handled his personal effects, I discovered even more, especially with regard to his military career.  With each new find, I gained a greater respect for my dad, but I also realized how little I'd actually known about him - about his younger years, and about the experiences he'd had which made him the man that he'd become.  This led me to a new level of reflection and wonder about my entire family, but in particular, about myself.  Who am I, exactly?  What am I really made of?  Why am the way I am?  What made me this way?

I began to try to find as much information as possible about my family.  I remember using AOL for something, and eventually (after 2000), I started to use Ancestry.com, and Familysearch.org to look at documents. At some point, Google became my friend. But, before all of that, I just started asking QUESTIONS.  I visited and interviewed my mother, aunts, uncles, and cousins, most of which involved taking road trips to North Carolina towns. I took lots and lots of notes, and I began building a hand-written pedigree chart, which I'd actually started in 1990.   I remember being amazed just to learn the names of ancestors that were only two generations ahead of me, whom I'd never even heard of before!  But, sadly, there were very few stories to go with those names.  It seemed that my family was historically disconnected, and that very little effort had been made to preserve the history that was ours.  I wanted to change that.  And so, I began...

My first pedigree chart, which I started in 1990.  (Home address and phone number are covered with sticky and scratched over.)

 

Now, it's 15 years later.  I've spent hours and hours in courthouse backrooms and basements, archival repositories, and county, state, and university libraries and municipal offices, all resulting in thousands of copies of original documents, for which I'm still trying to find just the "right" organizational system! (Smh) I've visited public and church-owned cemeteries, as well as private burial grounds on plantation properties, on which my ancestors once labored.  I'm a member of two genealogical societies (about to join a third), and I travel in and out of the tiny towns from which my ancestors hailed, taking photographs of places they might've been, and feeling sure that I sense their presence in some of them.  I have two blogs, and I volunteer as an indexer for two companies and one major project in the genealogical community. I've published two articles in the Franklin County Heritage Book (Volume 1, 2008), and I also worked as part of the committee which published it.  I'm a contributing member of FindaGrave.com, and I put out a monthly e-newsletter to all of my family members for whom I have email addresses.  I maintain subscriptions to Ancestry.com and Tribalpages.com, and have trees on both sites.  I'm a member of Afrigeneas.com, and I follow and contribute to message boards all over the Web. I've had my DNA tested, which has given me data about my maternal line, and I've gotten two male cousins to submit theirs, allowing me to obtain, confirm, and learn more information about two of my paternal lines (HAWKINS and YARBOROUGH). I have discovered and "met" (online) a female cousin in another state who has recently submitted a DNA sample that will give us much-needed information about the maternal line that began with my gg-grandmother, Anna GREEN. I communicate with people all around the country each day via Twitter and Email, as we work together to figure out family lines and to share research techniques. I've scanned hundreds of family photos and documents, and have shared many of those, electronically. And yes, I spend countless hours on the Internet, digging, digging, digging for ANYTHING I might find that will lead me to more information about my ancestors.  I do this because they are who I am.  They are where I come from.  Learning about them, gives me the answers to the questions that began tugging at me unstoppably in 1997, and which will no doubt one day pull on the heart of one of my descendants.  Hopefully, the work I've done will make it easier for that yet-to-be-known somebody to find their answers.



Slave auction-block and hitching post at Cascine Plantation - Franklin County, NC (taken in July, 2007)

So.... What will 2012 bring for this researcher?  More of the above, because there are still so many questions, unanswered.  I renew my commitment to fidelity in sourcing my information, something I didn't know to do in the early years of my research.  I will work on creating a better, "just right" (for me) filing and storage system for my hard copies of documents, and I will continue to scan family photos, so that they can be preserved for the future in digital format. I plan to begin participating in "Amanuensis Monday", a Geneabloggers meme, which encourages transcribing and sharing historical documents on the Internet.  I'll keep sending the family e-newsletter, even though I sometimes want to stop because I get so little feedback from it. Nevertheless, I will continue, because the work I'm doing is not just for me, it's for ALL of the descendants of my ancestors! I will try to do more to help others in the genealogical community.  And, I hope that 2012 will be the year in which I attend my first genealogical conference! 

For me, genealogy is not a hobby, at all.  It is work - hard work.  But it is hard work with a purpose, and for the most part, I do enjoy doing it.  Researching my family has it ups and downs.  There are long periods of frustration, and brick walls that seem insurmountable, but for me, these are incentives to keep at it.  Anyone who knows Renate knows that once I start something, I perservere until it's finished.  I guess that means I'm in this for my lifetime, because, as I've learned from many who've been at it for longer than I, researching one's family history is a "job" that never ends!


Happy New Year, and thanks for reading Into the LIGHT, and supporting me in my genealogical quest!

Renate

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday - Skyping on Christmas

My mom (in my office/den) skyping with my daughter (in Paris) on Christmas Day.

Happy Veterans' Day!

In memory of my father, Major Arthur P. Yarborough, Sr.  (Army, Ret.)

June 21, 1924 - October 4, 1997

My father began his service as one of the first black Marines at Montford Point, NC.  From there, he enlisted in the Army, and went on to serve for over 20 years, retiring in 1964 with the rank of Major.  You can read more about my dad and his military service here.

Thanks, Daddy, and thanks to all veterans!!!

Renate

Happy birthday, Brother Arthur

Arthur Yarborough, Jr (August 23, 1960 - April 6, 1984)

A short life, but well lived...

Today my heart is aching and I am especially yearning for and missing my brother, Arthur.  If he were still here, this would be his 51st birthday.  Arthur's birthday was always special for both of us, because it marked the beginning of the almost five month period each year when he would claim to be two years older than me.  Notice I said "claim", because in reality, Arthur and I were less 17 months apart.  But from August 23rd of each year, until the following January 16th (my birthday), his numerical age was two years, instead of the usual one, ahead of mine.  Arthur used to announce this publicly, any chance he got, and he tried to use it as leverage to get extra privileges from our parents, even though we all well knew that he was no older than me than he'd been before his birthday, lol.  I can just hear him now, saying, "But I'm TWO years older than her!!!) But for me, August 23rd always meant the beginning of almost five months of teasing, taunting, and torture (just kidding) at my expense, as my "almost twin" brother boosted his own ego by trying to seem "older". :)

I'd give anything to have my brother back.  As I mentioned in my tribute to him last year, it was he who shared my childhood memories; he who knew all of my secrets, and I"m pretty sure I knew all of his.  We shared so much growing up together, and now there's no one with whom I can reflect on those memories.  But, God knew best when he chose to take my brother at the age of 23.  He was loved and cherished by many here on earth, but he is in a better place now.  One day, we'll meet, again.

Happy birthday, my dear, dear brother.  I'll catch up with you in January. :)

Love,
Renate



Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories - Fruitcake, YUCK!

Okay, folks.  I have to admit I've been a bit of a passive reader during this year's Advent season of blogging.  It's not so much that I haven't wanted to post, but I've been doing most of my reading from my phone while on the run, so I just haven't really had the opportunity to post.  But, the FRUITCAKE topic is one that I just can't let pass me by.  Reading all of your posts has dredged up some very "sticky" memories for me, and I just have to share!

Fruitcake - YUCK!  Just thinking about it really grosses me out, so this post won't be long.  However, along with the stomach-churning reminders of my youthful encounters with this holiday atrocity, I have a fond recollection of one of the many "secrets" that I shared with my brother, Arthur, whom my regular readers might remember left me when he was 23, and I was 22, as a result of primary liver cancer.

Every year, right around Christmas, at least one white cellophane-wrapped box with pictures of fruit, and the horrifying label, "Fruitcake" would appear in our house and be placed on the buffet table in the dining room.  Occasionally, there would also be someone's foil-wrapped idea of a "present" to my mother, their principal, or my father, their mailman.  These lovely tokens of terror would also be placed on the buffet table, alongside any other (supposedly) edible gifts, and there they would sit, until one day -- it would happen.  My brother and I would be sitting at the kitchen table, innocently finishing up our dinner, and in would walk one of our parents (usually our mother) with two slices of the multi-colored, putrid-smelling, icky-sticky FRUITCAKE!  Arthur and I would moan and groan as they set them before us, telling us how "good" the stuff was for us, and how nice Mr. and/or Mrs. So-and-So was to give this to us.  As with all foods our parents put before us, we were told that we had to stay at the table until we ate it.  (Usually, this admonishment came along with the reminder of all the starving children in Africa, who'd had nothing to eat for days and days, and how GRATEFUL they would be just to have a tiny piece of this FRUITCAKE.  My brother and I would always give each other a knowing look which said, "If only we could send it to them, we would!" But, we knew better to let the words come out of our mouths, because in those days we would have been sent immediately to get a switch off the tree! But, I digress...) 
Anyway, my brother and I were pretty smart (and stubborn) kids.  Although I do have a vague memory of someone trying to physically force me to take a bite of something one time, I don't think it was fruitcake.  (I think that was those big, round hominy grits.)  Instead, our parents were just content to let us stay at the table for as long as it took for the fruitcake to disappear, and since it would have taken 100 years for the stuff to begin to disinegrate, Arthur and I had to come up with other ways to get rid of it, without letting it ever touch our lips.  So we did.
Plan 1:  The Dutch Shoes - Arthur and I ate at the kitchen table, usually alone. Adjacent to the kitchen was the dining room, and on the dining room floor sat a pair of large, wooden shoes that my parents had brought back from Holland.  We were pretty much forbidden to touch or play with these shoes, but for us, they served an important purpose; they were an excellent hiding place, and we used them on more than one occasion!  So, while one of us would be on the lookout for approaching parents, the other would wrap the fruitcake in a napkin and slip quickly and quietly into the dining room, to stuff the fruited-wad into one of the shoes.  We were always smart enough to leave a few large crumbs behind on the plate, so that it appeared that we actually ate the stuff, but we never, ever did.  Then, we would call to our parents that we were ready to get up.  One of them would come to make sure the fruitcake was gone, and we'd be allowed to leave the table. Later that evening, or sometimes the next day (if we remembered), one of us would get the lumpy package out of the toe of the shoe and take it with us to the bathroom,where it was finally flushed away to fruitcake heaven.

Plan 2: The Under-Table Stick - This wasn't nearly as elaborate a plan as The Dutch Shoes, but sometimes, a kid's just gotta do, what a kid's gotta do!  So, when the parents weren't too nearby for either of us to get up and into the dining room without being noticed, we'd just pretend to be eating the gummy stuff, but as we were gagging (Arthur) and crying (me), we'd simply be sticking the pieces of fruitcake to the underside of the table, a piece at a time, until it was "gone"! 

Addendum to Plan 2:  Years later, when we were in our teens, our parents got a new kitchen set.  I happened to be at home the day that the old table was removed, and guess what was revealed when it was turned upside down to be carried out of the house? :)

Needless to say, if you want me to consider you a true friend, don't ever send me a fruitcake!

I don't have a picture of the fruitcake (thankfully), but here we sit, Arthur and I, at that very kitchen table.  Aren't we just the picture of innocence? :)