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My parents are amazing. Sure many people say that, especially when their parents have an immigrant raga-to-riches story. My parents aren't immigrants neither are they wealthy (financially at least). The fact that they have accomplished so much when they had no reason to succeed is what makes them amazing.

Both of my parents were born in the deep rural south. My mother grew up in Memphis, Tennessee and my father in Olive Branch, Mississippi not far away. It was the early fifties; Blacks did not receive much of an education then. Men and women were expected to work in the cotton fields until they matured. Then, once married the woman added child bearing and rearing to their daily chores.

A Black woman of that time was expected to work in the fields until she gave birth to enough children to take her place out in the cotton. Every hand was expected to make 100 pounds a day during picking season.

I guess that was where my parents crossed paths. I listen to their tales of those early days with wonder and respect. Life was hard for them, yet they found moments of beauty in the dust. Before they were even dating, my father would pick part of mom's row so she would be done when he was. He still met his quota while helping her.

They courted, they flirted, and they traveled around. Dad quit school in the 10th grade because they wouldn't teach him anymore. He had too much education for a Black man already. He picked up any skill he could; driving tractors and trucks, auto mechanic ability.

Mom left school in the eighth grade when a teacher refused to advance her further. Internal racism sparked that dispute. A light skinned teacher resented the fact that my darker mother outperformed the high yellow children in class and refused to teach her more.

Eventually, my parents married. My father knew he had to go somewhere and do something more than chop cotton if he was to provide better for his children. He waited eight months for his chance to report to the Army induction center.

In the mean time he continued in the fields. My mother was pregnant with my oldest sister by picking season. It was a difficult pregnancy requiring bed rest. However the White owner of the plantation had little sympathy. Seeing my mom sitting on the porch she demanded to know why mom wasn't working.

She said, "I know she's pregnant, but she's no better than the rest of them!"

Dad ignored her. They didn't even need the money at the time since he made good pay driving trucks before the cotton matured. He was

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