I dwelled on this over the weekend and have decided to follow my convictions and post the unedited 1st chapter version of my book "When My Father and Mother Forsake Me".
The subtitle is "Then My "ABBA" Will Take Me Up"; Psalm 27:10.
Hope you read, learn, enjoy, feel, relate and see why I as well as many others are the way we are.
Humbly grateful...
Peace :-)
p.s. I have never done this before and was dwelling on how to best post this at this site.
Auto Biography (Ages 1-12)
Chapter One
My Earliest Memories:
"When my Father and my Mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up."
Psalms 27:10
There is a family rumor that Thomas Jefferson our 3rd United States President and the Father of the Constitution is a forefather of my family. If so, I have a connection on the Patriarch and Matriarch side of my family.
My last name is Hemmans which is told to be a derivative from the last name of Mrs. Sally Hemings. There are multiple family spellings of my last name such as Hemmings, Hemmons, Himmons and probably others that I am not aware of as of yet. I remember a family reunoin I went to on my fathers side of the family and receiving a t-shirt with various forms of family last name spellings that are all across the United States. I was surprised. After my father left when I was at the age of 5, it would be 22 years before I found this out.
My mothers maiden name is Woodie. It is rumored and there has been much debate, DNA tests, specualtion and doubts that a son was created between Thomas Jefferson and his negro slave Sally Hemings. This sons name was Thomas Woodard. The rumor goes on to say that he was on the run from the law and settled in Orlando, Florida and had his last name changed to Woodie. This is where my mother side of the family name is stated to have come from. I remember a family member informed me of this news and referred me to read a magazine article about this piece of history.
Either way there is a saying that all rumors start with some truth.
If you have noticed this means that my mother and father may be distant cousins and throughout this book you may notice some distinct ironies such as my sister and a brother that I found out is 6 months younger than I, being at the same Luther Vandross concert when they were teenagers.
Also I recall a person several tyears ago telling me out the clear blue sky that I was a descendant of Thomas Jefferson.
Also I remember and I do place in this book similarly an autobigraphy of myself. The irony is that I happened to be reading through a newspaper and thought I was reading my own autobigraphy. I do not recall what I have done with that newspaper but I found it strikingly odd that our biographies are so similar.
Coincidentally my father was out of my life completely for 22 years. I have found that I have done nearly the very exact things my father has done. My father and I have the same exact penmanship, we both had our jaws broken, we both went to Florida A&M University, we were both in the military, we both have a history of fornication with many women, we both used alcohol, we both used tobacco, we both used drugs and there are other similarities. But I have learned through being led to find out my history that I am not my father and as one reads throughout this book the diffrences will become clearer.
I also would like to add that for my fathers side of the family to never know or have contact of my fathers where abouts all those years my mother destroyed her mind and gave up all her hopes and dreams to find her only true love, my fathers side of the family sure have told me many places he has been along with them being with him...
I state that my fathers side of the family as Malachi 3 states in reference to tithes has been under a curse for what they allowed. Does not the bible state "Can two walk together, except they be agreed?" Amos 3:3.
I believe that one aspect of what Malachi chapter 3 is stating in reference to tithes is children. The average parent gives their child to the world instead of to God. I will dwell more on that throughout this book.
If my mother is a descendant of a President, than as you read on you will see a twist of fate as my mother pursues after what the church and men religion encouraged her to do along with some ignorant women that were family.
Also if Thomas Jefferson was an adulterer then the adultery and fornication of many men in my family is as extensive as the history is long.
I was born on 30 September 1966. My father left when I was 5 years of age. My father chose to follow a musical career and stated that his wife and family were holding him back from his dreams and goals.
My pre-five memories are brief, limited, but life lasting.
I remember meeting this big tall black man who was bald headed and had a beard, at some type of music event. I remember being terrified of him and crying. I now realize it was the famous soul singer Isaac Hayes. My father was all over the country playing his saxophone. My father toured with the likes of Ike and Tina Turner until a jealous Ike Turner fired him. My father also toured with Bobby Bland, the Dramatics and Little Richard. My father formed his own bands that he always named Clay’s Composite. My father had a hit record that can still be found on the Internet called Summer Time in 1969 that debuted in 1970. This record sold in the millions. My father sold his rights to the record thus royalties soon dried up on his drinking, cocaine and womanizing. We his first family never received a dime of that money. There were other popular records such as Soul Serenade. My father never found the zone or chemistry to maintain a flow of hit records. While we were with him, we traveled to places such as New Orleans, Colorado, Omaha Nebraska, Nashville Tennessee and Thomasville Georgia.
My sister was born in Thomasville Georgia. My sister is named after her mother, a rare female junior. Both of them are nicknamed Donnie.
My brother the youngest of us first three was born in Nashville Tennessee. My father was nowhere to be found when my baby brother was born. My brother David was first named Gleason, but his name was changed when my father pompously showed up and had his name changed to David.
My younger sister Donnie was the first to reap the cruelties of a dysfunctional family. We were in Thomasville Georgia. I remember walking into the bathroom after hearing the screams and cries of my sister who was maybe a year and a half at the time. Donnie was standing in scalding hot water and could not get out of the tub. Next thing I remember is standing in an emergency room while folds of skin were removed from my Donnie’s feet. Donnie’s feet had been badly burned and scarred by the scalding hot water.
Donnie’s feet would go on to be a source of embarrassment throughout her adolescent years. Donnie always wore socks and shoes, especially around the other kids who would pick and taunt her. My sister was not mature enough to defend herself vocally. My mother would also say negative things about her feet. My sister has had multiple surgeries on her feet as they grew but the flesh on the outside did not, without the surgeries her feet would curl upward. My sister still deals with pains from her feet. She is presently disabled. I feel the mental torture is the worst aspects of her situation that none of us can explain what happened. I have always wondered where was my mother and how did the hot water get turned on? This has and probably will always be a tragic mystery.
Even though far less traumatic, I had my own unexplained injury.
The right side of my face had evenly spaced scars that faded completely away, in my teenage years. I would look at my face in the mirror, which further lead to my shame of how I did not look good.
I was told that as a baby, I had fallen head first into an electric heater. The kind of electric heater that has the strips in it that turns bright red when fully heated.
The scars were very visible during my young adolescent years.
I was brighter skinned at the time. The lines on my face were dark and evenly spaced on the right side of my cheek.
I remember the time I was burned on my upper right arm by a cigarette. I was maybe four or five and I was sitting in the back seat of a crowded car going somewhere.
The scar has faded, but can still be faintly seen on my upper right arm.
The scar is in the form of a cross.
From time to time I would show my peers as a kid (as many kids do) and share what happened to me.
The last time I told a person the truth about the cross on my right arm, she laughed at me in my face. I was seventeen years old. I never told anyone after that.
She was a beautiful older female that I had a crush on as a middle school kid.
I would see her walking to Palmetto High school, which was our second stop in route to Lincoln memorial Middle school.
I would see her and do the normal immature gestures at her like most boys my age did. I would blow her kisses thorough the window and she would smirk at me. She was well built and was bowlegged.
Years later we were at an apartment in the projects. I would see her come over from her apartment where she was cohabitating with a guy. She had a young son.
It was myself, another male my age with his girl and her.
I was very green and naïve in s*xual relations. I had never been with her before. I was sitting on the couch with her and my male peer was on the opposite couch with his girl. I was bragging and then I was caught off guard. She all of a sudden stated, “It ain’t nothing but a thang. She took off her clothes right there and turned off the lights. We got under the covers that were on the couch. I did not know what to do and I was caught up in the moment of having to perform with no way out.
She kissed me, I took off my clothes under the covers and then it happened.
I had never penetrated a girl before. I was following her lead. She was the oldest in the group. She was 20 or 21 and I was 17 years old.
My male peer was under the covers with his girl.
I was very uncomfortable. I was on top of her but I was focused on we were all in a group in that small living room.
I was not able to get excited to perform. She got frustrated, taunted me and told me to get up. After dreaming of being with her, I was caught off guard with her sudden response. I did not know she even liked me until she showed interest just days before by holding my hand in which I was very shy about.
She was too advanced and knowledgeable about s*xual relations compared to what I knew at the time.
It was this rejection that would later drive me in my compulsion for women, s*x and romance.
I failed then but I would become a machine in years to come.
Older women became my focus.
I would be taunted about this for many days to come.
Years later I found out he was not able to do anything either.
I just remembered in the writing of this book.
My father had many nicknames most notably Sweet Georgia Red while in college at Florida A&M University. I would later attend and graduate from Florida A&M University. I did not know until later that my father attended the same college and new Mr. Wright the famous Florida A&M Rattler band director personally. In high school my father was nicknamed Blow Top Wesley.
My father was considered the cream of the litter. He was 6’2 ¼ (tall for those days). There is a joke in my family that my father was too sorry to give me his height. I turned out to be about 5’10 and one of the shorter family members on my father’s side of the family. I took after my mother’s side of the family. My mother is barely 5’1 and my grandfather was about the same height.
I am also the darkest of my siblings. I am a pecan brownish reddish color, while my father, sister and brother have about as low a concentration of melanin as one can receive and still be considered Negro. As a matter of fact I may be the darkest out of all the relatives in general on my fathers side of the family. My father had very natural curly hair. To this day my father has shoulder length curly hair. I have an uncle my father’s brother, who looks just like an Indian with silky black hair down his back. My uncle is also a tall man. My father has bluish eyes and was athletically built when he was a younger man. For shows my father would wear flashy tight outfits with a circular opening that showed off his abdominal muscles.
Maybe half of the fights I would have in a few years with peers and older guys were due to being lighter skinned, having wavy or curly hair according to the length of my hair and light hazel eyes. Some of my earliest fights were due to the black kids teasing me about whether I was mixed or not, mexican or whether there was a curly kit in my hair. With no father around rumors and teasing were common throughout the week.
The women were crazy about my father. The women would scramble and shout his nickname in their bids to sleep with him after each show. My father played around and slept with many women throughout his tours of the United States. My father has gone on to father children from my age of 38 to my youngest brother Samuel who is 5 yrs of age. My father now tells me that this youngest child that does not know me want to get to know me better and asks about me. My father even had him write me a letter. I did not know the boy knew me like that. I mean the boy was always very shy and did not speak to me as I was trying to be cordial and acceptive of this tall little bright skinned boy with curly wavy hair. I have only seen him maybe 2 or 3 times.
My father’s wife is about the same age as I am. I have many brothers and sisters that I have not had the pleasure of meeting their acquaintance.
One of the goals of this book is to be able to meet them all and take my place as the patriarch.
I have met a younger brother Wesley (please do not call me by my middle name! A pet peeve) that has my middle name (my father was running out of names!) and two younger sisters. My 18-year-old brother has the gift of playing the saxophone and will be attending Florida A&M University this summer on a music scholarship. He plans to major in business and become a major force in the music industry. He is taller than my father at the height of 6’4 and has his father’s good looks. My 17-year-old sister Selby, his younger sister can play the piano and sings like Alicia Keyes (one of my favorite contemporary multi-talented musical artists). I was visiting with them last year and thought I was listening to the radio. My younger sister who is 14 and the youngest from that wife can do it all. She sings, dances and acts. Bethany was in a movie that premiered on HBO. She has been told that she has the talent of a young Lena Horne. She is a beautiful young lady that has greenish gray eyes and sounded like Donald Duck when I first met her. She has long flowing Indian like hair down her back along with a figure we as a family will have to scare off many boys from. An agent wants to move her out to California for a full time acting career but her Mother feels she is to young right now and needs to focus on her schooling. I agree with her mother.
I have made contact and talked several times with a younger sister out in California. I have seen a picture of a brother that was last known to reside in Oregon.
The last brother that I had verbal contact with sounds like a soap opera.
A best friend of mine told me that her friend’s husband was curious about his father. He stated his fathers name was William W. Hemmans. My friend told his wife that she knew a William Hemmans and that he was to young to be his father. My best friend called me to inform me of the news. She told me the details and in bewilderment I knew he was my brother. I found out that he had played professional baseball and was now a Vice-President/Assistant General manager of a major league baseball team. I told my friend to give his wife my email address. I was in awe when his wife contacted me. Come to find out, my brother had been in all the circles I had been in while traveling with the professional baseball team he was playing for. His wife, my best friend and my ex-girlfriend had all graduated from the same pharmacy program at Florida A&M University. He would come up on the campus to meet with his then girlfriend. For years I had thought that my brother, sister and I were the first set of children.
I was shocked to find out he was 6 months younger than I.
My father and younger sister knew about him but had never informed me, even after I was asking questions and had a compelling force to know I had brothers and sisters out there in the world.
This was cruel to keep this fact from me, especially by my younger sister.
It is very dangerous for siblings and near kin not to know one another. Relations between siblings who are unaware are not a rare thing. As a matter of fact in a conversation my sister had with my brother, they found out they were at the same Luther Vandross concert as teenagers. My sister liked tall bright skinned curly haired guys while my brother liked bright skinned girls. If they would have met at that concert… you can guess the rest of this story. My newly found brother and I had a lot in common and came up under similar circumstances. To hear him tell me how he was different from the family that he knew, felt isolated, not accepted and had different interests that was not enthusiastically received by his family was like listening to a dress rehearsal of my life.
Talks between us broke off after making plans to meet. Conflicts arose from my finding out the he needed time to work out conflicts with all what was going on. I was angry at the fact that I did not initiate the contact and that I did not hold anything against him. To make a long story short, it has been over a year since we have talked. After feeling insulted about my intentions and the way I handled our contact, I let it go. It was his wife that communicated most of the information to me. I do know that I have beautiful nieces and nephews out there.
It would be another twenty-two years before I would see my father again. Much evil happened to my sister, brother and I throughout those years. The only memories I have of my father are not pleasant.
I was sitting at the dinner table and my father suddenly slapped me full in the face. My nose bled at the table. I don’t remember any consoling, I am sorry, or even my mother cleaning me up. This is the oldest memory that I have of my father and mother.
After this event I have the earliest memory of a strange event. I never mentioned to any one. It was night, the time I do not recall. I was in my room alone. I remember looking towards the door that was in front of my bed. I had no cover over me at the time. I was sleeping on a mattress. I looked and saw the figure of a tall man blocking the door. The figure was the form of a man and was all white.
I was fearful but got up and walked through the figure. I walked back to my bed to hide. I walked into my parent’s room and tried to tell them. They did not listen to me. I was told to go back to bed. Later that night my mother came and placed a nightgown over me. I hid up under it, but kept peaking out from under it and still seeing the form of that thing. I later crawled into the room by my father and mothers bed. My little brother was maybe 7 months old and was sucking on his bottle. My brother always had a big appetite and my sister and I named him Mikey. He always ate our vegetables for us gladly. I crawled down the hallway carefully into their room and lay down beside their bed until in the morning. I would go on to be scared of the dark for many years up until I was a teenager of about 13 or 14. Watching the scary monster movies on Saturdays called “Creature Feature with Dr. Paul Bearer did not help either. I would have periodic nightmares with Dracula, the Mummy and Frankenstein in them. I realize now the negative people in my life were the real monsters.
I never saw the white tall male figure again.
When my father left, I was 5 years of age, my beautiful little sister who was the adoration of all who saw her was 2 ½ years of age and my baby brother was 7 months old.
The next 12 years of our lives was spent in and out of foster homes and in between various family members where bliss was absent and the word home did not apply.
I remember the first time my brother, sister and I were in our initial foster place. I was taken out of school along with my baby sister and baby brother. I remember being sad in having to leave the school for some reason. I remember crayons, pencils, and a coloring book. I also have a big writing tablet with the large writing space separated by large lines with large small and large letters.
I remember the fumes of the Grey Hound Bus, the loud hum of the running engines. We were going somewhere unknown to me at the time.
My mother attempted to see the President of the United States! This was around 1971. President Nixon was in office. As President Nixon was impeached from office for negative activities, I was impeached out of the normal realm of what a family should normally be due to the negative activities of my mother. How ironic. No wonder my mother went to attempt to see the President Nixon. They both had much in common! President Nixon missed out on being evenly yoked with my mother!
I remember standing in a guard shack, there were several other men dressed in dark suits with white shirts and black ties. There were phones and most notably a bright red-lit button. My mother is demanding to see the President. She has something to tell him and they really need to talk.
The pushing of that red button was akin to the President pushing the well-noted red button while flying in Air force 1 far above the skies in
safety. Our lives represent the affects of the detonation of a nuclear bomb. Our lives would never be the same again.
The all out war on our lives had begun to rage. From this moment on, my life represented a nuclear holocaust. The similarities are darkness, devastation, fall out for years to come, the dying of the green lush vegetation and fruit of our lives, panic, fear, oppression, poison, paralysis, anarchy, vulnerability to infestation, destructiveness, despair, rot, doom, depression, abuse, manipulation, struggles and death. 3 innocent souls were afflicted when that red button was pushed.
We would go on to fall into lives of darkness, devastation by the enemy, destructive tendencies and self-implosion.
We were innocent children that corroded in spirit due to being ready for the negative truths of the world. The despair of not living a sheltered, nurturing normal life, the doom to know that this earth was not perfect, the struggles to live a normal life, being taught that is lacking in integrity and morals in general; we were prematurely exposed to all of this, which is becoming more common and abundant for youths around the world.
The police were summoned. My mother began to fight with security and with the police. My mother was a very strong woman for such a
tiny frame. I was crying, trying to inherently console my brother and sister. I was yelling at the police, “I want my mommy and you leave her alone”! My brother and sister were crying uncontrollably.
The last thing I remember was being in the back of my first experience with a police car and first experience at a cold police station.
I would go on to visit many more police stations throughout my life. I do not remember who picked us up. I do remember that my brother and sister and I were all separated.
I do not remember much, but what I do remember is not pleasant.
My next memory is standing in a room that had the strong stench of urine. This was my first experience with this terrible smell. There were 4-5 other kids sleeping in the bed. The mattress was wet from urine. There was no space. I was shy and scared.
I stare out the window looking out at the stars crying out for my daddy to come get me. I am crying full of tears quietly to myself saying over and over again, “daddy please come get me out of here, please”!
My father never came.
Even now for some strange reason, I must be outside to look up at the stars.
From the point of my first foster home, my life was very a very unstable mess of negative adult after negative adult with the exception of my Auntie Helen Woodie, My older cousin and minister Rod Woodie (4th Street Church of Christ, Bradenton, Florida) and when we all lived with my Grandfather, Mr. David Woodie Sr.
My Granddaddy was the only real man I had ever known and the only positive male role model I knew.
My first foster home was where I first found out that I was different than the rest of the kids. Because of that difference, I learned that life was not fair. I was the only black child in that place. I recall that I did not have a comb so I went to school (I don’t recall any other black youth) with my hair uncombed and unkept. My hair was long and I knew that my hair was not neat. I wore the same clothes daily. I don’t remember any of the meals that I ate there. I don’t remember watching any television. I don’t remember baths I took there, nor having any fun. I do remember going out in the back yard, this is probably where I first became aware of nature thus a love for the outdoors. The discovery of racism also was discovered in that back yard. I was playing off to myself and a white boy came up to me and spit dead in my face for no reason. Naturally I instinctively punched him in the face. This was my first fight with a peer. The next chain of events was very wrong.
I was standing in front of the foster parents him and I. He was allowed to tell his side of the story first where I was not allowed to speak. He had run inside to tell them I had hit him. I tried to explain my side and blurted out that he had spit in the face. I was ignored. The foster parents made me hold my arms straight above my head in the air. The male foster parent threatened to beat me with a black belt if I lowered my arms. I remember the searing ache in my shoulders as I stood there for countless minutes not being allowed to rest my arms at my side.
I had become indoctrinated that because of who I was, I was not treated equally. I never met with a social worker and I never got to see my younger sister and brother whom I thought of every second of the day and night.
The second foster home was where I first encountered s*xual debauchery but did not know what it was at the time. I do not recall where I was at, but I think I was still in Washington D.C. I guess I was kicked out of the first foster home to be placed around youth of my own persuasion.
The house was a large up and downstairs wooden house. I never remember seeing the foster parents. They were always gone. There
were a lot of black youth there. Quite a few of the youth were much older than I. There were also quite a few females there.
I was one of the youngest and smallest there.
I would hide under the covers at nighttime and played like I was asleep. I would peek out from under the covers in fear and watch 2 or 3 of the teenage youth having oral s*x performed on them by the younger boys while sitting on their beds. I was years older when I realized that what I saw was oral s*x and of homos*xual relations since being performed by the same s*x. I remember one of the older teenage boys walking over by me and peering over me and whispering to the other teenage age males that he is asleep. I was so fearful and even at the tender young age of 6; I knew what was going on in that room was horribly wrong.
I now realize that I still am most comfortable sleeping with the covers over my head or a pillow.
The older males would run into the girl’s rooms when the foster parents were not home which was more often than naught. The older males would push the girls down on their beds. The males would pin the girls underneath them and wrestle their way in between their legs. I would follow the older boys around and watch them. I was intrigued as to why they were doing this to the girls. I knew somehow this was bad behavior, but I was also excited. I wanted to fit in and be like the rest of the boys. I felt it must be okay since the girls were giggling. No one ever told the foster parents. Everyone feared the oldest teenager. For some reason he never bothered me, but allowed me to follow behind him.
Another vivid scene has been one of my most lasting memories. I came into the girl’s room. The oldest teenage female was on the bed with the oldest teenage male that I followed around, on top of her. He was gyrating and moving all sorts of ways between her legs. She was struggling to get out from under him but could not budge him off the top of her. The more she struggled, the more it seemed to turn him on and excite the other older males standing around the bed in a circle. She had her legs wrapped around his waist tightly to try and stop him from moving between her legs. He had her arms pinned down at her sides. There were no other females in the room. It was all the males surrounding the bed. I peaked my way through the crowd to watch in amazement of what was going on. The oldest teenage male was chanting and making noises like oh baby, fellas this is how you do a female and you know you like this. Some of the males were giggling and smiling along with him, urging him on. The teenage girl kept telling him to stop and to get off of her. She would half smile in relation to the other boys and the oldest teenage males obviously enjoying themselves.
I felt sorry for the girl. I was powerless. I feared the older males and especially the oldest teenage male. I did not want to seem out of the norm with the behavior that was going on. I had a dull ache in my heart thinking this poor girl was being degraded and was thoroughly embarrassed. I knew somehow this is something I could never do to any female.
I wondered where were the foster parents? The last time I saw her was walking away from that place, holding the hand of a younger child that I cannot remember was a young male or female. I do not recall what ever happened to her. I never saw her again.
Again I never met with a social worker while in that place.
I remember an uncle of mine (my mothers younger brother) came to get us and the drive back to Florida. I had been united with my mother, younger sister and baby brother. I don’t recall any talking that went on throughout that whole trip. I was excited that things were going to be much better once back at what I knew as home.
We stayed with this uncle for a little while. My uncle and my aunt had no children at the time. My mother and my younger brother and sister all slept in the same room. I do not remember much interaction with anyone but my mother who showed signs of not being normal. I was not allowed to go outside much. I loved playing out in the yard when I did or go play in the garage. I remember the intrigue of coming across a bee’s nest and playing with it. I never got stung.
Our mother would bathed us relentlessly, she would have my sister and I in the same bathtub. We got bathes often. My mother would add bleach and dish detergent to the water, teaching us how to be clean. My mother was always combing my sister’s hair that was very tender headed. My mother would pop her with the comb as my sister would squiggle and cry due to the rough combing. My hair was very curly and long. My mother would keep it oiled with royal crown jelly and water. My mother cooked breakfast every morning. I loved it when I could just eat cereal or blue berry pop tarts (I don’t like the frosting on them any more). Lucky Charms has always been my favorite cereal.
I remember my uncle came home from work and innocently swiped at me with his tie. I do not recall what I had did wrong, but I know I was not in the right. I told my mother that my uncle had hit me. Next thing I realize there was an explosion by my mother. My mother walked out of her room and confronted my uncle in the hallway. My mother had an explosive temper. My mother attacked my uncle who defended himself by wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her down on the ground until she calmed down. I remember when he let her go, she was still arguing and fussing about don’t touch her children. I was crying along with my brother and sister. We were all huddled together while my Aunt his wife tried to calm us down. My aunt knew to stay out of the way of this confrontation. My uncle was a gentleman and did not want to hurt her. He did not hit her back. I felt guilt and that this was my entire fault. I should not have said anything. Needless to say, my mother, sister and I were soon out of his house. My mother went to stay with my Granddaddy and my sister and I were taken to our
Great-grandmothers (Mrs. Lizzie) house.
Posted By: WILLIAM W. HEMMANS III
Tuesday, January 24th 2006 at 4:32PM
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