The Bible says “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6). While my siblings and I had our individual periods of rebellion, like the prodigal son, we defaulted back to our home training: our parents’ principles and values. ~ Lloyd Marcus
By Lloyd Marcus for American Thinker
Our nineteen-fifty-something station wagon was loaded with Mom, Dad, big fat Aunt Nee (300lbs ), me and four younger siblings. Aunt Nee raised my dad; his surrogate mom. Our family was excited about spending a hot summer day at Carr’s Beach, Maryland. I had no idea at that time that it was the only Maryland beach open to blacks.
Before hitting the road to the beach, the ritual included riding from our black suburban community into Baltimore City to pick up Aunt Nee and stopping down “Jew Town” to purchase corned-beef and a bread that the adults loved. I did not get a sense that my parents calling it “Jew Town” was meant in a derogatory way. It was simply an area of Baltimore filled with Jewish businesses that sold great food.
As a matter of fact, most of the corner stores in black neighborhoods were owned by Jews. Blacks purchased items without cash, put on their account. Storeowners would log items in their book; no bulletproof wall and turn-style between the Jewish store owners and their black customers.
We always had a wonderful time at the beach and rode home exhausted. Dad’s car was not air-conditioned. Looking back, I wonder how on earth did we endure; three adults, five kids, food and beach supplies stuffed in a hot station wagon. And yet, all my memories of family days at the beach bring a warm smile to my face.
Mom was a great cook. Two of Mom’s weekday dinner menus stick out as favorites. One was mom’s hot homemade biscuits with butter and King Syrup. The other was collard greens with cornbread dumplings. We kids were clueless about the economic component surrounding these meals. We simply enjoyed them, never feeling deprived.
Wednesday nights were prayer service at the storefront church in Baltimore City where dad was assistant pastor. On the way home, there was a corner bakery right before we crossed over the Hanover Street bridge. Whenever dad unexpectedly pulled over to purchase a dozen donuts, it was an exciting family treat.
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