The Older I Get the More I Think

The older I get the more I think that the most important subjects we should be taught in school are parenting and how to manage money. 

I saw a very young couple yesterday with a tiny baby in a local restaurant. It came to me as I watched them how inexperienced in life they were. I wondered what kind of parents the couple would be imitating as they raised the little girl.

Will they use corporal punishment when she misbehaves? Will he be a loving father who listens to her childish concerns? Will they be overprotective or neglectful? Will they read to her and will they teach her how to love a pet and share with her sisters and brothers? Will she always feel safe?

Reading an article today on Thirteen Things A High School Coach
Won't Tell You, number seven touched me. The coach says parents should not go over and over every play of the game in which their child plays. Just tell the child you enjoyed watching him/her play. He said he once found a girl in an almost dark gym after a game shooting baskets. She said she was waiting as long as possible to go home in hopes that her father would be in bed and she wouldn't have to talk to him about the game. 

Some parents take winning far more seriously than the kids, and have no idea how much pressure they put on their children. In the structured life of today's children, they seldom get to play just for fun. 

My mother and father raised seven kids. They certainly had no special training and they made mistakes. But I have heard horrendous stories of parenting and abuse, cold and uncaring mothers, addiction and dysfunction, from people who are now grandmothers and grandfathers, and they have never forgotten their upbringing. 

I find it odd that the most important job we have as human beings is to care for and raise our young if we have any, but no one prepares us for that challenge. 

My mother used to say about children who had negligent parents, "They just grew up like Topsy." I don't know where that saying came from, but it meant that the kids had no one looking after them. They were on their own most of the time.

Some hospitals try to fill in the gap with young mothers by teaching parenting classes, but I wonder how many take advantage of them. And sadly, fathers need parenting classes as much or more than mothers. 

My mother had patented her parenting skills by the time I came along, number six, and I am forever grateful she learned from a good and kind father, William Henry Robison, as well as a loving mother, Malula Jones Robison.

My father 's methods were harsh and his temper often short due to stress and strain of making a living for all of us. His mind was not on two little girls, my sister and me, but on his sons who were older and worked with him on the farm each day. Those four boys, when they were young, endured whippings with a belt on many occasions, but they never seemed to resent him.

Having been a teacher of little children, it was easy to see what kind of parenting was done in their home. When a small boy came to school with bruises and each time he explained them he told a different story, I knew, and it saddened me.

One little girl developed emotional problems about halfway through the school year and sat in my lap each morning and cried. She told me that her mother, she and her brother knelt beside their beds at night for hours and prayed for her father to come back home. The child had taken on the responsibility of her father's leaving and blamed herself because he had not come back after all the praying.

When we have no money management skills we can lose our homes, but when we have no parenting skills, we can lose our children in many different ways, the worst being that they will perpetuate our mistakes for generations to come.

Genealogy of Mother's family, the Robisons

John Monroe Robison, in chair, and his children by wife Idella Frances Cooper who was disceased.
Left to Right: Sarah Robison Oats,Melissa Robison Walden, Willie Henry Robison (my grandfather)
Ira Robison, Annie Robison Thomas,Oliver Robison,
Jesse Robison, Coy Robison, Eula Robison Mashburn
Leila Robison Nicholson (nickname: Dumpy)

I often write about my father's family, the Councils, but Mother's family also comes from south Georgia. Mother, Lois Robison, was born near the town of Whigham, GA and her father, William Henry Robison, son of John Monroe Robison, farmed in Decatur County, GA. John Monroe is buried in the old Providence Cemetery in Grady County. Linda Wimmer, a cousin I recently met, lives in Florida and has begun tracing our Robison line.

As we began a photo organization project recently, I came across a photo of Willie and Lula Robison and all their children plus a photo of a couple that I believe is John M. Robison and his wife Idella Frances Cooper Robison.

In a later picture of Willie and Lula's children the sisters are seated on the front row and the three brothers stand behind them. Lois dearly loved her brothers and sisters. Mildred was the youngest child, two years younger than Lois and they were as different as night and day. Two other sisters, Edith and Berma, married brothers, Sidney and John Blitch.

Lois and Mildred were small children when the family lived on the farm. Edith often babysat the little kids while Lula helped her husband in the fields.

"She would whip us for the least little thing," Lois said in her later years. But she adored her sister anyway.

The Robisons moved to Pelham Georgia in the early 1900's just as the Council family did, because J.L. Hand, a wealthy northern man who founded the town, opened a business that employed and paid wages to children and adults. The Robisons and the Councils were urged to move there and put all those kids to work in Mr. Hand's plant just as many of the people who lived in rural areas.

William Robison, a good carpenter and a good chimney builder, took the job of caretaker for all of Mr. Hand's buildings, the largest of which was Hand Trading Company. This giant enterprise covered an entire block in the center of the town. The store was a forerunner of the big box stores of today.

My father said, "Hand Trading Company claimed they supplied everything you needed, from the cradle to the grave."

They carried caskets and baby cradles as well as anything else a household might need. Like people today flock to the malls to shop, in Pelham and surrounding area, everyone traded with the big store.

Sometime after December 23, 1904, lines were re-drawn and parts of Decatur County became a new county, Grady. Therefore, my mother's birthplace is presently in Grady County, but her birth is recorded in Decatur county, Bainbridge, GA.

Once while pouring over old books in the Decatur County Courthouse, I uncovered dusty records and felt like I was digging for treasure. The name Robison, also often spelled Robinson, was seen throughout the decades in wills, land transfers, and other papers as well as the name Cooper, my great grandfather's family name.

I've not researched the origin of John Monroe Robison's family, but I believe they came to Georgia from Virginia by way of South Carolina. Samuel Cooper has been traced back to that area.

Another cousin, Norman Cooper, sent me much information on the Cooper family. He has done extensive research.

I hope to go down to the Macon Georgia library in a few months and research the Robison line and the Jones line on my mother's side. My grandmother, Malula Jones, was the daughter of John Jones. I also have more research on that family.

When I have more time I hope to continue with my genealogy research, but for now I have to put those plans on hold.

Passing on our Wisdom

Since I am an "over fifty" person, I find the online journal Persimmon Tree filled with stories, essays and poems I relate to and I recommend that "under fifty" women and men read this ezine. In our youth-centered culture, much could be learned if the wisdom of mature individuals was respected and shared with those who could benefit from our struggles.

Page from old album: William Henry Robison, daughter Mildred, and Lula Jones Robison.

I've been fortunate in my life to have the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of children, as a teacher and as a friend. In recent years I've come to know younger women who counsel with me on issues important to them. We learn from each other, and I imagine that to be the way of generations past, when grandmothers lived with their children's families.
I never knew my grandmothers. They died long before I was born.What I know about them, I heard about from others. My sister June told me how she liked to sit in the hammock of Mama's dress as it hung between her knees. Mama was my mother's mother, Lula Robison. June loved Mama. I envy her having known the woman whose name I carry. Mother named me Glenda Lou in memory of her mother. As a child I hated the name. My first grade teacher called me by both names: "Glenda Lou, please read."

I came home from school upset and complaining. "Mother, I hate Lou. I don't want her to call me that." No one at home ever used my second name.

It was many years later that I accepted the honor that accompanied the name. My brother Hal still calls me "Glenda Lou" at times. And my husband often shortens it to "Lou." It conjures up a picture of Mama, the woman Mother spoke of with nothing but love in every word. Just as I speak of Mother who learned her parenting skills from Mama and practiced them on all seven of us.

My grandmother was William's second marriage. He first married her sister Ada who died in childbirth when pregnant with their first child.

I wonder how Lula felt about William before he married her sister. Did she come to fall in love with him after he was widowed as she consoled him in his grief? His name was William Henry Robison. Her name was Malula Jones. Both lived in Decatur County Georgia before their marriage where William's father, John Monroe Robison was a well respected man in the community. John served in the Confederacy as a blacksmith.

What stories they could have told me. What stories I could have heard from my mother if I'd only asked more questions, listened to her history.

I plan to do more discovery of my Robison family in the coming months.
But I'll never know my grandmothers.