Valetines and History

This being the month of love, Black history and my birthday I shall tell you the story of my name.

My dad is 78 years old. He grew up in the back woods of south central Illinois. Almost everyone farmed and did other odd jobs to add to the family income.
Now back in those days there were not many black folks in that area of the country. Those that did live there "knew their place" and could live quietly for a time if they followed the rules.
I'm guessing"quietly for a time" was one of the rules, since black folk did not stay long.
I was a grown woman the first time I saw a black person in my folks hometown. My uncle told me they were not allowed there. Later when I ask, Dad told me about the county history. What a surprise. I just figured that black people didn't farm because of slavery. I had never seen a black farmer and all the black kids I knew lived in the same steel city we did.
Now when dad was small, a family lived down the road from them. Hard working folks with a bunch of kids. Kids being kids they soon knew each other well. The Mrs. helped grandma with some of her big chores and their big girls would tend to the children, from time to time.
My dad lost his heart to one of the older daughters. From the way he tells the story and the soft sound in his voice during the telling, there must still be a piece missing.
This one sided puppy love did not get to play it's self out as most do. Dad's love "just upped and moved" for reasons unknown to him. Leaving him with a sore heart and the sweet memory of first love.

When I was young Mother would tell me that Dad named me after his lost love. Sometimes he would say "that isn't true" then other times he would just smile and say "I don't remember her name. I was just a little guy".