This is the story of Nancy Jones, country singer
The Story Of Nancy Jones
Chapter 1
My mama gave birth to me on July 11, 1970. We were dirt poor, and Papa could hardly pay our bills.
When I was born, I was the fifth and youngest child. I had a big brother who was 17. His name was Matthew, and he was always a kind soul to me throughout my life.
Next in the line was Kylie, who was 12. She was often acting like the good little child, always helping Mama.
Then came William, who was 9. He was the tough one, always wanting to be like Matthew and Papa.
Then the last before I came along, was 4 year old Nicole. She was the only blond one in the family, and she was always very small and delicate.
The first year of my life, I was always outside, playing with groundhogs and small animals. My Mama was worried I would get hurt by one of the creatures, me being so small and not knowing much. But they never laid a tooth on me and that was how I liked it.
We lived in barely a house, more of a mouse-infested shack.
It was so small, that Papa used to sleep outside, usually with William.
Some fall nights it was chilly, and raining. Then Mama would insist William (Or Will, as he was called,) come inside, and that Papa was fine by himself.
But as Kylie tells me now, Papa would often come back inside sick and soaked. Those nights I don’t think he slept very well.
One day in summer when I was about two years old, Nicole and I were feeding chickens.
I threw some corn to a chicken we all called ‘Little Chick.’
I must have thrown it too hard, because that chicken took off like a rocket. Well, Nicole had enough sense to know we would get in BIG trouble if we didn’t catch him, so we took off running, in hot pursuit of Little Chick.
I don’t remember much about it then, but as Nicole informed me quite a few years later, “I think it would have been better if we let that chicken run away, than run after her. She was fast for her size, and you and me were still just babies. ”
And it was true, because after about half an hour, we lost that chicken, and we were also out of breath. Nancy told me to stop, we should turn around and go back home. But when we did turn around, Nicole started to cry. Then I started to cry, because I had no more sense back then then Little Chick herself.
To make a long story short, we were lost in that woods for about the whole night, when Papa and Matthew found us, cold and scared huddled under a tree.
Mama didn’t have the heart to punish us, so she just glared, an gave us bowls of hot soup.
That day I learned never to chase a chicken ever again.
Mama and Papa were quite gentle, if you think about it. They didn’t believe in hurting kids to make them learn their lesson. They had never held a switch in their whole lives. They believed lecture was the way to go.
Even when we were too young to understand what they were talking about, they would still sit us down on a chair, and talk to us for 20 minutes, keeping us from our play.
All us kids dreaded ‘The Chair.’ It was an old brown wooden chair, that sat ominously in the corner. When our parents wanted to give us a lecture, they would pull the chair out from the corner, and say, “Sit” like we were puppy-dogs.
I probably hated lectures the most, because I remember covering my ears with my hands so I couldn’t hear. Then mama or Papa would get mad, and tie my hands behind my back with thick, itchy rope.
The lectures, we al agreed, were the worst.
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