This is an essay written by my mother, MARY ADALYN YOUNG-DOUGLAS about her childhood in Prescott Arkansas during the late 1920s and early 1930s. I grew up in Little Rock Arkansas myself but that's another story. I just wanted to share this with you to, in a way, introduce you to my mother who is no longer on the earth but who is the reason why I wanted to write poetry in the first place as a little girl a very long time ago. Because SHE wrote poetry. The best of all reasons.
I hope you enjoy this little story. It is all true and it really happened.
ABOUT PRESCOTT ARKANSAS: A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY HOME
by Mary Adalyn Young=Douglas (my mother!)
Grandfather educated me. He taught me to tell time and play “I Spy” and dominoes. Grandmother encouraged me to dry dishes and to set the table. One afternoon I really minded Grandmother. I was in a holly tree in the McSwain’s front yard across the street. She (Grandmother) surprised me by yelling across the street at the top of her lungs, “Come down out of that tree! Mary Adalyn.” I came crashing down and broke my left arm.