request. About a year after I arrived, Mom Woodard reminded him and he thanked God for answering his prayer.
Pop Woodard was an example of humanity â he was a doer of Godâs Word. Helping others was morethan giving an offering and sending a check to people you didnât know. God had blessed him to touch lives and he regretted not being able to share this experience with his mother. He never believed that she hated âthe coloredsâ as his father referred to African-Americans. Pop Woodard never believed all the lies he was taught â that we were lazy, stupid and inferior in every aspect of our being. He also regretted never being strong enough to confront his father during his life time.
I hugged Pop Woodard and reminded him that the sins of the Klan were not personally his to bear. Humbly I thanked him for opening his home to me and being willing to be a father to an angry little black girl. He was the only dad I had ever known, and I wanted him to know, for sure, how much I appreciated him loving me like his own child. Then I teased him about all the sports trivia he made me commit to memory. His parents celebrated their marriage by going to see the Pirates play on May 25, 1935 where they saw Babe Ruth hit his final career home run and the first homerun at Forbes Field. Pop Woodardâs full name is Earl Forbes Woodard because he was born on June 4, 1940 and that was the first night game at Forbes Field and his father missed it. His repertoire of stories included his father taking him to see the Steelers play at Forbes Field when he was twelve years-old. My birthday, January 6, 1980, was the date of the Steelers fourth AFC Championship â I was forced to share my birthday with this piece of nostalgia.
Pop Woodard loved baseball as much as football. He had been working in the mill for a year when he treated himself to the World Series game in 1960. He vividly recalled when Bill Mazeroski's home run landed in a tree above Yogi Berra's head. He and MomWoodard went to the first night World Series game on October 13, 1971- Mom Woodard said it was cold and long, Pop Woodard said it was history. In December of 1992, the first time Pop Woodard told me this story, he took me to see Forbes Fieldâs home plate which was encased in glass in Posvar Hall at the University of Pittsburgh. He shook his head as he explained why the architects should have moved the womenâs restroom so home plate could have been in its original position.
Mom Woodard could not stop her tears. She always wanted to give something back and make a difference. She had taken a chance on welcoming Afreeka and I into her home because she didnât know how everyone would cope with the differences. She said her heart was wrenched for me when Afreeka had to leave, and she wanted me to know how tenaciously she worked to keep me in touch with my siblings. She fought to get the courts to keep the lines of communication open when the twins were adopted, but the adoptive parents had the right to dissolve that. She didnât want me to be angry and agreed to help me financially when I was ready to find them.
Mom Woodard now knew how to cornrow hair, press hair and put in relaxers. She had a subscription to the Kuntu Theatre and was a lifetime member of the Urban League and NAACP. She knew all about Teenie Harris and had repeatedly watched Wiley Avenue Days and Eyes on the Prize with me. I learned all the words to every hit by Carole King and Barry Manilow as well as B2K and Immature. I spent many evenings singing along with her favorites Nancy Wilson and Barbara Streisand. I had also watched Imitation of Life , The Great Gatsby and Miracle on 34 th Street more times than I could count.
The history lessons in the Woodard home were beyond what anyone could learn in a lifetime of school.
I thanked them over and over again. I was a person who was loved and that was more than a color. I didnât think of myself as being loved by
Pop Woodard was an example of humanity â he was a doer of Godâs Word. Helping others was morethan giving an offering and sending a check to people you didnât know. God had blessed him to touch lives and he regretted not being able to share this experience with his mother. He never believed that she hated âthe coloredsâ as his father referred to African-Americans. Pop Woodard never believed all the lies he was taught â that we were lazy, stupid and inferior in every aspect of our being. He also regretted never being strong enough to confront his father during his life time.
I hugged Pop Woodard and reminded him that the sins of the Klan were not personally his to bear. Humbly I thanked him for opening his home to me and being willing to be a father to an angry little black girl. He was the only dad I had ever known, and I wanted him to know, for sure, how much I appreciated him loving me like his own child. Then I teased him about all the sports trivia he made me commit to memory. His parents celebrated their marriage by going to see the Pirates play on May 25, 1935 where they saw Babe Ruth hit his final career home run and the first homerun at Forbes Field. Pop Woodardâs full name is Earl Forbes Woodard because he was born on June 4, 1940 and that was the first night game at Forbes Field and his father missed it. His repertoire of stories included his father taking him to see the Steelers play at Forbes Field when he was twelve years-old. My birthday, January 6, 1980, was the date of the Steelers fourth AFC Championship â I was forced to share my birthday with this piece of nostalgia.
Pop Woodard loved baseball as much as football. He had been working in the mill for a year when he treated himself to the World Series game in 1960. He vividly recalled when Bill Mazeroski's home run landed in a tree above Yogi Berra's head. He and MomWoodard went to the first night World Series game on October 13, 1971- Mom Woodard said it was cold and long, Pop Woodard said it was history. In December of 1992, the first time Pop Woodard told me this story, he took me to see Forbes Fieldâs home plate which was encased in glass in Posvar Hall at the University of Pittsburgh. He shook his head as he explained why the architects should have moved the womenâs restroom so home plate could have been in its original position.
Mom Woodard could not stop her tears. She always wanted to give something back and make a difference. She had taken a chance on welcoming Afreeka and I into her home because she didnât know how everyone would cope with the differences. She said her heart was wrenched for me when Afreeka had to leave, and she wanted me to know how tenaciously she worked to keep me in touch with my siblings. She fought to get the courts to keep the lines of communication open when the twins were adopted, but the adoptive parents had the right to dissolve that. She didnât want me to be angry and agreed to help me financially when I was ready to find them.
Mom Woodard now knew how to cornrow hair, press hair and put in relaxers. She had a subscription to the Kuntu Theatre and was a lifetime member of the Urban League and NAACP. She knew all about Teenie Harris and had repeatedly watched Wiley Avenue Days and Eyes on the Prize with me. I learned all the words to every hit by Carole King and Barry Manilow as well as B2K and Immature. I spent many evenings singing along with her favorites Nancy Wilson and Barbara Streisand. I had also watched Imitation of Life , The Great Gatsby and Miracle on 34 th Street more times than I could count.
The history lessons in the Woodard home were beyond what anyone could learn in a lifetime of school.
I thanked them over and over again. I was a person who was loved and that was more than a color. I didnât think of myself as being loved by
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