Writing to open ones heart and share those inner most thoughts are often intimidating to the vulnerable and weak minded. Often time’s things are said regrettably and unchanging. Some- times things go left unsaid and there’s a missed opportunity. In either case an attempt is made to communicate and expound on the very issues that come between and perpetuate the dysfunctions between a mother and her son, a father and daughter or husband and wife.

We have a broken relationship. Before I begin a new phase in my life, I will to try and repair what is broken between my being your mother and you being my son. In doing so, let me advise you that this writing is not a tall tale.

Life seemed so simple and easy when I was ten years old. Don’t get the wrong impression, I did a lot of things at that age that led to my being spanked and put on punishment regularly. That was just the way it was, when a child didn’t mind, or talked badly to grown folks, and did something wrong, they were spanked. And that’s how you were being raised, like the old school ways. Yet rarely did my mother have to go to school and speak to the principal because I was misbehaving.

I do remember while living in Jackson, Michigan during the fifties, a couple of times at St. Johns Catholic School we (Sis and I) were the only black children in the whole school. Well Grandpa Charles liked to read what we called, dirty books. He used to hide them in the bottom of his closet. Well I was always an avid reader. So I took one of his books to school and of course one of the nuns’s found the book and called Grandma Bernadine to come and take the dirty book home and me. When Grandpa Charles came home, Grandma Bernadine was furious with him for having that kind of reading trash in the house. Being young, I didn’t fully understand what the big deal was over the book; I thought they would be happy that I liked to read everything.

On another occasion I was sassy and talking back to one of the nuns and she pulled my cheeks and spanked the open palms of my hands with a ruler. Ouch!

I remember clearly, there lived a family across the street where a house had been torn down. I can’t remember whether it was from a fire or just old, but I wanted to go across the street and play. Well this old lady told me to go home which made me mad and I called her an “old black nigger” to her face. Well she marched right across the street and told my mother what I had called her.

I wasn’t waiting around for my mother to beat me, so I ran upstairs and Grandma Bernadine was hot on my tail. She had a can of red pepper that she was going to put on my tongue. I ran down stairs, Grandma Bernadine was relentless. By golly she caught me. I got a whooping for 1) calling the old lady an ugly name 2) for running away from Grandma Bernadine when she wanted to whoop the hell out of me and 3) for making the neighbor come over to the house and giving Grandma Bernadine a bad report.

You would have thought I learned my lesson. Nope, I was hardheaded. A couple of days later I went back over to the house rubble, made certain that old lady didn’t see me and stepped on a long rusty nail. Ouch! That hurt! So, there I was in the emergency room and doctors cleaning out the wound and stuffing it with gauze and all I remember of that episode was crying and the next day having to soak my foot for what seemed like an eternity in order to change the bandage.

Two years later we moved to Inkster, Michigan. It was a very small town right outside of Detroit…

Or there was another time when Grandpa Charles worked for the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms division of the Government, the ATF. Some of the cases his superiors sent him on were dangerous, especially for a Negro. That's what the superiors called colored folk back in the day.

Why Grandpa Charles told us that he had to go to the back hills of Virginia to arrest some white folks for making illegal whiskey. Just between you and me, those superior people who sent him down to the hills of Virginia wanted something bad to happen to Grandpa Charles. But little did they know that Grandpa Charles was a blessed man. Cause, he never got shot and he never had to shoot anyone!

Tall Tales 509 will publish written works that are good for climbing into comfy chairs and sipping hot chocolate for your reading enjoyment. Or reading more serious matters about the social sciences of life.

Have you written a story for yourself or for the world? What is your objective for the manuscript you have completed? Okay you have a story. What is your story about? Is this non-fiction political, social or scientific? What audience will you target and why will they want to read your book if it's published? Are you willing to work and invest a lot of time and money into turning your manuscript into a quality published book?

Do you own a thesaurus and dictionary? Or do you rely heavily on your computer software to make corrections for you? Okay let's be honest. If this prospective manuscript that you have in your hands is for your family instead of the world, then that's all right. But you need to make this determination before spending a lot of money. Have you paid to have your book edited? No I don't mean, having your best friend read it and tell you simply what you want to hear.

The publishing business is very costly and highly competitive. Soon Tall Tales 509 site will be up and operational. Please join us as we make our mark in the publishing business with one book title at a time.

Tall Tales 509 will fully disclose the efforts, objectives and obstacles we face in order to bring to our readers good quality fiction and controversial non-fiction without bias.

Did I tell you the story about…Tall Tales 509…Coming Soon!