My Grandad, Sylvester S., was born in 1955 in Memphis,Tn. In 1968 he was thirteen years old living on the outskirts or what they called the country part of Memphis which is known as Cordova today. Growing up he did not have a mom or a dad. His dad died when he was three years old of a heart attack and so did his mom when he was eight. He had nine sisters and four brothers. His three oldest sister took care of him and the rest of his siblings when their parents had passed away. My grandad's sisters stopped getting an education so they could take care of the rest of the family by getting jobs. My grandfathers typical day included waking up in the morning, getting ready for school, eating breakfast, walking to school with the rest of his siblings, coming home, and then go outside to play. Him and his younger siblings didn't like it when the older sisters got married and left the family they would all cry because they didn't know how life would be without them. Overall life was great for him and the rest of his family even though they didn't have parents to take care of them.
My grandfather grew up on a time where there was nothing but racism, but he never felt like he was living in a racist world. He never felt that there was racial division because all the kids in his school where black; he just thought that no white kids went to his school. What really made him feel this way was because he grew up around white kids. Especially one whose name was William Smith but they called him "Buddy". He was really close to my grandad and his family. They played outside together and also played baseball together. His family never made my grandad or his siblings feel like that they were not safe around them or as if they didn't like black people. He still never felt that their was racism even though there was a white and black store, but they where allowed to go to both so he didn't see the racial division in that. He also said that when he went to the doctor there was a white door and a black door, but his doctor was white and she treated him right and never felt like she was trying to rush him out or didn't want to touch him or anything. So they never got to feel what racism was while growing up even though they lived in a place where racism was very much a live.
My grandfather also never really understood who Martin Luther King was at this time but he knew he was a pretty important man because every time he would come to town everybody would get happy, and say that there going to Mason Temple to see him. He remembers that Martin was coming to protest with the garbage men on the garbage strike. Then the next thing he notice was that it was just a normal day and he turned on the tv and hears that King has been shot and killed at the Lorraine Motel. He didn't know how to feel at the time but he saw that his sisters where crying mad very sad. My grandfather said that "it was a very sad day in history".