During this entire month of February, I shall devote my column to a four-part fictional narrative that is based on historical and factual events in Black History. These stories and plots are original pieces I wrote entitled, “Aunt Daisy’s Dramatic Dream Bed”. Let’s join in and be a part of the unfolding drama as we commence with Part 1.

As we traveled down the long, dusty, dirt road that led to Aunt Daisy’s house, which was way back in the forest, my mind temporarily took me back to the days of my childhood. I can remember it as if it had happened yesterday. Being around the same age of my fraternal twins, Mitchell and Michelle, who were with me as we drew ever closer to Aunt Daisy’s house, thoughts of that first time my mother brought me here rushed into my mind. I was only ten years old and had heard many of the grown-ups talking about Aunt Daisy, who really wasn’t my aunt, but that was the way everyone who knew her in a personal way referred to her. Aunt Daisy was old back then and that was over thirty years ago. Certainly by now, she had to be over one hundred years old. Amazingly, the last word I heard of her from someone, who had recently visited her, was that she was the same old Aunt Daisy – spry, humorous, and still very mysterious. Many even considered her a mystic or root worker, but as I got to know her, I came to see her as a very religious old woman who had a true faith in Jesus Christ, who she would constantly refer to as her Master. Aunt Daisy was very weird and somewhat spooky. This is probably why some folk, who did not really know her, labeled her as a witch or root worker. In all fairness, she was a warm-hearted and compassionate old lady who would give you her last. To me, she was a good example of what being a Christian was all about. However, the most astounding and mystifying thing about Aunt Daisy was her knowledge of Black History and the way she could recite it and make it come alive as she told it. Perhaps even more remarkable than her way of captivating you through her recalling of historical events and incidents was her miraculous dream bed. Believe me when I tell you that when you sat on her bed, as she shared her stories with you, something magical, or should I say supernatural, would happen. Her hypnotic voice would induce you to sleep and you would awake as a character in the historical narrative that she was telling you. I took many trips back to the actual historical events while sleeping on Aunt Daisy’s dream bed.
As we drove ever closer to Aunt Daisy’s house down the long, winding dirt road through a forest dominated by oak trees with pine trees sparsely situated among them, we finally arrived at the spot where her house was in view. Big oak trees stood on each side of the road like giant sentinels reaching up into the sky. These very old trees, whose branches were mossed with age, were just as I remembered them as a child. I venture to say that they perhaps dated back several hundred years and were here during some of the actual historical events that Aunt Daisy’s amazing dream bed transported me back in time to witness and experience. Pulling up into her yard, it became apparent that though it had been many, many years since I had been there, this place that was located way back in the woods, had been suspended in time. Things were precisely as I remembered them as a child. There were chickens, geese, guineas, and a few goats that had their run of the place. The old house that could be classified as a shack, looked pretty much the same as I remembered it with a few improvements. There was some recently installed shingles on the roof and a much needed paint job on the entire house. Once we exited the car, we were met by a big mongrel dog who appeared to be a mix between a retriever and a German Shepard. My children, especially my daughter, were nervous of the dog as he sniffed each of us very thoroughly. Suddenly, a voice came from the porch that was directed at the dog who immediately backed away from us. It was Aunt Daisy and she looked the same as she had looked when I saw her last. She had to be over one hundred years old, but looked like a woman in her mid to late seventies. After all these years of not seeing me, she looked at me so as to figure out who I was. After all, I was a girl around eleven years of age when she last looked upon my face. Then something truly amazing happened as she finally spoke. Looking into my eyes, she said, “You must be Marie’s daughter because you look just like her when she was your age?” I was astounded that she was able to recognize me through my close resemblance to my mother because she was absolutely correct in her observation and deduction. I have always been told by my relatives and people who knew my mother that I am the spitting image of her.
Mitchell and Michelle were awed by the old furniture and relics that were on the wall and adorned the house like it was a museum once we went inside. Entering the house was like a trip back in time and brought back many memories of a bygone day when Jim Crow policies and practices reigned. She was even able to secure a “White Only” sign from somewhere as a memento to where we have come from and a reminder of the victory of the Civil Rights Movement. I remember my mother telling me when I was a child that though Aunt Daisy had not had the opportunity to get any further than the fifth grade in school, she was an avid reader who stayed abreast of many subjects, especially things pertaining to history. By far her favorite book was her old family Bible that had been given to her by her grandfather who had been a slave. This old family heirloom had categories in it that recorded births, deaths, weddings, and other important events and historical happenings. Aunt Daisy led us to the room where she bade us to sit down. I sat in a chair while she instructed Mitchell and Michelle to sit on her big king size bed that had four bed posts that almost touched the ceiling. The old bed was the same one that I remembered sitting on and dozing off to sleep on, while Aunt Daisy sat in the same rocking chair she now occupied as she told me some fascinating stories her grandfather had told her when she was growing up. Amazingly she knew the reason I had brought the twins to see her was the same reason my mother had brought me to visit her many years ago, when I was a child. Her gift of being a sage and master storyteller had been passed down to her from her grandfather. Aunt Daisy began to share some stories of Black History to Mitchell and Michelle. A few minutes into her storytelling, both of my children fell soundly asleep upon the amazing dream bed. I felt a sense of déjà vu as I watched them on the bed and knew that they were about to have the experience of a lifetime.
I had had many experiences upon Aunt Daisy’s dream bed without the presence of anyone else.
The twins were very fortunate indeed to take their journey back in time with the comfort and companionship of one another. I knew that this amazing experience would impact and enrich their lives. Like me before them, they would never be the same when they awakened from their journey.
Join us for “Aunt Daisy’s Dramatic Dream Bed: Part Two next week.