Autobiography of David Floyd
Nothing in life has ever come easy for me, not even birth judging from the facts Mama told me in later life. It all started on Highway 288 as the ambulance screamed up the highway with sirens blaring. Mama was stretched out in the back with an attendant monitoring her blood pressure and heartbeat. My Daddy sat next to her stroking her forehead and offering comfort, telling her to hold on just a little bit longer. Soon they would be in Galveston at the hospital and in the delivery room. It would be the only time that he would be there for her.
Like most shrimpers who arrived in Freeport in the spring, he would be around for only the summer months and then off to Florida to spend the rest of the year. Most of the men dropped by the east end of Freeport, which was the Black section of town, to drink, fight, party, and then take off. And always leave babies behind. There were a lot of shrimpers in Mama’s life, and none of them ever lasted. Daddy was only one of many.
“We’re losing her,” the attendant shouted to the driver through the window. “We still have a ways to go and her pressure is out of control.” “Do something, damit,” Daddy screamed at the attendant. Mama lay there quietly in excruciating labor pains. It was probably one of the only times she remained absolutely still and quiet. My memories of her are of constant screaming, cussing, and beating all of us. Finally, she tried to rise up, but fell back and lost consciousness.
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