Second Chapter

June 10, 1984

Travis RayShawn Watkins was brought into this world at 6:38 P.M. Pretty healthy little baby except for a little jaundice, which is a yellowish stainage of the skin that eventually went away, and stunted growth for awhile. I didn't find out that I hadn't grown any for a brief period until I was much older and a doctor told me during a checkup while looking over my charts.

The location was Chester County Hospital, a hospital in what I would consider a small town in good ole' South Carolina. According to one of my grandmothers Phylicia Rashad's mom lives there. From my baby books and photo albums, brightly colored and neatly ornamented, everyone humanly possible was at the big event. Got a lot of presents and beaucoup amounts of money that I haven't seen. And apparently I was really into Michael Jackson during the '80s. Don't exactly know how my parents would know their infant's favorite artist was Michael Jackson or that I was a supporter of Ronald Reagan.

Enough about all of that and enough about South Carolina for a bit since I wasn't there for very long. Shortly after my birth I was whisked off to start life, my life, in another whole new world. This seems to be the perfect opportunity to introduce my parents and highlight their life decisions that would inevitably lead to decisions I was forced to make in my own life.

September 24, 1964

On this day my father, Daryl Cedric Watkins, was brought into the world. Well according to my grandmother he might have been born in 1963. We're not really sure. He stuck by 1964 so we stuck right by it as well. My father was what I would call a "Hood Boy" just because of certain stories I have heard along the way and the hood is where most of my dad's side of the family did and still reside. He is one of 6 children, 4 brothers and 1 sister, and my grandmother never married their dad. I know him though. Also know he has other kids, from what I have heard, and they're very similar in age to my dad, my aunt, and my uncles. If my grandmother would have married my grandfather though my last name would be Feely. Not really feeling that. "Travis Feely." Nope. Not one bit. Although I can't be sure that if that part of history was changed that I would be here. But anyway, thanks grandma for keeping and giving your children your maiden name.

It's interesting because I never really thought too hard about that situation until now, but for some reason it just helped me understand my dad a whole lot more. He grew up in the urban area, like I said before, of Rock Hill, SC. From stories people have told me, Daryl was a very rambunctious, wild, and overly careless child. He would run around with his brothers and get into anything they could find that would usually end up with them getting their ass spanked. Forget spanking. Because even though Willie Ann Watkins adores her grandchildren and has never spanked us or allowed for us to be spanked in front of her I hear she tore some back-sides up back in the day. Even kids that weren't her own. That was back in those days when if an elder saw you messing up they had automatic permission to wear you out. But it seems she had to be tough. My dad and his brothers were out of control according to family friends. They would get into fights, steal, vandalize, sneak out, and whatever else they could do to prove they were the biggest and the baddest. No one wanted to mess with the Watkins Boys.

My dad was not all bad though. He was involved in the church, a family tradition that still was around when I was younger where your butt was going to be in church no matter what and you were going to be on the choir, on the usher board... Our family has done it all. He was also a Boy Scout and later became an Eagle Scout and also an athlete. He loved playing football. It used to be one of my dad's out of the blue conversations.

"I remember when I used to play..." Oh no. Here we go. You couldn't help but just sit there and listen until he was done. Except one time when I had to go. He started talking about being tackled and hearing a cracking sound. Then he looked down at his leg and his bone was sticking out. I was over it. Had to go. The Rock Hill High Bearcats. Geez. That's like the staple of life in Rock Hill. Every time we go home I always hear some kind of story about the Bearcats or the Northwestern Trojans. Then it didn't help that pretty much every guy on my dad's side of the family that was born after 1960 has played for the Bearcats. The Watkins name is like a legendary tag for those of us who go to Rock Hill High. You're like automatically expected to play. Good thing I didn't attend because they would have been highly disappointed.

Even though my dad was considered to be Mister Bad Ass, that didn't stop him from gaining the attention of the sweet country girl.

July 20, 1965

This is the day my mom, Melinda Jacqueline Sterling, was born and I do believe we were born in the same hospital. I think she was even delivered by my doctor's father. I think. I could have made that up but I'm pretty sure that's what I heard. I hear a lot of things. Some things I have to drastically interpret because my family tries to trip the youngins up. My mom was born to Churchill and Laura Sterling and is the fourth in line of 5. She has two brothers and two sisters. Her two oldest siblings, my aunt Mary Elaine and my uncle Christopher, have the last name Craig, which is my grandmother's maiden name, are lighter skinned, and have finer hair that my mother and her other two siblings. That situation has never been fully explained. My sister, cousin Laura, and myself have been on the investigation for awhile now though. Especially when our cousin Chrishena started calling this short, light-skinned guy from our grandmother's church granddaddy. Very strange.

My mother was raised in Edgemoor, SC, which is the country side of Rock Hill. And believe me it is the coooooouuunnntry. There are trees and fields for miles and miles. So many animals around like deer, turkey, rabbits, snakes, cows, chickens, pigs, goats, and even two peacocks that came out of nowhere a few years ago. My grandparents raised their children in a small 3 bedroom, 1 bath home that they purchased for $100 and had transported and placed on their land. Looking at old pictures I noticed they did a ton of renovations and additions over the years. It's interesting to see how it used to be and how it is now, as they still live in the same house.

My grandparents were and still are a strict religious family. There was not much my mother and her siblings could without fear of being punished. They had to be on their p's and q's at all times. And my grandmother was and still is very much old fashioned. Stockings must be worn with all dresses and include a slip in there too because you're not going out of the house without a slip on. Hair must be neat and trim. You're not going out of the house as a "bama chile." Everyone must be in attendance before dinner could be served. That has changed a little bit nowadays because I like to eat and more than likely if I'm in Rock Hill it's a holiday and there is a big tasty meal waiting. My dad, grandfather, and uncles like to disappear right before dinner is about to be served and I began the "screw them" movement where when the food is done whoever is in the house says grace and fixes their plate.

My mother, along with everyone else, helped take care of the house, fed the animals, tended to the gardens, washed and hung clothes on the line, and prepared dinners. Everyone was pushed in whatever they did. Coming from a family that worked for everything they had and, more than likely, just to make ends meet it was put upon the Sterling clan to go for what they wanted and strive to be the best. It was also told to them to not feel like they were too good to do something. My grandmother will tell the story real quick of how she used to clean white folk's houses and watch their children.

My grandparents wanted their children to attend York County Schools but their house was just over the county line in Chester. Their backyard is literally in two different counties. So they came up with a plan. They decided to buy a simple mobile home, placed it in the backyard on the other side of the county line, and used that address to sign their children up in York. That mobile home would become a popular spot to go play cards and drink. My grandmother didn't really allow that kind of mess to take place in her house. She didn't put up with that, especially drinking. My grandfather still to this day hides his Seagram's Dry Gin out in the yard and occasionally sneaks off for a couple of little swigs.

With my grandparents getting their children into York County Schools my mother eventually ended up at Rock Hill High. She was the all-around student you could say. She was considered to be one of the pretty ones but also was a tomboy. She was cordial to most people, got good grades, participated in student government, band, cheerleading, track, volleyball, basketball, and ROTC. One might consider my mom to have been a goody two shoes. Wrong. I've heard plenty stories about her too. Like the times she would sneak away with her siblings and their cousins to go to "Cry Baby Bridge." It's this bridge, that I have even snuck away too myself, that is supposed to be haunted by the ghost of this baby whose mother threw them over the edge and drowned in the waters below. It's really creepy because sometimes you can really hear the faint cry of a baby. How about the times my mom would get her butt whooped for eating green plums and sweet grass when she wasn't supposed to. My grandmother told me she used to tell my mom to not eat the plums until they were ripe because she would get sick and not to eat the sweet grass because she didn't know what could be on it. My mom did it anyway. I ended up being the same way. Tore those plum trees up and the sweet grass too. Or how about the time my mom got in a fight on the school bus. That was a real funny story to hear. But not as funny as the story about my mom and her friend riding on a school bus my dad drove after school. See, my mom and her friend were not supposed to be riding on the bus, but they did it all the time anyway. Well one day my dad received a message over the radio to bring the bus into the depot immediately. There was no time to drop off the two stowaways. So my dad had to let them off the bus in the middle of the hood, which is way uptown and real far from the country. Keep in mind this was before cell phones were even thought about. It's just funny picturing my mom's semi-bougie and country self in the hood with nowhere to go or anyone to call because she knew if she would have called home it was over.

I've never heard many stories about my parents’ courtship. Haven't even seen any wedding photos. I just know they were high school sweethearts and my Grandma Laura did not like my dad very much. At first, whenever my dad would make it down into the wilderness to visit he had to stand on the opposite side of the dirt road and talk to my mom from there. She was there when he got arrested one time. He was there when she first became afraid of flying when a plane carrying their ROTC troop fell a few hundred feet. They both were there at my Grandma Watkins's house on February 25, 1984. That was the day they would become Mr. and Mrs. Daryl Watkins. Less than four months later I made my debut and their lives were changed forever.