("You'll never be a man, George. You'll always be just a little boy.")

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Dedicated to all single parents

A photo from the 1860's of GGmother Nancy Emeline Mitchell Fulks[5-3-1841/9-3-1911] and Henry Andrew Jackson II[10-27-1842/8-10-1924] of Star Lime Works, Kentucky.


Have You Been With My Daughter?

"George! Will you step outside? I'd like to have a talk with you." Relieved at having completed another day of teaching, this writer had traveled to three different schools. I'd returned home around 4 P.M. As usual I had watched two lovely highschool girls and the brother of one exit the schoolbus. A blond brother and sister crossed a street and entered their home which was just a short walk from where I lived. A shapely darkhaired beauty trod down a sidewalk and headed gracefully toward her home at the south end of town. I could not help but see them. They were lovely, and I was only twenty-six. Those two sixteen year old highschool students were too young for me. Having glanced in my direction, I distinctly heard the teenage boy who was one-year older than his sister say "queer."

Stepping outside, this former soldier found himself staring into the eyes of the darkhaired girls' father. Approaching the man, I shook hands with him and stated: "We've not been introduced. I'm George Fulks." In the sharing of that handshake, my company bowed in a non-agressive manner."I'm ____ ______. The matter to discuss is that my daughter is pregnant. George, have you been with my daughter?"

Hired to work with elementary students and being early in my first year in that school district, I'd become acquainted with just a handful of highschoolers. "I'm not acquainted with your daughter. Would you introduce her to me?"

"She's right over here." Then jesturing to his daughter, the man exclaimed to her rather apologetically. "Come on over here, ______!"

Recognizing the teenager immediately as one of those entering a schoolbus in the morning and exiting in the afternoon, our departures for work and return home were usually exact. Were this teacher and that darkhaired and shapely teenage beauty meeting somewhere and having sex? A few residents and co-workers continued to suggest that indeed we were. Implications were that perhaps George Fulks was a sexual predator- preying on teenage girls.

Conversation between the father and me ended, but the owner of the town grocery and butcher shop had sneaked his way by the baptist church and the back lot of a private dwelling. As he trod slowly and deliberately in our direction, I noted that the grocer-butcher was wielding a butcher-knife. Stopping before entering the lot I had rented from a local farmer, his words were "George, I want to tell you that you've outworn your welcome here!"

"I have a contract to teach here, and I intend to complete it." I commented. "You don't have the power to cancel it. You are implying that that girl is pregnant because of me. That's absolutely false."

Surprising is that I had the knowledge needed to subdue my two adversaries. Their goals in those unlawful acts were twarted, and it was easy. "I have an idea on how we should handle this. You place that butcher-knife in the trunk of my automobile. You'll be spending the night in jail if you don't stop wielding that weapon. I'll drive both of you to the courthouse, and we'll have dinner at the best restaurant there at my expense. Then we'll go over to jail, and you can file charges against me. I'll spend a few nights there. One of you can drive my automobile back here. You can park it here in the driveway where I live. I never conspired to own a grocery store and butcher shop."

To that pregnant teen's father I said, "I don't wish to own or live in your trailer. Your family needs. While I'm in jail, I'll file a lawsuit against the two of you, and I'll win. This is the first time I've been this close to your daughter, Mr. ______. The implication that your daughter is pregnant by me is absolutely false."

The hate that had shown in that grocer's face immediately vanished, and suddenly reasoning and conscience possessed him. He awakened to a phenomena known as reasoning. I could see it in his eyes.Placing the butcher-knife on the ground in front of his shoes, the grocery owner did an about-face and walked slowly back in the direction of his business. The father and his teenaged daughter used the sidewalk; returning to their home near the railroad tracks. The gait and facial expressions of the three who had visited me indicated that they were ashamed and willing to compromise.

Prior to this writer's entry into slumber, seven telephone calls were placed. Sleeping peacefully through that night, employment within that school district continued from 1968-1994. Gaining the support of those whom I'd telephoned, I felt safe and secure throughout most of that tenure. As a precaution, a Polish automatic pistol lay easily within my reach. A handful of dangerous people take-up residence in most residential areas, and that's worldwide; not just an American nightmare. The precaution of securing ones front entrance is always a good idea. That's a habit one needs to develop. Following that incident, I rarely failed to do so. Performing my teaching duties that next day, I wore the crown of a smile and a clear conscience.

This writer worked in class with two of the chidren of that pregnant teenaged girl. I tutored privately the child she was carrying then. The mother appeared to have trusted me. That was seven or eight years following what could have been a "mob action"- a flare-up provoked by rumors that this weiter had become intimately involved with a sixteen year old teenaged beauty. Her first child was petite,quiet, studious, and co-operative.Display of any weapon unless needed for self-defense is poor judgement.{timeline/1960's} The children were really nice people, and so was the mother. I never tried to find the father of that child born out of wedlock. It was my duty in a that situation to mind ones own business and to exercise hindsight, foresight, and insight; to consider first the welfare of that teenager and the child conceived.

Some questions come to mind immediately; not intending to reflect on the clergy or those signing marriage licenses. Can a clergyman do magic? Is there something mystical about paper bearing the signatures of a clergyman and a representative of the state? Can a child be of worthy of life when conceived and born out of wedlock? Who is to be the judge? Not I! Not I! Not I! Not I!

George Harold Fulks/May 13, 2009//May 15,2009

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