In the spring of 1956, our family moved from my grandparents farm to the outskirts of Headland. We rented a house from Mr. Joe Parrish. This particular Saturday, mom was cleaning and dad was off with uncle Tex fishing. They left it up to Wayne, who was ten, to look after me and Benny. I guess for a while he did pretty well, but since he was all macho man, we had to head off to the Cock of the Walk fertilizer building. It was the largest building I had ever seen. One hundred feet high and wide and three hundred feet long. It was made out of asbestos sheets for the roof and sides. It had a walkway at the top that ran the length of the building, with a row of windows on each side. Most of the panes were broken. Not by us, we could throw rocks pretty well, but they were too far off for our young arms. The train tracks were on the other side, and the loading dock ran the length of the building, with piles of pallets and cardboard.
The big doors were locked, but as small children, we could slip between them and the building and go inside. There it was, on the inside, was our personal playground. The white powder bat guano was piled to the ceiling. Three different piles, each just a shade different. Wayne had been there before and knew to bring a piece of cardboard from the loading dock. Motioning for us to follow, he headed up the stairs to the cat walk. That was the best thing we had ever done. Our hearts were pounding from the excitement of breaking in and the height of the stairs. We could barely contain ourselves. The bat doo-doo was about five feet below the catwalk, and sloped to the bottom in a cone shape. Wayne jumped with the cardboard, hit with a smack and started sliding downhill fast as lightening. Benny and I jumped, but we did not have a cardboard sled. We buried up to our knees in the white powder crap, and had to struggle to get to the bottom. Wayne, however was going so fast that he could not stop. Just as he reached the bottom, he rolled off head first, only feet away from smashing into the wall. When we reached him, all we could see were his legs sticking out of the bat crap, and kicking like crazy, up and down. We grabbed a leg each and pulled him out. We were laughing at him and embarrassed as he was he bounced each of us on the side of our heads. Smaller and younger, though we were, we bounced back.
When we tired of blood and bat shit, Wayne showed us some dynamite that they used to break up the guano when it clumped together. Now at this moment, fifty four years later, I know what happened to the windows. It also explains why we could slip inside the doors. Wonder if the building is still standing. Wayne was smart enough to take only the blasting caps and fuses. I think he knew that the dynamite was too dangerous. On the loading dock was a three foot length of 2" pipe, a cinder block and an unlimited supply of rocks from the train tracks. And every kid worth his salt, had a cigarette lighter. Well with all these ingredients for a fun filled Saturday afternoon, what could possibly go wrong?
Instead of aiming the primitive mortar across the tracks to the empty field, Wayne pointed it at the White's house, a quarter mile away. Wayne lit the fuse to the blasting cap, dropped it into the pipe, Benny dropped in a big rock and I got the hell out of the way. No need to worry, the rock came out the end of the pipe pretty as you please. You could see it flow through the sky and land on the tin roof of the White's house with a loud bang. They scattered out of there like red wasps coming off the nest when you hit it with a corncob. They heard thunder and the sky fell on them. They were hauling ass somewhere, but where? They never figured out what happened. Are you going to tell them? I sure as heck ain't.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Wild Hog
I know that this a status, not a diary, but it is also a good place to post my stories. This one is my entry for the September competition in writeandreview.webs.com. The category is dreams or nightmares. I thought some of you might like it.
Hon, will you turn off the light when you come to bed? Phil did not really expect an answer from Mary. He knew that she would. Through all the pain and suffering she was his one constant rock. That and Joe, his best friend from grade school. Oh, the things that they had done. No wonder they were always in so much trouble. Joe had married Sheila and moved in down the lane. For Phil that was the best thing that could have ever happened.
As he was drifting off to sleep he was giving thanks for all his many blessings. When sleep overtook him, he began to walk down the path in the field, to the woods, where Joe lived. Rain was dripping on his face and he could feel the chill. Wonderful! He had never felt so alive. His senses were on fire, almost as if he knew what was about to happen just seconds before it actually did. A quick jump to the side, he landed nimbly on his feet as the ferrule boar rushed by. He had heard him coming and his body, acting as a fine magnificent clockwork, moved in perfect timing to avoid the sharp tusks. As the boar, fuming from the miss, turned around and charged again. Phil reached up and grabbed the limb over his head. Pulling his legs up just inches from danger, he teased that old hog until he finally tired and ran off. Hopping, skipping and laughing, down the lane, without tiring, he eventually made it to Joe's house.
Tapping lightly on the door, he waited patiently for an answer. Sheila slowly made her way to the door and opened it. Hey girl, how's Joe doing this fine morning? Doing better Phil, he's already dressed and waiting for you, she replied. Good, let's go get him. Joe, you ready? I asked. Yeah, he replied, just help me into this damn wheelchair and we will be off.
Phil could tell that he was putting up a brave front. That was him as he had always been, strong and brave. As we strolled down the lane, that old hog came after us again. With just a wave of his semi-useful hand, he just whisked that old hog away. Thanks Joe, I am really tired of that old swine. The light awakened Phil with a start. What is it Mary?, he asked. You were squealing with joy and it awakened me. Were you having that dream again? Yeah, Mary I did, he replied. And the best part was when I picked you up in my arms, lay you on the bed and we made wild passionate love. Just wait until Joe comes to help me into my wheelchair in the morning. I'll bet that he will tell us about his nightmare.
Hon, will you turn off the light when you come to bed? Phil did not really expect an answer from Mary. He knew that she would. Through all the pain and suffering she was his one constant rock. That and Joe, his best friend from grade school. Oh, the things that they had done. No wonder they were always in so much trouble. Joe had married Sheila and moved in down the lane. For Phil that was the best thing that could have ever happened.
As he was drifting off to sleep he was giving thanks for all his many blessings. When sleep overtook him, he began to walk down the path in the field, to the woods, where Joe lived. Rain was dripping on his face and he could feel the chill. Wonderful! He had never felt so alive. His senses were on fire, almost as if he knew what was about to happen just seconds before it actually did. A quick jump to the side, he landed nimbly on his feet as the ferrule boar rushed by. He had heard him coming and his body, acting as a fine magnificent clockwork, moved in perfect timing to avoid the sharp tusks. As the boar, fuming from the miss, turned around and charged again. Phil reached up and grabbed the limb over his head. Pulling his legs up just inches from danger, he teased that old hog until he finally tired and ran off. Hopping, skipping and laughing, down the lane, without tiring, he eventually made it to Joe's house.
Tapping lightly on the door, he waited patiently for an answer. Sheila slowly made her way to the door and opened it. Hey girl, how's Joe doing this fine morning? Doing better Phil, he's already dressed and waiting for you, she replied. Good, let's go get him. Joe, you ready? I asked. Yeah, he replied, just help me into this damn wheelchair and we will be off.
Phil could tell that he was putting up a brave front. That was him as he had always been, strong and brave. As we strolled down the lane, that old hog came after us again. With just a wave of his semi-useful hand, he just whisked that old hog away. Thanks Joe, I am really tired of that old swine. The light awakened Phil with a start. What is it Mary?, he asked. You were squealing with joy and it awakened me. Were you having that dream again? Yeah, Mary I did, he replied. And the best part was when I picked you up in my arms, lay you on the bed and we made wild passionate love. Just wait until Joe comes to help me into my wheelchair in the morning. I'll bet that he will tell us about his nightmare.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Life
As hard as it is, I am going to take the advice that was so rudely given to me. "Quit feeling sorry for yourself, get over it, and move on with your life." Through the strength and grace of my Lord and Savior, I will. Through Him, all things are possible, even this. With the weight of the world on His shoulders, when He was on the cross, He could still see me & Sheila, Ashley & Jason, Natalie & Justin, Paul & Jeanette, and He knew that His grace was sufficient to heal us
Some of the fiery darts of the wicked get past my shield of faith and infect my soul. The corruption comes out my mouth as character assassination and cursing. He washes me daily and I wallow in the filth of self-pity and have to be washed again. Just like the yard dog that gets a bath, then rolls in the dirt and has to be washed again. All tribulation has an expiration date and this too will end.
Some of the fiery darts of the wicked get past my shield of faith and infect my soul. The corruption comes out my mouth as character assassination and cursing. He washes me daily and I wallow in the filth of self-pity and have to be washed again. Just like the yard dog that gets a bath, then rolls in the dirt and has to be washed again. All tribulation has an expiration date and this too will end.
Friday, July 30, 2010
HELL AND BACK AGAIN
There's that stupid alarm clock again. It's almost daylight and all I have done is toss and turn all night. Dozing, between turns, I would dream of the coolness of the past. There you could walk down tree lined paths in the shade, during the middle of the day, and enjoy the cool breeze hitting you in the face. Because it was a dream, it was not strong enough to hold. The oppressive heat is stronger and wakes you up. The night is always aglow with a soft orange light. The light along with the heat is terrible. I long for the days before the world was knocked off its tilt, by the two volcanoes erupting at the same time.
Then you could get cool even in the summer. Cities were bustling, busy with people walking to and fro. Some even had bicycles and rode in the streets, where automobiles once ruled. It was hard for us to kick the oil addiction, but as with any addiction, you feel so much better when it is over. It was a hard sell to convince the world community that fossil fuels were destroying the world. When public opinion got behind the movement, people slowly began to walk wherever they went. More and more people joined in and after a few years, cars were very seldom used. The benefits were immediate. Obesity was over, diabetes, cancer and heart disease were almost unheard of.
With the population feeling better and the oxygen levels going up, people began to be nicer and crime was down. Now there was no need for drugs to help you cope with life's problems. Life had slowed to a pace that people could keep up with. I can barely remember those days as I was just a small child. Our parents would sit all of us down in the afternoons and tell us of water filled pools. I can not imagine that much water in one place. They would tell us of the way things were before the eruptions. I guess that is why I have such vivid dreams at night.
No one wants to wake and face the day. We don't walk around during the day anymore. It is so hot that bums have a new way to light their cigarettes. All they do is hold them up to the sky and the tip bursts into flames. The only way to do it, since all the matches caught fire long ago. As I go outside, I begin to hear the sounds of the day, people stirring, footsteps clicking on the hot sidewalk, the frustrated greetings of the neighbors. "How's the weather out there today, Bob?" asks Joe, the clerk at the newsstand. "Hot as hell, Joe", I replied. Looking at me with a disgusted expression on his face, he answered. "If hell is this hot, I don't want to go."
As I walked down the street, trying to stay on the shady side, I could see that the heat had already stirred up anger and resentment. It was if you were locked up in a small room with no air and the walls painted a bright red. Two men were fighting in the street. How can they do that? Any movement and exertion only made the heat worse. One of them pulled a knife and threw it at his opponent. "You asshole!" he screamed as he sidestepped the knife. As he stepped, he pulled a small .380 automatic from his pocket and fired, killing his foe instantly. We were all so accustomed to this violence that we did not even flinch. The street cleaners would be along soon enough and clean up the mess. The guy with the gun just faded away into the crowd. If anyone knew him, they would never tell the police. The cops did not care anyway. All they cared about was finding a cool spot. If they had to investigate every killing, they would be in the heat all day.
Damn, when I got to my office, I could see right away, there would be no air conditioning today. Mary was sitting at her desk with fire in her eyes, makeup and mascara streaming down her face. The legal pad that she was using as a fan just made it bearable. The air that she moved with it was hot and almost unbearable, however stopping would allow the heat to stifle you. As I slowly trudged up the stairs, all I could think of was getting back to my restless sleep and perhaps dreaming of the coolness again. When are they ever going to fix the stinking elevator? All it is used for now is a urinal, since it is closer than the toilet and takes less energy to get to. The stench is unbearable at this early hour and will only get worse as the day goes along, since there is no way to get fresh air into the building. The smell of urine and unwashed bodies makes me wonder why we come to work at all. After all, we don't do anything and we don't get paid. Even as I ask myself this question, I already know the answer. We have to have some semblance of order in our lives. If we stay home and do nothing, we will not be able to remain sane. At least this way, we feel as if we are doing something.
What is that noise? I look up with apprehension and see George, half running and half falling down the stairs. I start to speak to him, but from the looks of him, I know better. The heat has finally gotten to him. His eyes are all crazy and blood red, foaming at the mouth and beating himself on the chest. I move to the wall and am quiet as I can be. I do not want to draw attention to myself, as that could be fatal. As he stumbles by, I can tell that he probably won't make it to the lobby. Yep, sure enough he falls dead at the bottom of the landing. God, I hope that the cleaners feel like doing their job today and move him before the stench gets to bad. As I sit down at my desk, on my broken chair, my, spirits are at an all time low. My chair is broken because I try to break the window with it every so often. All to no avail. Knowing that no one will come in all day and the phone will not ring, ever again, I sit with my head in my hands.
I can feel the cool breeze in the air. So refreshing. Is that rain? When was the last time that happened? All my cares melt away as I enjoy the ice cream, that I am holding. All the workers come by the door, the clatter and chatter is lively and upbeat. I haven't heard pleasant conversation in years. Everyone has a cool drink in their hands. Some even have ice cream cones. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, what a glorious sight. Laughing, joking, How are you today Bob?, Good to see you George. He looked as if he had never fallen down the stairs. The air conditioner was working, people were going up and down on the elevator, phones were ringing off the hook. I am so glad that life is back to normal. I am not even missing my hot apartment and dread leaving work.
As the day ends and I head back home, the street is cool, with shades on both sides, people are laughing and talking, involved in conversation with neighbors and friends. As I pass Joe at the newsstand, he throws up his hand and asks "Hows the weather today Bob?" "Just wonderful" I replied. He smiled and greeted George as he came down the street. Tonight I am going to get a glorious night's
sleep, just like a log, not even turning over. what a wonderful life.
I am awakened from my nap, by the rapid fire shots of the .380 automatic. The man from the fight had found his way into our building. My heart is beating out of my chest, my mind still in a fog from the nap, I had just taken. What can I do? It is to hot to hide under the desk, and there is nowhere else to hide. There he is!! Standing at the door pointing that little gun at me. With no expression on his face, no life in his eyes and a hot soul, my heart stopped as he squeezed the trigger. I sat there dumbfounded as the firing pin made a metallic snap as it hit an empty chamber. I started to laugh hysterically with relief. That shocked him back to reality. When he realized what he was doing, he threw the gun to the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry", he sobbed. "Don't worry" I replied as I slowly got up from the brown spot and walked over to where the gun lay. As I reached to pick it up, anger consumed me. Burning up, I flung it against the window with all my might. The window exploded with a shower of glass and the wind came rushing in, refreshing me and causing the anger to subside. The wind was cool to my face. As I looked out the orange glow was gone, the stars were back in place. The noise from down in the street was different. What was going on? Could it be that Mars has shifted back into it's normal tilt?
Then you could get cool even in the summer. Cities were bustling, busy with people walking to and fro. Some even had bicycles and rode in the streets, where automobiles once ruled. It was hard for us to kick the oil addiction, but as with any addiction, you feel so much better when it is over. It was a hard sell to convince the world community that fossil fuels were destroying the world. When public opinion got behind the movement, people slowly began to walk wherever they went. More and more people joined in and after a few years, cars were very seldom used. The benefits were immediate. Obesity was over, diabetes, cancer and heart disease were almost unheard of.
With the population feeling better and the oxygen levels going up, people began to be nicer and crime was down. Now there was no need for drugs to help you cope with life's problems. Life had slowed to a pace that people could keep up with. I can barely remember those days as I was just a small child. Our parents would sit all of us down in the afternoons and tell us of water filled pools. I can not imagine that much water in one place. They would tell us of the way things were before the eruptions. I guess that is why I have such vivid dreams at night.
No one wants to wake and face the day. We don't walk around during the day anymore. It is so hot that bums have a new way to light their cigarettes. All they do is hold them up to the sky and the tip bursts into flames. The only way to do it, since all the matches caught fire long ago. As I go outside, I begin to hear the sounds of the day, people stirring, footsteps clicking on the hot sidewalk, the frustrated greetings of the neighbors. "How's the weather out there today, Bob?" asks Joe, the clerk at the newsstand. "Hot as hell, Joe", I replied. Looking at me with a disgusted expression on his face, he answered. "If hell is this hot, I don't want to go."
As I walked down the street, trying to stay on the shady side, I could see that the heat had already stirred up anger and resentment. It was if you were locked up in a small room with no air and the walls painted a bright red. Two men were fighting in the street. How can they do that? Any movement and exertion only made the heat worse. One of them pulled a knife and threw it at his opponent. "You asshole!" he screamed as he sidestepped the knife. As he stepped, he pulled a small .380 automatic from his pocket and fired, killing his foe instantly. We were all so accustomed to this violence that we did not even flinch. The street cleaners would be along soon enough and clean up the mess. The guy with the gun just faded away into the crowd. If anyone knew him, they would never tell the police. The cops did not care anyway. All they cared about was finding a cool spot. If they had to investigate every killing, they would be in the heat all day.
Damn, when I got to my office, I could see right away, there would be no air conditioning today. Mary was sitting at her desk with fire in her eyes, makeup and mascara streaming down her face. The legal pad that she was using as a fan just made it bearable. The air that she moved with it was hot and almost unbearable, however stopping would allow the heat to stifle you. As I slowly trudged up the stairs, all I could think of was getting back to my restless sleep and perhaps dreaming of the coolness again. When are they ever going to fix the stinking elevator? All it is used for now is a urinal, since it is closer than the toilet and takes less energy to get to. The stench is unbearable at this early hour and will only get worse as the day goes along, since there is no way to get fresh air into the building. The smell of urine and unwashed bodies makes me wonder why we come to work at all. After all, we don't do anything and we don't get paid. Even as I ask myself this question, I already know the answer. We have to have some semblance of order in our lives. If we stay home and do nothing, we will not be able to remain sane. At least this way, we feel as if we are doing something.
What is that noise? I look up with apprehension and see George, half running and half falling down the stairs. I start to speak to him, but from the looks of him, I know better. The heat has finally gotten to him. His eyes are all crazy and blood red, foaming at the mouth and beating himself on the chest. I move to the wall and am quiet as I can be. I do not want to draw attention to myself, as that could be fatal. As he stumbles by, I can tell that he probably won't make it to the lobby. Yep, sure enough he falls dead at the bottom of the landing. God, I hope that the cleaners feel like doing their job today and move him before the stench gets to bad. As I sit down at my desk, on my broken chair, my, spirits are at an all time low. My chair is broken because I try to break the window with it every so often. All to no avail. Knowing that no one will come in all day and the phone will not ring, ever again, I sit with my head in my hands.
I can feel the cool breeze in the air. So refreshing. Is that rain? When was the last time that happened? All my cares melt away as I enjoy the ice cream, that I am holding. All the workers come by the door, the clatter and chatter is lively and upbeat. I haven't heard pleasant conversation in years. Everyone has a cool drink in their hands. Some even have ice cream cones. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, what a glorious sight. Laughing, joking, How are you today Bob?, Good to see you George. He looked as if he had never fallen down the stairs. The air conditioner was working, people were going up and down on the elevator, phones were ringing off the hook. I am so glad that life is back to normal. I am not even missing my hot apartment and dread leaving work.
As the day ends and I head back home, the street is cool, with shades on both sides, people are laughing and talking, involved in conversation with neighbors and friends. As I pass Joe at the newsstand, he throws up his hand and asks "Hows the weather today Bob?" "Just wonderful" I replied. He smiled and greeted George as he came down the street. Tonight I am going to get a glorious night's
sleep, just like a log, not even turning over. what a wonderful life.
I am awakened from my nap, by the rapid fire shots of the .380 automatic. The man from the fight had found his way into our building. My heart is beating out of my chest, my mind still in a fog from the nap, I had just taken. What can I do? It is to hot to hide under the desk, and there is nowhere else to hide. There he is!! Standing at the door pointing that little gun at me. With no expression on his face, no life in his eyes and a hot soul, my heart stopped as he squeezed the trigger. I sat there dumbfounded as the firing pin made a metallic snap as it hit an empty chamber. I started to laugh hysterically with relief. That shocked him back to reality. When he realized what he was doing, he threw the gun to the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry", he sobbed. "Don't worry" I replied as I slowly got up from the brown spot and walked over to where the gun lay. As I reached to pick it up, anger consumed me. Burning up, I flung it against the window with all my might. The window exploded with a shower of glass and the wind came rushing in, refreshing me and causing the anger to subside. The wind was cool to my face. As I looked out the orange glow was gone, the stars were back in place. The noise from down in the street was different. What was going on? Could it be that Mars has shifted back into it's normal tilt?
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Eternal Bond
From the beginning, it was a love-hate relationship. I knew that things would be hard between us. From as far back as I could remember, even to my young childhood, he was there. Always acting superior, acting as if he were ashamed of me. Always knowing what I was going to say and what I was going to do, even before I did. He always let it be known that I was a burden to him that he had to carry around and look after. Always trying to get away from me, always looking up. He always told me "look up for your redemption draweth nigh."
Being the person that I was, I tried to ignore him and do things my way. He was always there, pointing out my shortcomings, encouraging me to do better, to be more like him. Try as I might, I could not. All I wanted to do was join the in crowd, drink the most, cuss the most, smoke the most and to be the meanest. Always picking on the underdog, kicking him while he was down, never giving him a chance to recover, or helping him to his feet. Even after doing all that, he never condemned me, but chided me and made me feel bad for the way that I acted.
Many times, after a long night of drinking, finally passing out in some desolate, God forsaken place, he would look after me. Not letting any harm come to me during my drunken stupor. After coming to and feeling like shit on a stick, I could hear him, off to the side, gently berating me for the way that I carried on. I tried to ignore him, but he was always there, always talking. Lord help me, don't you ever shut up? No, he replied, it is my job and duty to never leave you alone. For years, I tried to put him out of my mind, but he was always there, needling me every chance that he got. Do this, do that, don't do this, don't do that. If you do this you will surely die.
As I grew older, his voice and presence became stronger and closer. I began to listen to him, and came to feel that he was a friend, and not the enemy. Eventually we made peace. I was glad that he was there, always around, giving me advice and insight to problems that arose. You know, I found out and accepted the fact that he was superior and it did not bother me anymore. Actually that knowledge was comforting to me, knowing that after all these years my best interest was his primary concern.
As I near the end of my life, he and I are inseparable. Every trial and torment, we go through together. Isn't that the way that it should be? I know that I don't have long for this world and I begin to worry about what will happen to him after I am dead. What happens to you, I ask, if I am burned, smashed to bits or drown in the ocean? If my body cannot be found. Will that happen to you as well? No, he replied, even though we have been inseparable all these years, we are completely different. You are made from the dust of the earth and to the dust of the earth, you will return. I on the other hand came from the breath of God, and at your death, that is where I will return. At the appropriate time, when the trumpet sounds and our Father tells His Son, "Son, go and get your bride." Regardless of where you are or what shape your body is in, even if it is cremated, you will rise to be with the Lord forever. There, we will be joined together again for eternity. You will have a glorified body, with no aches or pains or infirmities. As I slip from life, I am comforted by the knowledge that however long I am separated by death from God, Jesus, and my soul that one day we will be reunited. Thank you Father for the breath of life. In my youth he was a burden, in my midlife he began to carry me, and at the end he carried in his arms. When I turned loose at the end, he just floated up toward the heavens and out of sight.
Being the person that I was, I tried to ignore him and do things my way. He was always there, pointing out my shortcomings, encouraging me to do better, to be more like him. Try as I might, I could not. All I wanted to do was join the in crowd, drink the most, cuss the most, smoke the most and to be the meanest. Always picking on the underdog, kicking him while he was down, never giving him a chance to recover, or helping him to his feet. Even after doing all that, he never condemned me, but chided me and made me feel bad for the way that I acted.
Many times, after a long night of drinking, finally passing out in some desolate, God forsaken place, he would look after me. Not letting any harm come to me during my drunken stupor. After coming to and feeling like shit on a stick, I could hear him, off to the side, gently berating me for the way that I carried on. I tried to ignore him, but he was always there, always talking. Lord help me, don't you ever shut up? No, he replied, it is my job and duty to never leave you alone. For years, I tried to put him out of my mind, but he was always there, needling me every chance that he got. Do this, do that, don't do this, don't do that. If you do this you will surely die.
As I grew older, his voice and presence became stronger and closer. I began to listen to him, and came to feel that he was a friend, and not the enemy. Eventually we made peace. I was glad that he was there, always around, giving me advice and insight to problems that arose. You know, I found out and accepted the fact that he was superior and it did not bother me anymore. Actually that knowledge was comforting to me, knowing that after all these years my best interest was his primary concern.
As I near the end of my life, he and I are inseparable. Every trial and torment, we go through together. Isn't that the way that it should be? I know that I don't have long for this world and I begin to worry about what will happen to him after I am dead. What happens to you, I ask, if I am burned, smashed to bits or drown in the ocean? If my body cannot be found. Will that happen to you as well? No, he replied, even though we have been inseparable all these years, we are completely different. You are made from the dust of the earth and to the dust of the earth, you will return. I on the other hand came from the breath of God, and at your death, that is where I will return. At the appropriate time, when the trumpet sounds and our Father tells His Son, "Son, go and get your bride." Regardless of where you are or what shape your body is in, even if it is cremated, you will rise to be with the Lord forever. There, we will be joined together again for eternity. You will have a glorified body, with no aches or pains or infirmities. As I slip from life, I am comforted by the knowledge that however long I am separated by death from God, Jesus, and my soul that one day we will be reunited. Thank you Father for the breath of life. In my youth he was a burden, in my midlife he began to carry me, and at the end he carried in his arms. When I turned loose at the end, he just floated up toward the heavens and out of sight.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Comic Books, Cigars and Sex Education
As first grade came and went, I survived school and actually kind of liked it. At the end of second grade and the beginning of third grade Charles, J. W. & Rickey moved into Mr. Joe Parrish's house. Every afternoon after school, we were bored and tired of being cooped up. Since we lived off Broad St. we had about a mile hike everyday, and it carried us through downtown Headland. As we hit Church St., just before the park square, across the street from The Thrift Store, there it was; Holley's Drug Store.
Sometimes we would have enough change to buy a soda. My favorite was a lemon sour. Carbonated water, lemon juice, and salt; what could be better for a growing boy than that? Really, buying a coke was just a cover, so that we could read comics at the magazine rack. After reading about Spot run, and Dick and Jane do some crazy thing over and over again, we were ready for a good story. And we were never disappointed. Super Man, Batman and Robin, Dick Tracy, The Green Lantern, and The Flash kept us entertained for several days a week. By the end of the month, we had read all the good comics and had to read Archie and Jughead, Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse. Then Mighty Mouse would always come in at the last minute to save the day. The first of the month would always bring in a fresh batch. The Hollys were good patient people. They never once complained about us being there.
After we tired of reading those wonderful literary masterpieces, we would head out the door. As soon as we walked out, the Thrift Store was directly in sight. I would always look to see if a crowd was in front of the store. It would take me a while to realize that the blacks only gathered there on Saturdays. Then there would be a big enough crowd to make a Tarzan movie. To get to the service station by the Headland National Bank, we had to go through the town square. It was lined with big magnificent oaks that were already old in 1958, their canopy met and looked like a medieval cathedral ceiling. Gave you a warm and secure feeling. The square was a wonderland, with the walkways meeting in the middle and bushes planted all around. The war memorial always amazed me. In 1958 the soldier still had the rifle in his hand. I guess he never did throw that grenade.
Anyway, back at the service station, some of us would stay outside and a couple would go inside. When they caught the attendant not looking, they would palm a pack of cigarettes. If they were lucky, sometimes they could get a box of Swisher Sweet cigars. Man!, those were some great cigars. After leaving there Wayne, J. W., Benny, Charles, Rickey, Walter and I would cut through the alley and hit Forrest Street. There was a garage there that had a pin up calendar in the office. We could see it through the window. We were so young that we did not know what we were looking at, but we all seemed to like what we saw pretty well. The mechanic would pick up a rock and throw it at us and we would run and laugh, happy that it was Charles that was hit and not us.
At the end of Forrest St. at the intersection with Broad St. was a line of wooden warehouses. They were all locked up(we checked), but they were built up off the ground, resting on brick pillars. The dirt was dug out a foot or so below grade. We could almost stand up under the buildings, and there was enough debris laying around that we could build walls around us. We were hidden from the world. Safe in that cocoon, Wayne and J. W., being the oldest, educated us on the finer points of treating women like ladies. We heard how to pick up girls, how to treat them, what to say to them. Kind of ironic to have all this knowledge and being so afraid of them, that you could not use it. And at 8 years old, for Pete's sake.
All the while we were puffing on those cigars. There was so much smoke pouring out from those buildings, I am surprised that the fire department did not show up. I am not sure if all that smoke came from the cigars, because we all thought that we were pretty hot. We learned a lot about girls (being very generous here), but it was all a failure. None of us knew it at that point in time. That did not matter, as we smoked, talked dirty, laughed and bragged. Quite a sex ed. class.
Sometimes we would have enough change to buy a soda. My favorite was a lemon sour. Carbonated water, lemon juice, and salt; what could be better for a growing boy than that? Really, buying a coke was just a cover, so that we could read comics at the magazine rack. After reading about Spot run, and Dick and Jane do some crazy thing over and over again, we were ready for a good story. And we were never disappointed. Super Man, Batman and Robin, Dick Tracy, The Green Lantern, and The Flash kept us entertained for several days a week. By the end of the month, we had read all the good comics and had to read Archie and Jughead, Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse. Then Mighty Mouse would always come in at the last minute to save the day. The first of the month would always bring in a fresh batch. The Hollys were good patient people. They never once complained about us being there.
After we tired of reading those wonderful literary masterpieces, we would head out the door. As soon as we walked out, the Thrift Store was directly in sight. I would always look to see if a crowd was in front of the store. It would take me a while to realize that the blacks only gathered there on Saturdays. Then there would be a big enough crowd to make a Tarzan movie. To get to the service station by the Headland National Bank, we had to go through the town square. It was lined with big magnificent oaks that were already old in 1958, their canopy met and looked like a medieval cathedral ceiling. Gave you a warm and secure feeling. The square was a wonderland, with the walkways meeting in the middle and bushes planted all around. The war memorial always amazed me. In 1958 the soldier still had the rifle in his hand. I guess he never did throw that grenade.
Anyway, back at the service station, some of us would stay outside and a couple would go inside. When they caught the attendant not looking, they would palm a pack of cigarettes. If they were lucky, sometimes they could get a box of Swisher Sweet cigars. Man!, those were some great cigars. After leaving there Wayne, J. W., Benny, Charles, Rickey, Walter and I would cut through the alley and hit Forrest Street. There was a garage there that had a pin up calendar in the office. We could see it through the window. We were so young that we did not know what we were looking at, but we all seemed to like what we saw pretty well. The mechanic would pick up a rock and throw it at us and we would run and laugh, happy that it was Charles that was hit and not us.
At the end of Forrest St. at the intersection with Broad St. was a line of wooden warehouses. They were all locked up(we checked), but they were built up off the ground, resting on brick pillars. The dirt was dug out a foot or so below grade. We could almost stand up under the buildings, and there was enough debris laying around that we could build walls around us. We were hidden from the world. Safe in that cocoon, Wayne and J. W., being the oldest, educated us on the finer points of treating women like ladies. We heard how to pick up girls, how to treat them, what to say to them. Kind of ironic to have all this knowledge and being so afraid of them, that you could not use it. And at 8 years old, for Pete's sake.
All the while we were puffing on those cigars. There was so much smoke pouring out from those buildings, I am surprised that the fire department did not show up. I am not sure if all that smoke came from the cigars, because we all thought that we were pretty hot. We learned a lot about girls (being very generous here), but it was all a failure. None of us knew it at that point in time. That did not matter, as we smoked, talked dirty, laughed and bragged. Quite a sex ed. class.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Best Friends
Man, why can't everyone just be quiet? This is an emergency room after all. The doctor is supposed to be in here soon to let me know how my friend is doing. When I brought him in, he had lost a lot of blood, and was cut up pretty bad. It did not look good for him, he was very pale and unresponsive. I don't think he had any broken bones, though. When I carried him out of the woods on my shoulders, I did not hear any grind together. He had been lying there for awhile, unconscious, before I found him at the base of the large tree. It looked as if he had backed up against the tree, and put up a heroic fight, before the overwhelming crowd took him down and left him for dead.
We are blessed with only a few dear, close friends in our life and he is one. Whenever I see him he is always overjoyed and glad that I showed up. When we do things like hunt, fish, or just sit around we very seldom speak. It's as if we know what the other is thinking. If we are hunting and I think that he needs to go left to flank the prey, all I have to do is motion with my hand to the left. He, seeing this, will silently head off in that direction. If he sees something that I don't, he will point to it, and I will know what he is telling me. We never judge one another, and treat each other with respect.
However, a few hours ago, things went terribly wrong. We came across the hog tracks in the field, and they headed off into the woods. Even though we were not armed, we decided to just follow them for a little ways. The woods were thick and dark, the perfect habitat for wild hogs. All that brush was thick and covered with vines, making it difficult to walk through. For a long way we were on all fours, crawling through the undergrowth. This is a dangerous position to be in when hunting hogs, Because of their low center of gravity, and sharp tusks. They are strong as an ox and smart as a whip. We came to a clearing where I could stand upright. I decided to rest here for a while, since all that crawling had my back, knees and hands sore as all get out. However, his one fault is impatience, so he goes on without me, knowing that I will catch up soon. In a few moments I heard him scream and the squeals of the wild boars. All of a sudden it was quiet. Eerily quiet. Hurriedly, I scrambled and pushed my way through the thick undergrowth, scared of what I might find. Some of the way I still had to crawl, and then there he was. It was not a pretty sight. I had to bind his gaping wounds with my belt and shoe laces. I carried him on my shoulders, where I could, dragged him, where I could not. It seemed an eternity before I could get him to the truck. I was praying the whole way for the strength to get him to someone that could save his life.
As I am sitting here waiting for the doctor, I fondly remembered another close friend from my childhood. Unfortunately, he did not make it. I was praying that things would work better for this friend. Just then the doctor walked in with a smile and relief washed over me like a nice warm bath. "He has lost a lot of blood and is cut up pretty bad, but I stitched and stapled him pretty much all over" He will need a long recovery period, but should make a full recovery." Can I see him now?, I asked . Yes he would like that very much. When I walked in, he looked very pale and weak , lying on the bed. With pity in my heart, I leaned over and softly said "Buck". He opened his eyes, wagged his tail, licked my face, and gave a weak bark. Thank you, I knew then that he will be ok.
We are blessed with only a few dear, close friends in our life and he is one. Whenever I see him he is always overjoyed and glad that I showed up. When we do things like hunt, fish, or just sit around we very seldom speak. It's as if we know what the other is thinking. If we are hunting and I think that he needs to go left to flank the prey, all I have to do is motion with my hand to the left. He, seeing this, will silently head off in that direction. If he sees something that I don't, he will point to it, and I will know what he is telling me. We never judge one another, and treat each other with respect.
However, a few hours ago, things went terribly wrong. We came across the hog tracks in the field, and they headed off into the woods. Even though we were not armed, we decided to just follow them for a little ways. The woods were thick and dark, the perfect habitat for wild hogs. All that brush was thick and covered with vines, making it difficult to walk through. For a long way we were on all fours, crawling through the undergrowth. This is a dangerous position to be in when hunting hogs, Because of their low center of gravity, and sharp tusks. They are strong as an ox and smart as a whip. We came to a clearing where I could stand upright. I decided to rest here for a while, since all that crawling had my back, knees and hands sore as all get out. However, his one fault is impatience, so he goes on without me, knowing that I will catch up soon. In a few moments I heard him scream and the squeals of the wild boars. All of a sudden it was quiet. Eerily quiet. Hurriedly, I scrambled and pushed my way through the thick undergrowth, scared of what I might find. Some of the way I still had to crawl, and then there he was. It was not a pretty sight. I had to bind his gaping wounds with my belt and shoe laces. I carried him on my shoulders, where I could, dragged him, where I could not. It seemed an eternity before I could get him to the truck. I was praying the whole way for the strength to get him to someone that could save his life.
As I am sitting here waiting for the doctor, I fondly remembered another close friend from my childhood. Unfortunately, he did not make it. I was praying that things would work better for this friend. Just then the doctor walked in with a smile and relief washed over me like a nice warm bath. "He has lost a lot of blood and is cut up pretty bad, but I stitched and stapled him pretty much all over" He will need a long recovery period, but should make a full recovery." Can I see him now?, I asked . Yes he would like that very much. When I walked in, he looked very pale and weak , lying on the bed. With pity in my heart, I leaned over and softly said "Buck". He opened his eyes, wagged his tail, licked my face, and gave a weak bark. Thank you, I knew then that he will be ok.
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