Grams Writes

Will came to the back door and yelled, “Mom, can I come in?” Permission was granted and in trooped two little boys, muddy feet and all. Kristie and I were engrossed in conversation and didn’t notice the full extent of the mud. Soon, the sound of running water drifted down the hall. I smiled to myself. Yep, they were trying to clean up without their mother knowing just how muddy they were. After a few minutes, the realization of what she was hearing broke into her consciousness and Kristie got up to see why the water was running. The recliner was very comfortable and I decided I was better off to stay seated.

About that time Brian drove into the yard. Even through the explanations of where the mud came from I could hear the silence of the storm just before it broke. “Kristie! Have you seen what they have done?” Down the hall she came and out the back door. The boys had gotten really quiet in the bathroom. They knew, oh, they knew.

Will was the first one out of the tub and to the den where I was sitting. “Will, come here!” Still I remained in the recliner, smiling. Will went to see what his dad wanted; then the tears. “Grams, daddy is going to take all of my money,” he cried. “Why is that, Will?” “I’ve got to replace all of Momma’s flowers me and Neil mashed down.” Again, I smiled.

Brian and Kristie came in about that time. “OK, boys, go get me $5 apiece. We’re going right now and buy momma some new flowers. Mom, you want to go?” “No, son, I think I’ll stay here and rest.” Again, I smiled.

They all loaded into the truck and as they drove out of the driveway, I couldn’t help but remember another little boy who got in trouble over some newly planted flowers, but that’s a tale for another day. For the moment I was content to rest in the recliner. Again, I smiled.

Payback is sweet!

Grams

Have you ever played jump board? I never hear kids talk about anything remotely similar to it, so I’m assuming the activity either goes by a different name or has gone the way of most things of the past. I don’t know who thought of it originally, but I know it was my favorite thing to do when I was a kid. My sister and I declared ourselves world champions because no one we knew could jump as high or last as long as we could. No one ever beat us.

All you needed to play jump board was a couple of cement blocks and a long board about 10 inches wide, 2 inches thick, and at least 12 feet long. I’m not really sure of the dimensions; all I know you had to have a board that was strong enough and flexible enough for two kids to stand, one on each end, and throw the other one into the air. It looked like a seesaw except you were standing instead of sitting. Oh, and the board was not fastened to the blocks; it just laid across them totally free to twist and turn whichever way it wanted to.

One person stands on one end of the board holding it steady while the other person walks up the board to the other end. How high you are in the air depends on how many blocks you use. Then the person standing on the high end begins to jump until the person on the other end goes up into the air. When that one hits the end of the board the impact throws the other person up into the air. As you gain momentum both people are thrown higher and higher. The thrill must be similar to a trampoline with an additional edge of danger.

If you can envision this game, you automatically know several things can go wrong. First, it is imperative that you land on your end of the board, every time. You are already about 4 feet off the ground and are thrown maybe another 4 feet into the air. So, you are free falling approximately 8-10 feet. If you miss the board all together, then the ground comes at you really fast. If only one foot hits the board you can go, seemingly, in several directions at once. The most damage is done when the board turns and throws both players whichever way. To say we were skinned and bruised most days would be understating the obvious.

Even today I can remember the thrill of being thrown into the air and free falling until my feet landed either on the board to repeat the process again or coming down off center and landing in a heap on the ground. Somewhere along the way my heart catches in my throat and then finally settles back where it belongs. I think it must be the sensation skateboarders feel when they sail over jumps, reconnecting with their board or not as the case may be.

In my day our fun, our games, were mostly homemade, put together by whatever was handy, thought up by a bunch of kids who had only their imagination to guide them. Today before a kid can have fun, can get sweaty and dirty, there must first be a trip to the sports store. There are helmets, the right shoes, clothes, and equipment to buy. The thrill may be the same, but the price tag is a lot more. Oh, did I mention that we wore no protective gear or shoes? Yep, we were barefoot.

Grams

” Come on, Mom, I want to show you my best fishing hole.” And with that Brian headed for his truck. He, Chris,and I piled in and started toward the Alapaha River. Now that river is obscure to most folks unless you live or have lived in south Georgia. I reckon it’s claim to fame is that it runs into the Okefenokee Swamp that spills over into the north eastern corner of Florida. It is quite a tourist attraction if you happen to travel highway 80 toward Brunswick, Georgia.

Another claim to fame the Alapaha River has is its alligators. It could be a dangerous place, particularly if you didn’t know much about that area.

After about 20 minutes Brian pulled off the road, stopped the truck, and told us to get out. We walked several yards to the edge of the river. Things looked ok; kind of peaceful really. The water was not very swift and the banks were not grown up. Well, this didn’t look too bad. I began to ask Brian questions as to exactly where he fished, had he caught very much here, etc. All the time we’re talking I’m walking around, taking in the diversity of plants and birds. This would be a really great place to have a picnic and the boys could fish. I was just about to tell Brian my thoughts along those lines when he said, “Stop! Don’t go any farther.” I looked at him and questioned why. He said, “See that log about 15 feet in front of you? Well, that’s no log.” About that time something that I thought was a fallen tree moved. With a snort that ole “tree log” rolled into the water.

“Ok, Brian, let’s go. I’ve seen enough.”

Grams

The pine tree dominated the front yard, offering shade and a place to play. There under that tree two little girls spent their day building playhouses, outlined with pine straw and roads to run our makeshift cars on. It was a most pleasant place to wile away long summer days. But today I wasn’t building a playhouse or roads; I was on the look out for intruders, spies, the bad guys, and I needed a look out point. What better place than that ole tree? I jumped, caught the bottom limb, and pulled myself up. From my perch, all of five feet off the ground, I could see all the way to the road. No one would be able to slip up on us now. I could see all around in every direction.

Of course, there wasn’t much to see; just grain fields, woods, a dirt road leading from the highway to our house, but that wasn’t the point. To pretend, to imagine, to dream–that’s what made a summer day live up to every kid’s expectations.

Then I looked at my sister. She wanted up in the tree too. Well, why not? I climbed down, made a place for her to put her feet with my hands, and pushed her up on the limb. She looked all around and realized there was nothing all that special to see. She wanted down. Well, I had just jumped down from that limb and she was taller than I was, so she could jump down too. And that’s what I told her.

Now, that didn’t suit her at all. She began to cry; she was scared and wanted me to help her get down. But, I didn’t see that it was necessary. Besides, being the big sister it was my duty to help her grow up, to accomplish things. After all, she was six years old. She needed to do this and not be a baby about it. So, I refused to help her down.

Soon mother called that lunch was ready. When my sister didn’t come in for lunch, mother went to check on her. She looked at the height of the tree limb from the ground, told my sister to jump down and come on to lunch. But, my sister refused to jump. She was afraid.

All day she sat in the pine tree alternating between trying to get up the courage to jump down and crying for me to help her. Mother came to the door several times to check on things, but she never insisted that I help her get down. Late that afternoon daddy came in. The same explanations were made; he didn’t help her down nor did he insist that I help her down. Supper was on the table, still my sister sat in the pine tree.

It was getting dark and I began to wonder if my sister would sit in that tree all night. I soon had my answer. Daddy walked out on the porch, told me to get in the car. We were going to visit some family in the church. We got in the car, started it up, waved bye to my sister, and began to back the car around. My sister let out a yell to stop, jumped down from the tree limb, and ran to the car. I just looked at her and said, “See, I knew you could do it.”

I’ve concluded anything will be attempted with the right motivation.

Grams

A starving time; that’s how most people who lived through the Great Depression described it. At least the people I’ve talked to. Work was almost non-existent; grown men, with families, sat idle, wanting to work but no work was available. It seems to me that those who lived on a farm or at least where they could grow some food fared better than those stuck in the cities. For those people soup lines were often their only means of survival.

My dad’s family lived in Alabama on a small farm. Still times were hard. Everyone did their part; no one had a free ride. If the crops failed or if something happened to the livestock, then the entire family faced a starving time. So, when a fox started raiding the hen houses of all the farms in that area, it was a serious matter. When you went to the general store, the topic of conversation was that fox, whose hen house was raided the night before, and how badly someone needed to catch him.

The boys from all the farms got together and decided they would catch that fox. Somebody needed to do it and why couldn’t they? For the next few days, each spare minute was spent tracking and running the “hen house” raider. Finally, they had the fox cornered and somehow managed to get a burlap sack over his head. A rope to tie him down quickly followed. Now that they had him, what should they do with him.

One boy decided they should wrap his tail in rags, soak it in kerosene, set it on fire, and then turn him loose They quickly reasoned that would teach that ole fox a lesson. So the task was done, the rags lit, and the fox turned loose. Now to a group of boys this seemed like a reasonable solution to their dads’ problem. That fox would leave that part of the country like his tail was on fire! And it was. The problem was, it was just before the harvest. All the crops were still in the fields. By the time the boys realized the fox was leaving a blazing trail behind him, the fields were on fire. The fox was soon forgotten; for the rest of the day and well into the night men, women, and children old enough to help fought fire. Somehow they had to save as much of the crops as they could. Without those crops the entire community faced a starving time.

I’m not sure how many crops were saved but I do know that the next day every boy in the community had another fire they needed to put out. What pain they could have been spared had they just read their Bibles.

Grams

Brian was outside playing. Periodically I checked on him just to be sure he had not wandered off. A three-year-old boy might do something like that, particularly this three-year-old. I looked out the kitchen window, but I didn’t see him. The last time I checked he was playing in the back yard. I listened; no sound. I went outside, checked the yard on both sides of the house; no Brian.

I called his name. Nothing. Sometimes he went next door; that’s probably where he is. No, he wasn’t there; they had been gone most of the morning and had just gotten home. My neighbor agreed to look in one direction and I went the other way. There were no houses across the road or in back of our houses. Brian usually played in our yard and the neighbors’ yards on both sides of us. But today he had gone farther. Soon, everyone on our street was out looking, calling his name, checking in and behind anything that might conceal a small boy. Everyone came up empty-handed.

Fear gripped my heart, my mind, my entire being. Where was he? News stories told of child abductions almost every night. “Please, God. Not that; please, anything but that.” My mind reeled with the possibilities. I called his dad to come home. “Billy, Brian’s missing. We’ve looked everywhere; we can’t find him.”

I don’t know how long it really took him to get home, but almost like magic Billy drove into the driveway. The search began anew. Every place we had looked, we looked again. Billy crawled under, looked inside, poked around, called his name; nothing. Brian had just vanished.

I was seated on the patio. Billy walked up to me, knelt down, and said, “Dianne, I’m going to call the police. He’s really missing.” I nodded I understood and bowed my head, trying to pray. Wait, what was that? Billy looked at me; the neighbors looked at us and each other. Where did that giggle come from? The doghouse! Billy got down on his hands and knees, reached inside the doghouse, and pulled out the semblance of a little boy, dirt, sweat, fleas, and all. Billy held Brian upside down by his ankles; Brian giggled. The neighbors patted me on the back and walked away, shaking their heads and muttering, “Brian!”

Billy handed him to me, anger boiling just below the surface. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll deal with this tonight.” I looked down at my son and he looked up at me. What now? I think a bath, some lunch, and a nap. I was just grateful he was OK; dirt, fleas, and grin included. Maybe his dad would be too.

Grams

Just as soon as his chores were done, Brian hit the back door, running wide open, headed for the woods. Now I wonder what he’s got planned? But, busy with all the things that make up a single mom’s Saturday, I pushed the thought out of mind. Besides, Brian played in the woods a lot; actually most of the time.

Several times when I looked out to check on him I could see his blond hair as he rambled around in and out of the bushes and trees. He sure was intent on something. When it was time for lunch I called him in. Well, he didn’t look too badly; no worse than he’d been before. However, I kept him in the kitchen. He was too dirty to get on the carpet. As soon as he had eaten, it was back to the woods. Something had really gotten his attention. Oh, well. At least he was not in any danger and he seemed to be having the time of his life.

About 3 p.m. when I looked out to check on him I noticed the garden hose was stretched as far as it would go and had been hooked up with the neighbor’s hose. I followed the route of the hose and it led into the woods, about where Brian had been playing all day. “Brian, you need to come in.” No one appeared at the edge of the woods. “Brian, come on.” Finally, after the third call, Brian started to the house. Or at least, I hoped it was Brian.

There before me stood what used to be a blond-haired, blue-eyed 9 year old. Mud covered Brian from head to foot. The only thing that was the original color were the eyes. Dressed only in cut-off jeans with muddy water dripping from his hair, Brian looked up at me. I shook my head in exasperation and said, “What have you been doing”? As innocent looking as only he could look, Brian said, “I’ve been swimming.” Did he just say what I thought I heard? Swimming? “Where have you been swimming.” Brian grinned, “I dug a swimming pool.” “You dug a swimming pool? Just how big is this swimming pool”? Carefully, Brian marked off a spot of ground roughly 6 feet wide, about that long, and maybe 2 feet deep. I asked him, “Did it hold water”? “Oh sure. It’s a lot of fun.” Well, that much I could see.

I had Brian unhook our hose from the neighbor’s so I could hose him down. I started with his hair and slowly worked my way to his feet. When he was clean enough to go in the house and to the shower, lumps of mud that were soon to harden into clumps of clay lay in a ring around where he had stood. He’d have to get that up before he mowed the yard. With a shake of my head, I pitched his cut-offs in the trash. Not even good enough for rags. A swimming pool? What will he think of next?

Grams