I plan on this being the last blog for a while. I have been a bit too wordy lately. This one is, perhaps, a bit self-indulgent. I woke up in the wee hours this morning flooded with memories of Mike. It was almost like he was saying to me, "don't you remember....." So, randomly, just for my own satisfaction, I write some personal memories of my brother.
Ping Pong Ball:
It was afternoon. Mom was resting. She rarely did that, so I know that she was extremely exhausted. Mike was sitting in the wing-back chair in the living room playing with a ping pong ball. He dented it and then said, "watch this, Mell." He took a match and held it next to the dent in the ball. The theory was that the heat would make the dent pop out, but, apparently he held the match a bit too closely and caught the ball on fire. It burned his fingers, he dropped in on a small area rug lying over the carpet in front of the chair (most likely placed there to cover up some earlier mishap to the carpet), caught the rug on fire, ran out with it flaming, the ping pong ball melted, and I screamed. The odor was horrendous, and much to our dismay, the ruckus woke Mom up. To say she was not pleased is an understatement.
BB Gun:
Mike and I were home alone. He was playing with his BB gun. "Hey, Mell, watch this," he said. Always eager to please, I sat on the toilet by the bathroom window to watch his amazing display of expert marksmanship. He barely opened the window right above my head, stood in the hall, took aim, fired! The purpose was to show me how he could shoot BB's through the tiny space created by the open window. He failed. Until the day my parents moved from Moran Drive, there were BB's indentions in the window sill. I don't remember if Mom and Daddy knew how they got there...oh, wait, of course they did. Who else in the family would even attempt such a thing?
Mom's Having Company:
Mom is a bit stressed. The Garden Club is coming. Her furniture, being reupholstered, had not arrived at the appointed time. Mike and I were bickering (we did that from time to time) so she sent us out to wash the front porch. The big picture window had just been cleaned. This is an important fact. So, being the good little Do-Bees that we were, Mike with a mop and I with the hose began to wash the porch. The Devil made me do it, I promise, for I took the hose and sprayed him in the face. This proved to be a really bad plan on my part, as he took the mop (an old-fashioned string mop) and wrapped that thing around my head. Well, the spraying of water and flinging of soap turned into a regular melee. Stuff was flying all over that big picture window. Mom was not pleased. She threw the car keys out the back door and told us to leave....please note, Mike drove us, so he was at least 16 at the time.
This time, the company was already at the house. I truly believe it was the Garden Club again, but I could be mistaken. Dessert consisted of something wonderful with Reddi-Whip to top it off. The lovely ladies were discussing their flower designs and their next show, when Mike and I found our way to the kitchen. Oh, my, there in the refrigerator were two cans of Reddi-Whip ~ one for each of us. "Watch this, Mell," he said. "Okay." He took the Reddi-Whip, held his head back, sprayed it from some little distance into his mouth. Well, that was really neat, so I told him to spray it in my mouth. This time, I think the Devil made him do it for instead of spraying it in my mouth, he sprayed it all over my face. With weapon in hand, I sprayed him back, which, well, you guessed it, resulted in quite the melee. Mom was not happy...she was REALLY unhappy!
Spring Cleaning:
Every spring, part of the ritual at our house was the waxing of the hardwood floors. I guess she had discarded the carpet by then. The wax was liquid and came in square gallon cans. Everything was going beautifully. The floors were gleaming, the wax was on the floor, and not anywhere it should not have been. We were the perfect offspring. Then, Mike decided to stick one finger on each hand into the opening of the floor wax cans. Oh, dear, he cannot get his fingers out. He tries, Charlie tries, I know there is no point in my trying if my brothers are unsuccessful. We sit in the living room, Mike with a gallon can of floor wax stuck on each finger as we contemplate what the next move should be. Being the extraordinarily brilliant strategist that I am, I suggested that, perhaps, if we poked holes in the bottoms of the cans, that would create a circumstance where the cans would just slide right off. It was a really hot day, so we opted to stay inside in the cool air-conditioned house. With hammer and screwdriver in hand, Charlie began to create perforations on the bottom of one of the cans. Oh, dear, who could have anticipated this, floor wax began to drip, nay, pour, out of the bottom of the can. Charlie and I each grabbed a can, held it upside down as we rushed from the house. Now, we are all stuck outside without a plan. Mike suggests that Charlie drive him to Bobby Petty's house where Mr. Petty had a fairly well-equipped workshop. After multiple efforts, Mr. Petty was able to free Mike of the burdensome cans, and all was well. Mom was spared too much drama.
Elementary School:
When I was in second grade at Dalewood Elementary School, I had Mrs. Williams for a teacher. I could neither pronounce her name nor mine and called myself Marilyn Wims and her Mrs. Wims. Our classroom was across the hall from the cafeteria. Mike was in 6th grade, and his class would be in line when our class came in from recess. Oh, I was mortified in the winter when we had to wear pants under our dresses to stay warm. The sixth grade girls did not have to do that. Mike's friends called him Willy. When I would, with great embarrassment have to walk by that line, they would shout out, "here comes little Willy!" I sort of loved that. It made me feel pretty special.
Spiderman:
I had a pink piano in my bedroom. I kept my stuffed animals on top of it. I was certain they played and had a grand time when I was gone. I was equally convinced that they thoroughly enjoyed my piano playing. I did not enjoy practicing, but I had embarrassed my mother with my lack of preparedness for a recital one time too many. I was relegated to my room to practice. As I played, correcting wrongly hit notes, I was startled, more like scared to death, by a noise behind me. I turned around with the hair standing up on the back of my neck and my knees feeling like Jello, only to find Mike climbing into the window behind me. Now, our house was one story, but it was situated on a hill, so my bedroom was virtually on the second floor. What in the world?!? He had stood on the door handle of the door to the crawlspace, right beneath my window, climbed on the top of the door, up on the window sill and into my room. What a guy! He would not admit it, but I think he was just trying to rescue me from piano practice.
Holidays:
Christmas - We had Christmas at Thanksgiving the year he was in Vietnam. He left for Camp Pendleton before shipping out sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas. My daddy cut down a cedar tree and we put it in the corner of the dining room. We decorated it, and had Thanksgiving and Christmas at the same time that year. Another year, when he was much younger, I remember him spraying himself in the eye with the spray snow that we used for a poor man's flocking. The spray mechanism was clogged, so he was looking at it very closely, cleaning it out with a straight pen, when it sprayed him right in the eye. He screamed and carried on for a while. One year, Mom had bought him a Monopoly Game for Christmas. He tried to guess what it was. This went on for quite a few days. Mom eventually told me what it was, which was quite foolish on her part. One afternoon as we sat by the light of the tree, he continued guessing every sort of wrong thing, so I said, "you may think it's a Monopoly game, but it's not." Oh, shoot, he jumped up yelling that he had a Monopoly game. I could not get him to be quiet. Mom was not pleased, but not terribly surprised. I got spanked...with the cardboard roll from wrapping paper.
Halloween - The one I remember most was when Mike was dressed, I guess as Davy Crockett or somebody like that. He had his BB gun (in case he saw an open window, I guess) loaded with firecrackers. As he and his friend, Mike Graves (I think), sat at the kitchen table enjoying a repast of apple cider and ginger snaps between excursions of collecting candy, he held the BB gun over a burning candle in the middle of the table. I was in the living room, Mom was at the other end of the house, but this was not a big house. Oh, my stars, firecrackers unexpectedly going off in a small house will scare the living daylights out of a person, especially the person holding the smoking gun. They were immediately commanded to leave the house, and leave they did.
Speaking of fireworks....my daddy used to have a fireworks stand. We got all kinds of fireworks around New Year's Eves and Fourths of July. Mike would hold Roman candles and bottle rockets in his hand to shoot...at somebody. We had these little things called booby traps that you set up in drawers and when the drawer was opened a large pop would occur. How many times I screamed, or heard Mom scream as one of those things went off. Cherry Bombs were the favorite instrument of fear, however. I think I remember Mike throwing a cherry bomb in the middle of Mom and some of her friends as they sat in a circle in the yard. Perhaps he said beforehand, "watch this, Mell."
blessings
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
A True Southern Lady
This life is hard. I want to get that out of the way. Sometimes it is harder than others. This has been a hard few weeks. But, that is life.
Yesterday, I stopped at the market to get vegetables. I checked my phone for the first time since early morning. There I saw a message from my friend, Becky, that her mama had passed away on Sunday evening. My first thought was how sad for Becky, her sisters and Unca Dan. My next thought was how do I tell my mother. I am becoming the bearer of sad news. Mom had already heard about Mrs. Leech, and had enjoyed a conversation with Becky's daddy, discussing old times and how they are two of only three left of an original group of five very close couples.
Mrs. Leech was like a second mother to me in many ways. There were periods of my life when I spent about as much time at her house as at my own. At Unca Dan's birthday in December, I blogged about the Leeches, and how they influenced my life. This, is just a brief remembrance of Mrs. Leech.
One of the things about her that I remember well, is how she would awaken us in the mornings. I came from a tradition of no jokes when it was time to get up. Mom came into our rooms, big cheerful smile on her face, and determination in her stride. She went directly to the window, grabbed the bottom of the shade, gave a jerk, and those shades went up like a shot. She would exclaim, "wake up, it is a beautiful mo'ning." Mrs. Leech had a different approach. She would come in, pat us on the back, kiss Becky on the cheek and quietly encourage us to wake up. That was a pleasant puzzle to me. One was not better than the other, they were just different.
Maybe because she was not my mother, I remember her as always being calm, and rarely managing us. I know that I felt very much loved and welcomed in her home. The Leech household was different than mine in that we were a little boy heavy and they were, with the exception of Unca Dan, all girls. That just creates a different dynamic.
Mrs. Leech was a woman who did not talk about other people. She had a great generosity of spirit. She saw the best, and was quick to offer extra measures of grace where it was most needed. She loved her family; husband, daughters, grandchildren, and recently a great grandchild. She leaves a legacy of dignity and grace. She was not a woman who created drama.
Her family was from Orlinda, Tennessee. I had some really wonderful days spent in Orlinda with Becky. I truly do not think that little town even had a stoplight at the time. The Brewers had a feather mattress that I thought was the most heavenly place to lay my head. That might be why I am so comforted by my Fluffo mattress to this very day. They had a round gas tank in their yard. I guess it was propane to heat the house. I am not sure, but it was a fascination to me. I sort of halfway expected it to blow up at any time. In Orlinda, Tennessee in the 50's and 60's, little girls could walk to town, by themselves, and never feel afraid.
Mrs. Leech could tolerate whining, something my parents did not enjoy and something in which I became quite the expert as a young child. What Mrs. Leech would not tolerate was a sassy mouth. Her girls knew what was acceptable and what was not, and a smart mouth was not.
There are wonderful fond memories of summer days spent at Bluegrass Country Club with homemade pimiento cheese sandwiches and chips eaten at picnic tables in the shade of mighty hackberry trees. Can hackberry trees be mighty? Well, they were to us, and their shade most welcome on a hot July day. I remember last days of school and shopping trips that followed. I was with her when we picked up my first pair of glasses. She did not approve of her daughters calling me the "human trashcan" when we went to Florida, but they were sort of right, those little tiny, dainty girls. I never heard a cross word between her and Unca Dan.
I used to love when my mother would have the annual Christmas dinner at our house for those five couples. I even remember dropping in to say hi when I was in college. Mom would work to get the house decorated, the front door wreath always a work of art. The lights would be dim when her guests arrived, candles burning. Delicious food, not catered, but lovingly prepared, fragranced the house. The guests and the hosts dressed up. Jeans were not acceptable, nor even considered. In fact, at that time, I am fairly certain none of those women even owned a pair of jeans. Mrs. Leech was always in that group; always complimentary; always expressing gratitude.
As recently as in the last five years or so, Mrs. Leech and I would on a sort of regular basis communicate. She, like I, was the "cruise director" of the senior citizen group at her church. My group enjoyed varied activities. Mrs. Leech's group wanted to go eat. She and I would share special places that each of our groups enjoyed. I liked having that bond with her.
She was beautiful to me. She had exceptional posture. Is that a weird thing to notice about someone? Although she was not a particularly tall woman, she had a dignified and regal bearing tempered with extreme kindness. When one talked to her, she listened and would often interject a "yeah, yeah." Be sure when you read that "yeah" that it has about four syllables. Mrs. Leech had no single syllable words in her vocabulary. Such a Southern lady in every way.
I will miss knowing that she walks this earth. She had a way of making me feel loved, accepted, and safe when I was with her. I never felt as though I was in her way ~ well, there was that one time that she called Mom to come get me, but I had been most unkind as to laugh at Becky when she fell. It was that Styrofoam cooler on her head that I have mentioned in multiple blogs. I bet Becky wishes I would forget that!! Her daughters will miss her, but she passed to them a deep and abiding faith which will sustain them as they begin to navigate this new life without her. Unca Dan, who held her hand and sang hymns to her as she slipped the bonds of this earth, will tap into his faith as well. They will find joy in each day because that is exactly what she would want for them.
How wonderfully fortunate I am to have her loveliness woven into the tapestry of my life. It is with great gratitude that I think of the time that her walk and mine intersected in this leg of our eternal journey. As with my brother, Mike, I believe she is resting well and enjoying great reunions.
For today, I wish you not be spared moments of sadness for they are born of great love and joy, I wish you comfort in your sadness, and I wish you
blessings
Yesterday, I stopped at the market to get vegetables. I checked my phone for the first time since early morning. There I saw a message from my friend, Becky, that her mama had passed away on Sunday evening. My first thought was how sad for Becky, her sisters and Unca Dan. My next thought was how do I tell my mother. I am becoming the bearer of sad news. Mom had already heard about Mrs. Leech, and had enjoyed a conversation with Becky's daddy, discussing old times and how they are two of only three left of an original group of five very close couples.
Mrs. Leech was like a second mother to me in many ways. There were periods of my life when I spent about as much time at her house as at my own. At Unca Dan's birthday in December, I blogged about the Leeches, and how they influenced my life. This, is just a brief remembrance of Mrs. Leech.
One of the things about her that I remember well, is how she would awaken us in the mornings. I came from a tradition of no jokes when it was time to get up. Mom came into our rooms, big cheerful smile on her face, and determination in her stride. She went directly to the window, grabbed the bottom of the shade, gave a jerk, and those shades went up like a shot. She would exclaim, "wake up, it is a beautiful mo'ning." Mrs. Leech had a different approach. She would come in, pat us on the back, kiss Becky on the cheek and quietly encourage us to wake up. That was a pleasant puzzle to me. One was not better than the other, they were just different.
Maybe because she was not my mother, I remember her as always being calm, and rarely managing us. I know that I felt very much loved and welcomed in her home. The Leech household was different than mine in that we were a little boy heavy and they were, with the exception of Unca Dan, all girls. That just creates a different dynamic.
Mrs. Leech was a woman who did not talk about other people. She had a great generosity of spirit. She saw the best, and was quick to offer extra measures of grace where it was most needed. She loved her family; husband, daughters, grandchildren, and recently a great grandchild. She leaves a legacy of dignity and grace. She was not a woman who created drama.
Her family was from Orlinda, Tennessee. I had some really wonderful days spent in Orlinda with Becky. I truly do not think that little town even had a stoplight at the time. The Brewers had a feather mattress that I thought was the most heavenly place to lay my head. That might be why I am so comforted by my Fluffo mattress to this very day. They had a round gas tank in their yard. I guess it was propane to heat the house. I am not sure, but it was a fascination to me. I sort of halfway expected it to blow up at any time. In Orlinda, Tennessee in the 50's and 60's, little girls could walk to town, by themselves, and never feel afraid.
Mrs. Leech could tolerate whining, something my parents did not enjoy and something in which I became quite the expert as a young child. What Mrs. Leech would not tolerate was a sassy mouth. Her girls knew what was acceptable and what was not, and a smart mouth was not.
There are wonderful fond memories of summer days spent at Bluegrass Country Club with homemade pimiento cheese sandwiches and chips eaten at picnic tables in the shade of mighty hackberry trees. Can hackberry trees be mighty? Well, they were to us, and their shade most welcome on a hot July day. I remember last days of school and shopping trips that followed. I was with her when we picked up my first pair of glasses. She did not approve of her daughters calling me the "human trashcan" when we went to Florida, but they were sort of right, those little tiny, dainty girls. I never heard a cross word between her and Unca Dan.
I used to love when my mother would have the annual Christmas dinner at our house for those five couples. I even remember dropping in to say hi when I was in college. Mom would work to get the house decorated, the front door wreath always a work of art. The lights would be dim when her guests arrived, candles burning. Delicious food, not catered, but lovingly prepared, fragranced the house. The guests and the hosts dressed up. Jeans were not acceptable, nor even considered. In fact, at that time, I am fairly certain none of those women even owned a pair of jeans. Mrs. Leech was always in that group; always complimentary; always expressing gratitude.
As recently as in the last five years or so, Mrs. Leech and I would on a sort of regular basis communicate. She, like I, was the "cruise director" of the senior citizen group at her church. My group enjoyed varied activities. Mrs. Leech's group wanted to go eat. She and I would share special places that each of our groups enjoyed. I liked having that bond with her.
She was beautiful to me. She had exceptional posture. Is that a weird thing to notice about someone? Although she was not a particularly tall woman, she had a dignified and regal bearing tempered with extreme kindness. When one talked to her, she listened and would often interject a "yeah, yeah." Be sure when you read that "yeah" that it has about four syllables. Mrs. Leech had no single syllable words in her vocabulary. Such a Southern lady in every way.
I will miss knowing that she walks this earth. She had a way of making me feel loved, accepted, and safe when I was with her. I never felt as though I was in her way ~ well, there was that one time that she called Mom to come get me, but I had been most unkind as to laugh at Becky when she fell. It was that Styrofoam cooler on her head that I have mentioned in multiple blogs. I bet Becky wishes I would forget that!! Her daughters will miss her, but she passed to them a deep and abiding faith which will sustain them as they begin to navigate this new life without her. Unca Dan, who held her hand and sang hymns to her as she slipped the bonds of this earth, will tap into his faith as well. They will find joy in each day because that is exactly what she would want for them.
How wonderfully fortunate I am to have her loveliness woven into the tapestry of my life. It is with great gratitude that I think of the time that her walk and mine intersected in this leg of our eternal journey. As with my brother, Mike, I believe she is resting well and enjoying great reunions.
For today, I wish you not be spared moments of sadness for they are born of great love and joy, I wish you comfort in your sadness, and I wish you
blessings
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Lover of Children, Stealer of Hubcaps
Thursday night, my brother, Mike, left this realm for the next. I first felt relief that he would no longer suffer with every breath he took. He knew that morning that the process of dying had in some way gained momentum. In my sadness, as I drove to my mother's to tell her this most painful news, I wept in prayer thanking The Lord for the mercy of Mike's release from his pain and struggle. At the same time, my heart breaks for my mother, for his most beautiful and faithful wife, Vickie, and his children, grandchildren, and great grandchild. He loved them well. He will be well-remembered. We will find solace in the life he led and the stories of high hilarity in which he stars.
Mike loomed large in my growing up years. He is the sibling to whom I was closest in age, and we sort of had a love-hate relationship at times. He teased me unmercifully. I worked at getting him in trouble. I am not particularly proud of this, but when he would babysit me, I kept my eye on the clock. As the time approached for my parents' return, I would begin to weep. He knew, as did I, that my parents (Daddy in particular) would automatically assume that he had done something to cause my tears. He would beg me to tell him what he had to do to stop my crying. It usually involved money. It is a wonder that he ever spoke to me when we became adults.
In junior high, I would give Mike part of my lunch money to buy cigarettes. By this point, I no longer exercised control over him, and simply wanted to remain in his good graces. When he was in Vietnam, he periodically mailed me money to pay me back. He was a man who avoided debt of any kind.
Mike had just good old horse sense. In this age we talk about people being "real." I have never known anyone as real as my brother, Mike. He said it like it was, he rarely pulled punches, I am certain he never tried to impress anyone, however, everyone who met him left impressed. He was exceptionally intelligent, although his education after high school came informally. After serving in Vietnam for 13 months, he tried to go to MTSU on the GI Bill, but the frivolity of college life after the horrors of war was something with which he could not deal. So, he went to work; and work he did.
Up until the last few years, Mike was a voracious reader, and he remembered what he read. We would discuss authors or books, and I could not touch the hem of his garment when it came to remembering texts and facts. Once when I was studying the U.S. Civil War in college, we started a discussion on the Battle of Gettysburg. I hope I wasn't, but probably I was, feeling a bit superior as a college student discussing this topic with him. Well, that was idiotic, because he knew more about the Battle of Gettysburg from reading a book or two than I would ever know from taking multiple college courses.
He could tell great stories, often peppered with very colorful language. His eyes twinkled as his face scrunched up when he laughed. He was not afraid of a well-placed expletive, and they flowed somewhat freely when he discussed politics or when the weaker were being exploited by the stronger. He was a champion of the underdog. He had no time for those who claimed one thing and lived another.
The smartest thing my brother ever did was marry his wife, Vickie. I can, without reservation, say that she is one of the people I most admire in this life. There has never lived a more servant-hearted woman. She is the perfect example of "for better or worse, in sickness or health." She waited on Mike hand and foot, and would not let anyone else take care of him. The last time I was at their house, Mike was drinking a cup of coffee. Not a word was spoken, no obvious gesture made, but at one point Vickie got up, took his cup, refilled it, brought it back to him, and he enjoyed his second cup of the day. He cared for his family well. He loved both his children and their children, but he did not smother them. Mike believed in letting people live their own lives.
He loved babies and children. I have a message on my answering machine from him that he left last week. "Mell, just want to thank you for bringing the boys by. I really enjoy them. I know you do too."
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Mike loomed large in my growing up years. He is the sibling to whom I was closest in age, and we sort of had a love-hate relationship at times. He teased me unmercifully. I worked at getting him in trouble. I am not particularly proud of this, but when he would babysit me, I kept my eye on the clock. As the time approached for my parents' return, I would begin to weep. He knew, as did I, that my parents (Daddy in particular) would automatically assume that he had done something to cause my tears. He would beg me to tell him what he had to do to stop my crying. It usually involved money. It is a wonder that he ever spoke to me when we became adults.
In junior high, I would give Mike part of my lunch money to buy cigarettes. By this point, I no longer exercised control over him, and simply wanted to remain in his good graces. When he was in Vietnam, he periodically mailed me money to pay me back. He was a man who avoided debt of any kind.
Mike had just good old horse sense. In this age we talk about people being "real." I have never known anyone as real as my brother, Mike. He said it like it was, he rarely pulled punches, I am certain he never tried to impress anyone, however, everyone who met him left impressed. He was exceptionally intelligent, although his education after high school came informally. After serving in Vietnam for 13 months, he tried to go to MTSU on the GI Bill, but the frivolity of college life after the horrors of war was something with which he could not deal. So, he went to work; and work he did.
Up until the last few years, Mike was a voracious reader, and he remembered what he read. We would discuss authors or books, and I could not touch the hem of his garment when it came to remembering texts and facts. Once when I was studying the U.S. Civil War in college, we started a discussion on the Battle of Gettysburg. I hope I wasn't, but probably I was, feeling a bit superior as a college student discussing this topic with him. Well, that was idiotic, because he knew more about the Battle of Gettysburg from reading a book or two than I would ever know from taking multiple college courses.
He could tell great stories, often peppered with very colorful language. His eyes twinkled as his face scrunched up when he laughed. He was not afraid of a well-placed expletive, and they flowed somewhat freely when he discussed politics or when the weaker were being exploited by the stronger. He was a champion of the underdog. He had no time for those who claimed one thing and lived another.
The smartest thing my brother ever did was marry his wife, Vickie. I can, without reservation, say that she is one of the people I most admire in this life. There has never lived a more servant-hearted woman. She is the perfect example of "for better or worse, in sickness or health." She waited on Mike hand and foot, and would not let anyone else take care of him. The last time I was at their house, Mike was drinking a cup of coffee. Not a word was spoken, no obvious gesture made, but at one point Vickie got up, took his cup, refilled it, brought it back to him, and he enjoyed his second cup of the day. He cared for his family well. He loved both his children and their children, but he did not smother them. Mike believed in letting people live their own lives.
He loved babies and children. I have a message on my answering machine from him that he left last week. "Mell, just want to thank you for bringing the boys by. I really enjoy them. I know you do too."
Random Memories:
Athletic Prowess:
I once watched him pogo stick from the top of our street, a fairly steep hill, to the bottom and back up again. Evil Knievel: Attempting to ride a bike over a mound of dirt in the attempt to jump over a pile of broken up concrete he misjudged. The result was a broken collarbone, that he sincerely believed he could keep my parents from finding out about. Luge: In his attempt to ride a wagon down that steep hill, and using the mailbox at the last house as his brake, resulted in internal injuries and surgery. Football: His football coach once told him that he ran like "an elephant in galoshes."
Medical Degree:
Often, our neighbor, whom I consider my first best friend and other brother, Carl, was often the recipient of Mike's bonehead ideas. Once Carl sat in some wet paint. Probably, they had been told to stay away from the paint, but as was often the case, they did not comply. Certainly, they did not want Carl's mother to know that he had sat in the paint, so Mike hit on a plan to hide the evidence. He basically bathed Carl in turpentine. Who knew that someone might possibly be allergic to turpentine? Turns out Carl was. Recently, I have introduced to the Carlie Jenner (?) lip challenge where people put a cup over their lips and suck on it to plump up their lips. Carl could tell them to just bathe in turpentine. I know I have never seen lips as swollen or a face more unrecognizable as Carl's after Mike's tender medical ministrations.
Proud Parents' Nights:
I specifically remember two times when my mother returned from Parent Night at Mike's school She was NOT happy. The first was after another mom had come to her and asked, "are you Mike Williams' mother." Mom smiled sweetly and proudly said she was, at which time the other mother went into a tirade on how Mike and some of his friends had egged her house. Now, I am sure he had good reasons other than mischief and vandalism, but Mom was not open to hearing them at that particular time. The other time I remember was when the teacher asked Mom if Mike had a job. Mom replied, "why, no. Why would you think that?" The teacher said, "because he sleeps in my class!" Again, Mom was NOT pleased.
Jobs:
While Mike was in junior high, my brother Charlie was in high school. I do not know what the party line was on how Mike was earning money, but my parents were so happy that he was so very enterprising in earning his own spending money. Charlie, it seems, was more interested in school and school activities which left little time for a job. I can only imagine his frustration when my daddy said to him that it would be a good thing if he started to earn a little money himself like Mike was doing. I must applaud Charlie for not blurting out, "he is selling stolen hubcaps!! He is stealing them, and then selling them!" I will say this, that is probably the last dishonest thing Mike ever did.
Car Wrecks:
Oh, there is just not enough time for this. The Williams boys had lead feet. We will leave it at that.
Church:
Mike sort of lost interest in organized religion after being kicked out of Sunday school one time too many. Once when a Bible teacher regaled the class on how everything that happens is God's will, Mike questioned how that could possibly be so. The teacher insisted, at which time, Mike asked, "was it God's will that your fingers got blown off?" The teacher did not take it well, and so, kicked Mike out of class. The other time I specifically remember was when the churches of Christ had a huge campaign going against dancing. It was almost always an underlying theme, but during this specific time, it was the focus of our congregation. In Sunday school, the teacher asked who was going to prom. Probably, a lot of those in the class were, but Mike was the only one who held up his hand, at which time he assured the teacher that he was going to two proms, and with a Catholic girl! He was asked to leave class again. Is it any wonder that as he discussed his death and if there would be a service that he told Vickie, "I don't want no preacher man praying over me!"
There is so much more to say, but this has gone on a bit long. While there will be no formal service for my brother, there will be Mike stories to tell at family gatherings as long as any of us who knew him live. I will miss him, but I would not, if I could, have him return even for a moment to the suffering he experienced these past few weeks. He suffered it with good humor and stoicism. He was a man to be loved and admired. He lived his life well. He has earned his rest. I hope he is fishing on some celestial river bank chatting with Daddy and Charlie, breathing easily.
For today, I wish you sweet memories, people to love, and I wish you
blessings
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Excerpts
Now and then, I receive letters from students who have been on my walking tour. It is obvious that the teacher has asked questions to prompt their writings; things like "what was your favorite story," "what did you learn?" One teacher had the series of prompts, "what," "so what," and "what now?" Here are excerpts from some of those letters. Misspellings and grammar missteps are theirs, and only add to the charm in my opinion.
Downtown Presbyterian Church:
"I thought the prosprotereun church was cool because it was an Egept Church......I learned they made huge doors to let the gods in, and that their was a sun god, snake god, and wing god."
Sam Davis (always a favorite; mine too)
"I liked the story about Sam Davis the most. If he had just told who he had gotten the maps from, he would have lived. He wasn't stupid, he was a great hero."
"The thing I will always remember will most likely be the Sam Davis. I loved how inspiring it was."
"I learned that Sam Davis was a great friend....we should learn in this way because if you are just sitting at a desk with a teacher reading these stories to you I feel like it gives you no room to visualize."
"My favorite part was when you were talking about Sam Davis. I, unlike my friends who weren't listening, was paying attention. I loved how you made it humourous but serious at the same time. As myself, a mature African American, I would be with the Union. Although, I would never have the guts to do what he did."
Edward Carmack: (some stories get a bit jumbled in their minds)
"My favorite part of the downtown Nashville walking tour was that there is a tunle under one of the staues...I thought it was weird that the tunnle under the statue of someone who didn't like acholic drinks sold in TN has a tunle under it named after someone who was famous for his whiskey."
"....my favorite was the twist at the end of Mr. Carmac's story. I liked how Jack Daniels dug a tunnel into the capital then a group of women put Mr. Carmac's statue on top of the tunnel. This made me laugh. My opinion on forbidness of wine is I am fine with living in a country without wine but the government should not have the power to limit what people drink, after all we are a free country."
"I loved the story of Mr. Carmack. I loved the part where he grabbed the lady and used her as a shield. Sometimes people do that to me when I am playing nerf wars with my friends."
Andrew Jackson: (any story that has the words rear end in it catches their attention. I do not use the word butt :-))
"In the old time there was a funny duel. There was two men when the first man shot it hit the other man in the thume. Then the man just walked away. But the other man shot the man in the butt. Which then the duel was over."
"The best person that I liked was Andrew Jackson. He was brave against Great Brition. It's sad how all his family was Dead. I love how he just kicks Great Britions butt lol. But the best thing that I loved about him was that he was tough, smart, and brave."
"My favorite was when Andrew Jackson brought home Linquoyia from the Battle of Horseshoe Ben. I loved that story because it shows what kind of caring guy he really was. Because normally in a war or battle people are VERY serious. And all his men were saying that he should just leave it there. That is NOT NICE!"
"I liked the statue of Andrew Jackson. I like the story of him shooting the rear-ends of horses with a sling shot. Great thanks. P.S. The girl with brown hair, bangs, and freckles."
"Andrew Jackson is like the song Trouble by Taylor Swift he always finds a way to get into trouble."
"My favorite part of the tore was.....Andrue Jackson....but I really liked the time when we ate lunch. My mom really liked the tore to."
Andrew Johnson: (as in life, poor old Andrew Johnson, destined to be either maligned or forgotten)
James K. Polk:
"Thank you for telling me more about James K. Polk. I did not know that he kept his gol stones in a box. It must have been very painful for him in his surgery without being put to sleep....are kidnee stones the same as gol stones?"
Alvin C. York:
"My favorite part of the field trip was Alvin C. York. I've always been a fanatic about WWI (no point in WWII without it) so this was an addition to my liking of the history of the war. I liked how you explained how he got good aim instead of saying, 'he had good aim.' Also, capturing 100 men and killing 25?! That's got to be some kind of record!"
"....the one I liked best was Alvin C. York because I find him as a very courageus, determined, and brilliant man."
"I really liked your story about Alvin C. York. He is a good person to talk about because he inspires people to not kill. It teaches us when we are little not to hurt others. It is so cool that when he got signed up for fighting he said that he didn't want to kill people. Most people wouldn't do that."
Life Lessons: (some of these were actually told to them, others they extrapolated from the information for themselves-gotta love that)
"This should be taught so we can learn from past mistakes."
"This history will help us in the future so we don't make the same mistakes again. Like chamber pots that was an awful mistake but now we have toilets."
"Nashville used to not be clean. Usually, people would fill up their body-wastes in buckets, then dump them in the streets. People will have to step on the gross mess. If people didn't have to step on that, then Nashville wouldn't have to be the grossest town in American History. It's truly a good thing that Nashville has cleaned up this mess.
Nashville also caused diseases, too. When people littered and dumped wastes into streets, the gross appearance spread. It really wiped out people quickly. Now, we know that littering is a bad thing. If it was still messy, then I wouldn't be living here!"
"I think I could apply Sam Davises story for me in the future to stand up for what I believe in."
"I remember something you told us that I will NEVER forget. You said, 'don't be the ustonished, be the ustonishers."
"I learned many life lessons. One was if you start fast you will finish with time left." (truly not sure where this came from, but I like it)
"It really taught me that all the choices you make in life are important."
"If I ever feel like I can't do something, I'll be like, 'if Andrew Jackson can be captured and in prison at 10 years old, I can do *insert what trying to do*!
"It might seem easy to do the wrong thing, but the right thing is what's good for the world."
"I thought about when you said 'what you learn is yours to keep.' I loved that."
".....history that we can use in the futer, because who knows when you will be called onto Jeopardy."
"Now, I imagine history as the greatest book or movie ever!"
For today, I wish you time with children, the opportunity to work at what you love, and I wish you
blessings
Downtown Presbyterian Church:
"I thought the prosprotereun church was cool because it was an Egept Church......I learned they made huge doors to let the gods in, and that their was a sun god, snake god, and wing god."
Sam Davis (always a favorite; mine too)
"I liked the story about Sam Davis the most. If he had just told who he had gotten the maps from, he would have lived. He wasn't stupid, he was a great hero."
"The thing I will always remember will most likely be the Sam Davis. I loved how inspiring it was."
"I learned that Sam Davis was a great friend....we should learn in this way because if you are just sitting at a desk with a teacher reading these stories to you I feel like it gives you no room to visualize."
"My favorite part was when you were talking about Sam Davis. I, unlike my friends who weren't listening, was paying attention. I loved how you made it humourous but serious at the same time. As myself, a mature African American, I would be with the Union. Although, I would never have the guts to do what he did."
Edward Carmack: (some stories get a bit jumbled in their minds)
"My favorite part of the downtown Nashville walking tour was that there is a tunle under one of the staues...I thought it was weird that the tunnle under the statue of someone who didn't like acholic drinks sold in TN has a tunle under it named after someone who was famous for his whiskey."
"....my favorite was the twist at the end of Mr. Carmac's story. I liked how Jack Daniels dug a tunnel into the capital then a group of women put Mr. Carmac's statue on top of the tunnel. This made me laugh. My opinion on forbidness of wine is I am fine with living in a country without wine but the government should not have the power to limit what people drink, after all we are a free country."
"I loved the story of Mr. Carmack. I loved the part where he grabbed the lady and used her as a shield. Sometimes people do that to me when I am playing nerf wars with my friends."
Andrew Jackson: (any story that has the words rear end in it catches their attention. I do not use the word butt :-))
"In the old time there was a funny duel. There was two men when the first man shot it hit the other man in the thume. Then the man just walked away. But the other man shot the man in the butt. Which then the duel was over."
"The best person that I liked was Andrew Jackson. He was brave against Great Brition. It's sad how all his family was Dead. I love how he just kicks Great Britions butt lol. But the best thing that I loved about him was that he was tough, smart, and brave."
"My favorite was when Andrew Jackson brought home Linquoyia from the Battle of Horseshoe Ben. I loved that story because it shows what kind of caring guy he really was. Because normally in a war or battle people are VERY serious. And all his men were saying that he should just leave it there. That is NOT NICE!"
"I liked the statue of Andrew Jackson. I like the story of him shooting the rear-ends of horses with a sling shot. Great thanks. P.S. The girl with brown hair, bangs, and freckles."
"Andrew Jackson is like the song Trouble by Taylor Swift he always finds a way to get into trouble."
"My favorite part of the tore was.....Andrue Jackson....but I really liked the time when we ate lunch. My mom really liked the tore to."
Andrew Johnson: (as in life, poor old Andrew Johnson, destined to be either maligned or forgotten)
James K. Polk:
"Thank you for telling me more about James K. Polk. I did not know that he kept his gol stones in a box. It must have been very painful for him in his surgery without being put to sleep....are kidnee stones the same as gol stones?"
Alvin C. York:
"My favorite part of the field trip was Alvin C. York. I've always been a fanatic about WWI (no point in WWII without it) so this was an addition to my liking of the history of the war. I liked how you explained how he got good aim instead of saying, 'he had good aim.' Also, capturing 100 men and killing 25?! That's got to be some kind of record!"
"....the one I liked best was Alvin C. York because I find him as a very courageus, determined, and brilliant man."
"I really liked your story about Alvin C. York. He is a good person to talk about because he inspires people to not kill. It teaches us when we are little not to hurt others. It is so cool that when he got signed up for fighting he said that he didn't want to kill people. Most people wouldn't do that."
Life Lessons: (some of these were actually told to them, others they extrapolated from the information for themselves-gotta love that)
"This should be taught so we can learn from past mistakes."
"This history will help us in the future so we don't make the same mistakes again. Like chamber pots that was an awful mistake but now we have toilets."
"Nashville used to not be clean. Usually, people would fill up their body-wastes in buckets, then dump them in the streets. People will have to step on the gross mess. If people didn't have to step on that, then Nashville wouldn't have to be the grossest town in American History. It's truly a good thing that Nashville has cleaned up this mess.
Nashville also caused diseases, too. When people littered and dumped wastes into streets, the gross appearance spread. It really wiped out people quickly. Now, we know that littering is a bad thing. If it was still messy, then I wouldn't be living here!"
"I think I could apply Sam Davises story for me in the future to stand up for what I believe in."
"I remember something you told us that I will NEVER forget. You said, 'don't be the ustonished, be the ustonishers."
"I learned many life lessons. One was if you start fast you will finish with time left." (truly not sure where this came from, but I like it)
"It really taught me that all the choices you make in life are important."
"If I ever feel like I can't do something, I'll be like, 'if Andrew Jackson can be captured and in prison at 10 years old, I can do *insert what trying to do*!
"It might seem easy to do the wrong thing, but the right thing is what's good for the world."
"I thought about when you said 'what you learn is yours to keep.' I loved that."
".....history that we can use in the futer, because who knows when you will be called onto Jeopardy."
"Now, I imagine history as the greatest book or movie ever!"
For today, I wish you time with children, the opportunity to work at what you love, and I wish you
blessings
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Meandering Down Memory Lane
It all started with a post on FB. A friend put up two pictures of her and her two sisters. Actually, I consider the sisters friends as well, even though we were not always as gracious to them growing up as we might have been. Becky has on a plaid bucket hat in one, and a beautiful yellow dress in the other. I do not remember the hat, but it did spark a memory of her wearing a round Styrofoam cooler on her head one day. I truly can see the sequence of events that occurred while she was wearing said cooler as though they happened yesterday. The yellow dress I remember as well. She wore it to the Litton High School senior play in 1962 when my brother, Charlie, was in the cast. He played either a police officer or a gangster, I cannot remember which. We dressed in our finest to go to the play. My dress was yellow too. Becky was tiny and delicate (still is) and her dress was the perfect reflection of her. I felt somewhat like a bull moose next to her. I just remember, so well, admiring her dress, and possibly, wishing mine was as dainty.
I had breakfast today with Nancy. To get to the restaurant, we drove down Gallatin Road from Briley Parkway to where Gallatin Road turns into Main Street. This is definitely our old stomping grounds. We ate in a converted automobile showroom across the street from the school that graduated my mother and the public library. It was on the steps of that library that I learned, after putting on my first pair of eyeglasses, that steps are more easily navigated when one can see. I also discovered that trees have individual leaves and are not topped merely with a mass of green.
As we drove down the street, we passed many things...the church that Nancy attended growing up, the YMCA where I spent entire summers, the Inglewood Theater where I was forbidden to go on Friday nights, the site of the car wreck I had in college, Inglewood Hardware, the shop where my mother bought my first pair of tennis shoes ~ red PF Flyers ~ the funeral home that has been visited too many times, the site of the Hi Ho restaurant where many a Sunday lunch was eaten by my family, the old Krystal location where on my first day with a driver's license I backed into the dumpster (known as the dempstey dumpster in my family), Miller's Clinic where after stepping on 3 rusty nails I received the most painful tetanus shot of my life. The memories flashed across my mind as we drove down the street. I imagine Nancy's mind was on a similar flight of fancy, but we never missed a beat in our conversation.
After a lovely breakfast, sitting at a tiny marble- topped table in the window, we headed back up Gallatin Road to the Litton gym. There was to be an informal gathering of alumni, accompanied by a sale of Litton Memorabilia. I was not sure what to expect, but I enjoy time spent with Nancy, and she and I both have definitely been "out of the loop" of the alumni. So much has been changed in the space beneath the gym, that memories of that space are very vague. Well, obviously they are, for as I was leaving the ladies' room which was the old locker room, I walked right into the shower in my effort to find the door. Some things just never change.
We looked at the composite pictures of seniors from various years. 1970, the year Nancy and I graduated. It is sort of funny, how one looks for pictures of oneself and those we know and love best. Then we moved on to the 1966 composite where we found my sister-in-law, Vickie and my brother, Mike. 1965 to find Harry, Nancy's brother. 1962, to find Charlie and Nancy's sister, Judy. We all looked so young in those pictures. We were young. Both Nancy's siblings were at the gym. I love them both, and find that Judy and I are probably more alike in personality (introverts) than Nancy and Judy, although, two sisters could not look more alike. People are often getting them confused.
Someone introduced me to Barbara Jean Ellis. Oh, the memories. Charlie was a friend to that family, and often I had the privilege of going with him to their big old rambling house full of children. She was thrilled to know that I was Charlie's sister. I remember once my daddy being a bit frustrated with Charlie for taking my prescription ear infection medicine to one of the Ellis children. Always a champion of the vulnerable, my brother was. I thought how he probably would have been there today, had this day been nine years ago. She asked about Mom and Sam. She said she could not wait to tell her sister that she had seen Charlie's sister.
A man walked in, and I heard Nancy and Judy both say, "there is Tommy Green." He was a good friend of Charlie's, and when Nancy told him I was Charlie's sister, his eyes welled with tears, and he commented on what a fine man my brother was. I have vague memories of him, but I remember his mother well. She worked at the Chester's in Green Hills in the children's department. To get to the children's clothes, one walked down a sweeping staircase, and at the bottom of the stairs was a Myna bird. That bird talked a blue streak. Mrs. Green would always wait on us, with great patience. I remember her saying one time, when Mom was shopping with my sister, Doree, "Doree is not like Marilyn." This simply meant that Doree had opinions and preferences about what she wore, and I simply wanted some decision to be made by whomever so I could get out of there!
Others asked about my brother, Mike. They had heard that he is not well. He is very much loved by those who remember him. I suspect there are some great memories of rowdy times spent in his presence. Sincere offers to pray for him and our family were gratefully accepted.
I bought a T-shirt that says "Litton High School Alumni." Some people might find it ridiculous, this devotion so many have to Isaac Litton High School. There is an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, and, yes, urgency for many because it will not be too many years before there are no graduates of Isaac Litton living. 1971 was the last class graduated. A great need to leave a legacy of this great school, known for its band, outstanding football teams, prominent citizens and more, is keenly felt.
What is it about those three years we spent in that old building making friends, learning about life and literature and math and history (well, not so much history if you had Mrs. Johnson), and science and Spanish and French and Latin (really smart kids), and health and psychology and art and office machines and so many other wonderful things? I do not know why of my 63 years, those 3 seem so important and so well-remembered, but I am grateful.
Joyfully and painfully, and, yes, somewhat sadly, I have done a bit of meandering down Memory Lane today. It is a good thing to remember.
For today, I wish you exquisite memories and I wish you
blessings
I had breakfast today with Nancy. To get to the restaurant, we drove down Gallatin Road from Briley Parkway to where Gallatin Road turns into Main Street. This is definitely our old stomping grounds. We ate in a converted automobile showroom across the street from the school that graduated my mother and the public library. It was on the steps of that library that I learned, after putting on my first pair of eyeglasses, that steps are more easily navigated when one can see. I also discovered that trees have individual leaves and are not topped merely with a mass of green.
As we drove down the street, we passed many things...the church that Nancy attended growing up, the YMCA where I spent entire summers, the Inglewood Theater where I was forbidden to go on Friday nights, the site of the car wreck I had in college, Inglewood Hardware, the shop where my mother bought my first pair of tennis shoes ~ red PF Flyers ~ the funeral home that has been visited too many times, the site of the Hi Ho restaurant where many a Sunday lunch was eaten by my family, the old Krystal location where on my first day with a driver's license I backed into the dumpster (known as the dempstey dumpster in my family), Miller's Clinic where after stepping on 3 rusty nails I received the most painful tetanus shot of my life. The memories flashed across my mind as we drove down the street. I imagine Nancy's mind was on a similar flight of fancy, but we never missed a beat in our conversation.
After a lovely breakfast, sitting at a tiny marble- topped table in the window, we headed back up Gallatin Road to the Litton gym. There was to be an informal gathering of alumni, accompanied by a sale of Litton Memorabilia. I was not sure what to expect, but I enjoy time spent with Nancy, and she and I both have definitely been "out of the loop" of the alumni. So much has been changed in the space beneath the gym, that memories of that space are very vague. Well, obviously they are, for as I was leaving the ladies' room which was the old locker room, I walked right into the shower in my effort to find the door. Some things just never change.
We looked at the composite pictures of seniors from various years. 1970, the year Nancy and I graduated. It is sort of funny, how one looks for pictures of oneself and those we know and love best. Then we moved on to the 1966 composite where we found my sister-in-law, Vickie and my brother, Mike. 1965 to find Harry, Nancy's brother. 1962, to find Charlie and Nancy's sister, Judy. We all looked so young in those pictures. We were young. Both Nancy's siblings were at the gym. I love them both, and find that Judy and I are probably more alike in personality (introverts) than Nancy and Judy, although, two sisters could not look more alike. People are often getting them confused.
Someone introduced me to Barbara Jean Ellis. Oh, the memories. Charlie was a friend to that family, and often I had the privilege of going with him to their big old rambling house full of children. She was thrilled to know that I was Charlie's sister. I remember once my daddy being a bit frustrated with Charlie for taking my prescription ear infection medicine to one of the Ellis children. Always a champion of the vulnerable, my brother was. I thought how he probably would have been there today, had this day been nine years ago. She asked about Mom and Sam. She said she could not wait to tell her sister that she had seen Charlie's sister.
A man walked in, and I heard Nancy and Judy both say, "there is Tommy Green." He was a good friend of Charlie's, and when Nancy told him I was Charlie's sister, his eyes welled with tears, and he commented on what a fine man my brother was. I have vague memories of him, but I remember his mother well. She worked at the Chester's in Green Hills in the children's department. To get to the children's clothes, one walked down a sweeping staircase, and at the bottom of the stairs was a Myna bird. That bird talked a blue streak. Mrs. Green would always wait on us, with great patience. I remember her saying one time, when Mom was shopping with my sister, Doree, "Doree is not like Marilyn." This simply meant that Doree had opinions and preferences about what she wore, and I simply wanted some decision to be made by whomever so I could get out of there!
Others asked about my brother, Mike. They had heard that he is not well. He is very much loved by those who remember him. I suspect there are some great memories of rowdy times spent in his presence. Sincere offers to pray for him and our family were gratefully accepted.
I bought a T-shirt that says "Litton High School Alumni." Some people might find it ridiculous, this devotion so many have to Isaac Litton High School. There is an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, and, yes, urgency for many because it will not be too many years before there are no graduates of Isaac Litton living. 1971 was the last class graduated. A great need to leave a legacy of this great school, known for its band, outstanding football teams, prominent citizens and more, is keenly felt.
What is it about those three years we spent in that old building making friends, learning about life and literature and math and history (well, not so much history if you had Mrs. Johnson), and science and Spanish and French and Latin (really smart kids), and health and psychology and art and office machines and so many other wonderful things? I do not know why of my 63 years, those 3 seem so important and so well-remembered, but I am grateful.
Joyfully and painfully, and, yes, somewhat sadly, I have done a bit of meandering down Memory Lane today. It is a good thing to remember.
For today, I wish you exquisite memories and I wish you
blessings
Friday, April 3, 2015
Somebody's Baby
He sits on the steps of the church, rocking back and forth; perpetual motion. His silence is periodically broken with outbursts of maniacal laughter. He is filthy. His hands are black with dirt, his coat reeks of weeks of sweat, and dirt, and neglect. His hair stands on end, unwashed. He holds a cigarette between his fingers, unlit, never touching his lips. All the time, he continues to rock back and forth, back and forth. His age is impossible to determine. He is probably much younger than he appears.
The detritus of his stay on those church steps includes a container of chocolate milk, mostly consumed, but the sips left behind create a sticky mess. A pair of dirty socks are strewn across the top two steps. Someone raised as I might think him inconsiderate for littering. He is doing the best he can.
Efforts to engage him in conversation confirm that he probably should be on medication, but obviously is not. He has long since lost his ability to find the help he needs. I am not equipped in that moment to be of use to him. 125 people are arriving who expect me to do my job.
I watch him walk away as children bound off the school bus. Their noise and enthusiasm are too much for him. I am reminded that he at some point, was somebody's baby boy; somebody's beloved grandson. He was once a precious bundle of potential and hope. He was once, I hope, a joyful child enthusiastically bounding off a school bus. My heart aches.
The detritus of his stay on those church steps includes a container of chocolate milk, mostly consumed, but the sips left behind create a sticky mess. A pair of dirty socks are strewn across the top two steps. Someone raised as I might think him inconsiderate for littering. He is doing the best he can.
Efforts to engage him in conversation confirm that he probably should be on medication, but obviously is not. He has long since lost his ability to find the help he needs. I am not equipped in that moment to be of use to him. 125 people are arriving who expect me to do my job.
I watch him walk away as children bound off the school bus. Their noise and enthusiasm are too much for him. I am reminded that he at some point, was somebody's baby boy; somebody's beloved grandson. He was once a precious bundle of potential and hope. He was once, I hope, a joyful child enthusiastically bounding off a school bus. My heart aches.
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