All Johnny Miller wanted for Christmas that year was a can of pork and beans. Why is not important anymore, it's just that he had it in his mind that he wanted pork and beans. Preferably the kind that had a good chunk of pork and not just a tiny blob of fat.
It was their Christmas tradition to be at home opening presents on Christmas morning, but oftentimes the weekend before they'd go up to their grandparent's home near the city about a hundred miles from Armadillo Creek. This year, the Miller family did do that, but the official "family gathering" was at his Uncle's house - his Mom's brother's house. All the family was gathering there, for a nice big dinner. There were cousins running all over the place, and aunts and uncles, and, of course, his Grandma and Grandpa.
Uncle George went "away" for awhile, nobody knew where he had disappeared to. But he came back, he had a big grin on his face, and nobody knew why. Then when it was time to open the family gifts, everybody got a little something from everybody else, and even if it was only an ornament or a little gift, all the kids were having fun anyways. Except, Johnny. He really did have his heart set on those pork and beans.
Uncle George walked in and proudly handed Johnny a giant-sized can of pork and beans, with a nice red ribbon tied around the can. Johnny was ready to eat them right then and there, but his Mom wouldn't let him open it right away - he had to wait a few days till they were back home in Armadillo Creek.
When that day finally came, Johnny excitedly got ready to open his can, but - alas, his mother made him share the beans with everyone else. He pouted and argued, but to no avail. She was determined that he wouldn't make himself sick on such a large can of pork and beans. And, though he did get the biggest helping, everyone enjoyed them together.
Johnny learned that sometimes what we want most of all, isn't really what's best for us. Sometimes, maybe we want things that do not even really make much sense. When he was eating them, though, those pork and beans were perfect. But if he had eaten them all, no doubt he would have either become sick, or made those around him sick. So, sometimes, we have to share those things we want for ourselves with other people, in order for everyone to be happy.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Thursday, December 29, 2005
2005 Year in Review
After returning home from a family reunion back “home”, in August 2005, I was a little down. Up because I saw an aunt there who I had not seen in several years, and up because I renewed some old family acquaintances that I had not seen in quite some time. But I was down, because here I was back in my daily routine, knowing that sooner or later I’d “forget” the important stuff, yet again. I don’t so much “forget” but put it on the back burner for a time.
There were other thoughts on my mind, things at work and in life that were pulling me down, and that thought – that image, of my Dad and my uncles sitting on the old front porch of my uncle’s home, or sitting out on the lawn chairs in front of our house, rolling Prince Albert cigarettes and whiling away the hours telling stories about when they were young.
There are bits and pieces, here and there that I can remember. Like, down past the old homeplace, where the road always crossed through the creek (until a year or two ago, when the county finally put in a bridge over those waters), there are still the few remains of a wooden fence that stretched along the bank, between the creek and the road.
In my childhood, this creek was the home of many an hour of wading, and searching for crawdads, running from snakes and finding all sorts of other adventures. Here and there along the way we’d find a tree that might have fallen over the creek, and we could pretend to be explorers, crossing a raging river by balancing ourselves as we slowly walked across the trunk of that tree, over the waters of the creek (and, truth be told, the water was only a few inches to a few feet deep – and no way we could have drowned.. but that truth would have spoiled the adventure – it was much more fun to pretend that we were crossing a deep ravine with a wild river running underneath).
But, in their childhood, that fence, whose few remaining slats are separated by inches of space as the boards have slowly shriveled and disintegrated over time, served a different purpose. In their days, the creek beyond was wider and deeper than now. The area beyond the fence was a bathing area, a swimming area. The fence served as a privacy fence while family members bathed. I could almost close my eyes and imagine the fence, with no space between the boards, with clothes hanging off it as the ladies bathed and the men waited, or vice-versa.
A little ways up from there, a tree had fallen over the creek, but partially down in the water. The stories were told that over time, the waters rushed under the log to cut out the bottom of the creek, making quite a deep hole – I think they called it the “blue hole”. By the time I came around, that blue hole was no more, but we had our own adventures.
I don’t “remember” their memories. I don’t even remember most of their stories. It’s been 20 years, this past November, since my Dad passed on, and only another year or two until my Uncles were all gone, as well. I was 14 when he died, and one of my regrets is that nobody ever took the time to record those stories. The voices are still now, but memories remain. Mine. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to be enough.
As an adult, I had the best of intentions – to “interview” my grandparents and mother and get them to tell some of their stories on a video camcorder, and have those memories forever. But, we never quite got around to it, and a couple of years ago, my Grandfather was taken to meet his Creator, and another source of memories was gone.
But, back to the present. After returning home from our family reunion, with these thoughts and others causing so much turbulence upstairs in my noggin, I had the thought that I should start doing “something”. Somehow, I decided maybe I should start writing down my stories. I didn’t want to tell them – naming names – in a way that other people’s feelings were hurt. I decided to make them anonymous. I am not sure where the names of Armadillo Creek or Johnny Miller came from - they just sounded "right".
At first, I didn’t tell my friends, or family. I just started to write. After a while, I mentioned the site where I was posting these stories to on my “regular” blogging site, but that was the only mention I made of it to anyone. Over time, a few new “friends” have been found who like the world presented here, and for that, I am thankful.
Only now is my family becoming aware that I am the author of these tales. I am creating a “2005” version of these, in a Word document format, for those members of my family who are not “online”, like my Grandmother and Mother. As the new year comes, I do plan to continue occasionally adding stories to the site, and maybe, next year, I can do a “2006” document/book.
I hope you enjoy these tales, as much as I have enjoyed writing them. I do hope that anyone who is intimately familiar with my childhood realizes that these stories are not completely accurate – but rather just represent my memories as I remember remembering them. That is, I tried to capture the thoughts and emotions of the time – rather than my later memories. This is hard to do, because as we grow older we “learn” things that slant our views and perceptions and now we look back and see things in a different light. I have tried to capture the innocence of the moment as much as possible.
I hope that maybe, somewhere, someone else may be inspired to tell tales of their younger days. There IS an audience out there, of young ears that want to hear, to know, what life was like "back in the day".
I hope everyone has had a wonderful 2005 Christmas Season, and I wish you a Happy New Year.
Uncle Ed
Dec 29, 2005
There were other thoughts on my mind, things at work and in life that were pulling me down, and that thought – that image, of my Dad and my uncles sitting on the old front porch of my uncle’s home, or sitting out on the lawn chairs in front of our house, rolling Prince Albert cigarettes and whiling away the hours telling stories about when they were young.
There are bits and pieces, here and there that I can remember. Like, down past the old homeplace, where the road always crossed through the creek (until a year or two ago, when the county finally put in a bridge over those waters), there are still the few remains of a wooden fence that stretched along the bank, between the creek and the road.
In my childhood, this creek was the home of many an hour of wading, and searching for crawdads, running from snakes and finding all sorts of other adventures. Here and there along the way we’d find a tree that might have fallen over the creek, and we could pretend to be explorers, crossing a raging river by balancing ourselves as we slowly walked across the trunk of that tree, over the waters of the creek (and, truth be told, the water was only a few inches to a few feet deep – and no way we could have drowned.. but that truth would have spoiled the adventure – it was much more fun to pretend that we were crossing a deep ravine with a wild river running underneath).
But, in their childhood, that fence, whose few remaining slats are separated by inches of space as the boards have slowly shriveled and disintegrated over time, served a different purpose. In their days, the creek beyond was wider and deeper than now. The area beyond the fence was a bathing area, a swimming area. The fence served as a privacy fence while family members bathed. I could almost close my eyes and imagine the fence, with no space between the boards, with clothes hanging off it as the ladies bathed and the men waited, or vice-versa.
A little ways up from there, a tree had fallen over the creek, but partially down in the water. The stories were told that over time, the waters rushed under the log to cut out the bottom of the creek, making quite a deep hole – I think they called it the “blue hole”. By the time I came around, that blue hole was no more, but we had our own adventures.
I don’t “remember” their memories. I don’t even remember most of their stories. It’s been 20 years, this past November, since my Dad passed on, and only another year or two until my Uncles were all gone, as well. I was 14 when he died, and one of my regrets is that nobody ever took the time to record those stories. The voices are still now, but memories remain. Mine. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to be enough.
As an adult, I had the best of intentions – to “interview” my grandparents and mother and get them to tell some of their stories on a video camcorder, and have those memories forever. But, we never quite got around to it, and a couple of years ago, my Grandfather was taken to meet his Creator, and another source of memories was gone.
But, back to the present. After returning home from our family reunion, with these thoughts and others causing so much turbulence upstairs in my noggin, I had the thought that I should start doing “something”. Somehow, I decided maybe I should start writing down my stories. I didn’t want to tell them – naming names – in a way that other people’s feelings were hurt. I decided to make them anonymous. I am not sure where the names of Armadillo Creek or Johnny Miller came from - they just sounded "right".
At first, I didn’t tell my friends, or family. I just started to write. After a while, I mentioned the site where I was posting these stories to on my “regular” blogging site, but that was the only mention I made of it to anyone. Over time, a few new “friends” have been found who like the world presented here, and for that, I am thankful.
Only now is my family becoming aware that I am the author of these tales. I am creating a “2005” version of these, in a Word document format, for those members of my family who are not “online”, like my Grandmother and Mother. As the new year comes, I do plan to continue occasionally adding stories to the site, and maybe, next year, I can do a “2006” document/book.
I hope you enjoy these tales, as much as I have enjoyed writing them. I do hope that anyone who is intimately familiar with my childhood realizes that these stories are not completely accurate – but rather just represent my memories as I remember remembering them. That is, I tried to capture the thoughts and emotions of the time – rather than my later memories. This is hard to do, because as we grow older we “learn” things that slant our views and perceptions and now we look back and see things in a different light. I have tried to capture the innocence of the moment as much as possible.
I hope that maybe, somewhere, someone else may be inspired to tell tales of their younger days. There IS an audience out there, of young ears that want to hear, to know, what life was like "back in the day".
I hope everyone has had a wonderful 2005 Christmas Season, and I wish you a Happy New Year.
Uncle Ed
Dec 29, 2005
Thursday, December 08, 2005
December Ice
One year, in Armadillo Creek, autumn lingered long. The days grew shorter and shorter, but it turned into an Indian Summer, where the days stayed warm, and the nights were cool, but not cold. After Thanksgiving, some storms moved through the area. Then, in the first week of December, it began to rain, and it rained, and it rained, and even when it stopped, a little while later, it would rain some more.
After a couple of days, all the old wooden, one lane bridges on the dirt road leading out from the state highway, through the valley and out to the Miller homestead, were under water. The creek, which meandered down through the valley, crossing the road in several places, had swollen to the point where you could no longer see the bridges, or even the roads leading up to them, on either side.
On the side lane, leading down past the Miller farm, the road dipped through a creek - no bridge had ever been built there, and there was only one family living back down that way, so the county never cared to spend the money on it. But the creek went over its banks so much that it ran several hundred yards up the road, till it reached the base of the hill upon which the Miller farmhouse sat. The Miller farmhouse was up on high ground, and nowhere near the creek, but the lower pastures, down by the creek, were all covered in water.
It was the most water Johnny Miller had ever seen. Later, he'd see pictures of what it was like in town, in Armadillo Creek, where the river running through the edge of town had moved beyond its banks, too, and swallowed up a little grocery store, and the lumberyard, and several other businesses. Where the main highway had to be closed for a day or two, as people simply could not go through.
The good side to all this wet chaos, for Johnny Miller, was that the Armadillo Creek Schools had no choice but to shut down for a day or so, and even after they started up again, the school bus could not even begin the trek down the dirty, muddy road, and past the washed out bridges, to the Miller farm, so he and Tommy had a few more days off, just as good as snow days!
But, it was December, and reality, sooner or later, had to catch up. Because, toward the tail end of the storms, when things began to clear up, and the flood waters receded, it started getting colder, and colder, and colder. Johnny and Tommy Miller finally had a few days of school, and then, it started to rain again. This time, glazed ice was everywhere. Thick, glazed ice. The trees were beautiful, with icicles hanging from evergreen leaves. But, with the loud "pops" out through the forest as the sap within the trees froze, causing the trunks to split, it began to sound as if artillary fire were coming from every direction.
Once again, roads were impassable, but this time, it was due to ice. Once again, school was closed, and Christmas break was right around the corner. Since the flood waters had finally receded, the neighbor kids, who lived down the side lane, would come over and while away the days with the Miller kids, and there were many a paper airplane battle and other indoor fun that happened. Jigsaw puzzles were done, and games of marbles, and dominoes, and Yahtzee. And, at times, the kids bickered, or were just bored, or spent time outdoors exploring.
After a few days of this deep, bitter cold, Johnny and Tommy found that they could go "ice skating" on the creek, or even the pond. They didn't have skates, but if they got a running start, they could, at least, slide across the ice. That ice, after a few days, was so thick that they couldn't make it crack, no matter how hard they tried. If it had, chances are they'd have been hurting pretty bad, as it was quite a walk back up to the house and warmth.
Since the family had been shut out of town, most of the time for a week or two prior to the ice storm, supplies were already low. But, there were always beans, pinto beans. Many songs would be sung, around the house, about "Beans, beans, musical fruit..."
The other problem was that the Miller family wasn't quite prepared for the sudden cold snap. There was firewood, but, before the ice started to melt, the wood supply was getting low. Johnny's Dad, and Johnny and Tommy, piled into the truck and went off down the road, slipping and sliding just a bit, to some deadfalls next to the road in the edge of the National Forest.
Johnny, at seven or eight, was not afraid to carry an armload of wood, from where it had just been cut, to the tailgate of the truck, or to climb into the truck and start stacking the wood, neatly, while his older brother carried it to him.
But, with a few sticks of firewood, or not, that ice was treacherous, and there was more than one bruised behind, and skinned elbow, by the time the load was complete. Then, when the truck was loaded up, they went back to the house, with enough firewood to last through the rest of the cold snap, until the roads cleared enough to get out and forage for more.
This was one December, where the Christmas Holidays were almost a drag, after having already missed a large chunk of the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas due to weather conditions. But eventually, the winter chill would recede, and springtime would bring renewal.
After a couple of days, all the old wooden, one lane bridges on the dirt road leading out from the state highway, through the valley and out to the Miller homestead, were under water. The creek, which meandered down through the valley, crossing the road in several places, had swollen to the point where you could no longer see the bridges, or even the roads leading up to them, on either side.
On the side lane, leading down past the Miller farm, the road dipped through a creek - no bridge had ever been built there, and there was only one family living back down that way, so the county never cared to spend the money on it. But the creek went over its banks so much that it ran several hundred yards up the road, till it reached the base of the hill upon which the Miller farmhouse sat. The Miller farmhouse was up on high ground, and nowhere near the creek, but the lower pastures, down by the creek, were all covered in water.
It was the most water Johnny Miller had ever seen. Later, he'd see pictures of what it was like in town, in Armadillo Creek, where the river running through the edge of town had moved beyond its banks, too, and swallowed up a little grocery store, and the lumberyard, and several other businesses. Where the main highway had to be closed for a day or two, as people simply could not go through.
The good side to all this wet chaos, for Johnny Miller, was that the Armadillo Creek Schools had no choice but to shut down for a day or so, and even after they started up again, the school bus could not even begin the trek down the dirty, muddy road, and past the washed out bridges, to the Miller farm, so he and Tommy had a few more days off, just as good as snow days!
But, it was December, and reality, sooner or later, had to catch up. Because, toward the tail end of the storms, when things began to clear up, and the flood waters receded, it started getting colder, and colder, and colder. Johnny and Tommy Miller finally had a few days of school, and then, it started to rain again. This time, glazed ice was everywhere. Thick, glazed ice. The trees were beautiful, with icicles hanging from evergreen leaves. But, with the loud "pops" out through the forest as the sap within the trees froze, causing the trunks to split, it began to sound as if artillary fire were coming from every direction.
Once again, roads were impassable, but this time, it was due to ice. Once again, school was closed, and Christmas break was right around the corner. Since the flood waters had finally receded, the neighbor kids, who lived down the side lane, would come over and while away the days with the Miller kids, and there were many a paper airplane battle and other indoor fun that happened. Jigsaw puzzles were done, and games of marbles, and dominoes, and Yahtzee. And, at times, the kids bickered, or were just bored, or spent time outdoors exploring.
After a few days of this deep, bitter cold, Johnny and Tommy found that they could go "ice skating" on the creek, or even the pond. They didn't have skates, but if they got a running start, they could, at least, slide across the ice. That ice, after a few days, was so thick that they couldn't make it crack, no matter how hard they tried. If it had, chances are they'd have been hurting pretty bad, as it was quite a walk back up to the house and warmth.
Since the family had been shut out of town, most of the time for a week or two prior to the ice storm, supplies were already low. But, there were always beans, pinto beans. Many songs would be sung, around the house, about "Beans, beans, musical fruit..."
The other problem was that the Miller family wasn't quite prepared for the sudden cold snap. There was firewood, but, before the ice started to melt, the wood supply was getting low. Johnny's Dad, and Johnny and Tommy, piled into the truck and went off down the road, slipping and sliding just a bit, to some deadfalls next to the road in the edge of the National Forest.
Johnny, at seven or eight, was not afraid to carry an armload of wood, from where it had just been cut, to the tailgate of the truck, or to climb into the truck and start stacking the wood, neatly, while his older brother carried it to him.
But, with a few sticks of firewood, or not, that ice was treacherous, and there was more than one bruised behind, and skinned elbow, by the time the load was complete. Then, when the truck was loaded up, they went back to the house, with enough firewood to last through the rest of the cold snap, until the roads cleared enough to get out and forage for more.
This was one December, where the Christmas Holidays were almost a drag, after having already missed a large chunk of the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas due to weather conditions. But eventually, the winter chill would recede, and springtime would bring renewal.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Life Saver Angels
Aunt Tabby, and Uncle Roger lived in a house in town, in Armadillo Creek, when Johnny Miller was very young. They had a couple of acres, fronting Elm Street, and had built two houses, one that they lived in, and the other that they rented out for extra income. Back behind the rent house was a garden area, edging up to the woods at the base of the mountain. Come spring and summer, they'd spend quite a lot of time growing - just not on the scale that they used to when they lived out on the farm.
Johnny Miller would go with his family over to their house frequently. There were little things about the house, different from the old farmhouse that Johnny lived in. Like, no matter the time of year, there was always the faint, acrid smell that accompanied the pilot light on the propane heater. The walls were covered in wood paneling. There were three bedrooms, and a small bathroom. Johnny was not allowed to flush the toilet, there, unless it was really needed, because it "wasted water". Back on the farm, they had a well, but here in town, water had to be paid for. On the back part of the house was an "add-on" room, with lots of windows, where Aunt Tabby would do all sorts of crafts.
One of Johnny's earliest memories was of coming over to their house, and Tommy and he were allowed to try out Uncle Roger's gun. It was a Daisy BB Gun, and they'd sit on the porch, and shoot at an old Prince Albert can tacked onto the young sycamore tree in the front yard, after first ensuring that no cars were coming by. Another time, he and Tommy were allowed to go along with Uncle Roger to Hap's Grocery store, over along the main highway through town. Uncle Roger gave them each a half a piece of gum, but young Johnny quickly chewed his up and swallowed it, and there was no more given.
The food at their Aunt and Uncle's house was always good, and there was always plenty there for them. One favorite was the fried pies, with a thin layer of dough on the outside, and a fruity filling in the middle. There was nothing quite like a homemade fried pie. On one occasion, in the evening following one of the annual family reunions, there was a pineapple served, and even though he had eaten like a pig of both real food and desert, Johnny just had to have a rather large share of the pineapple. It didn't last too long - that night, all the food together created an explosive situation!
One of his favorite things was to go along with his Dad to cut down Aunt Tabby's Christmas tree. At home, Johnny's family had an artificial tree, and that worked, too. There was tradition there, pulling that old tree out of the box, and putting the various limbs into the holes in the wooden stem of the tree, until the tree was put together, and then stringing the tensil and lights around and around till the whole thing was as pretty as a real one.
But Uncle Roger and Aunt Tabby would have the fresh one. Tommy and Johnny's Dad would go and cut a fresh tree, somewhere, and by the time Christmas day rolled around, Aunt Tabby would have it decorated with lots of goodies. From strands of popcorn or something similar, to the traditional decorations, and something Little Johnny never found elsewhere. Something special for the kids. Life Saver Angels.
She would take the little tubes of life savers, 5 or 6 life savers in length, and make decorations. She'd glue felt around the outside, either red, or green. Then, using pipe cleaners or popsicle sticks, or similar items, create arms, legs, wings, whatever was appropriate, for both the Life Saver Angels, and Life Saver Reindeer.
Looking back, Johnny Miller would one day regret that he didn't keep some of them, but in that simple day and time, it sure was a treat to finally pull them apart on Christmas morning, and eat a red, or orange, or his personal favorite, a green lifesaver.
Johnny Miller would go with his family over to their house frequently. There were little things about the house, different from the old farmhouse that Johnny lived in. Like, no matter the time of year, there was always the faint, acrid smell that accompanied the pilot light on the propane heater. The walls were covered in wood paneling. There were three bedrooms, and a small bathroom. Johnny was not allowed to flush the toilet, there, unless it was really needed, because it "wasted water". Back on the farm, they had a well, but here in town, water had to be paid for. On the back part of the house was an "add-on" room, with lots of windows, where Aunt Tabby would do all sorts of crafts.
One of Johnny's earliest memories was of coming over to their house, and Tommy and he were allowed to try out Uncle Roger's gun. It was a Daisy BB Gun, and they'd sit on the porch, and shoot at an old Prince Albert can tacked onto the young sycamore tree in the front yard, after first ensuring that no cars were coming by. Another time, he and Tommy were allowed to go along with Uncle Roger to Hap's Grocery store, over along the main highway through town. Uncle Roger gave them each a half a piece of gum, but young Johnny quickly chewed his up and swallowed it, and there was no more given.
The food at their Aunt and Uncle's house was always good, and there was always plenty there for them. One favorite was the fried pies, with a thin layer of dough on the outside, and a fruity filling in the middle. There was nothing quite like a homemade fried pie. On one occasion, in the evening following one of the annual family reunions, there was a pineapple served, and even though he had eaten like a pig of both real food and desert, Johnny just had to have a rather large share of the pineapple. It didn't last too long - that night, all the food together created an explosive situation!
One of his favorite things was to go along with his Dad to cut down Aunt Tabby's Christmas tree. At home, Johnny's family had an artificial tree, and that worked, too. There was tradition there, pulling that old tree out of the box, and putting the various limbs into the holes in the wooden stem of the tree, until the tree was put together, and then stringing the tensil and lights around and around till the whole thing was as pretty as a real one.
But Uncle Roger and Aunt Tabby would have the fresh one. Tommy and Johnny's Dad would go and cut a fresh tree, somewhere, and by the time Christmas day rolled around, Aunt Tabby would have it decorated with lots of goodies. From strands of popcorn or something similar, to the traditional decorations, and something Little Johnny never found elsewhere. Something special for the kids. Life Saver Angels.
She would take the little tubes of life savers, 5 or 6 life savers in length, and make decorations. She'd glue felt around the outside, either red, or green. Then, using pipe cleaners or popsicle sticks, or similar items, create arms, legs, wings, whatever was appropriate, for both the Life Saver Angels, and Life Saver Reindeer.
Looking back, Johnny Miller would one day regret that he didn't keep some of them, but in that simple day and time, it sure was a treat to finally pull them apart on Christmas morning, and eat a red, or orange, or his personal favorite, a green lifesaver.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Giving Thanks
In Johnny Miller's childhood, there were a few times a year when they'd leave the countryside around Armadillo Creek and go somewhere else. Sometimes, it would simply be a weekend trip to his Grandpa and Grandma's house, over across the state line. A couple of hours to their house, and then be with grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins for the next day or so, and then return home to normal life.
The big trip, however, typically came the day before Thanksgiving, and lasted through the Sunday following. They'd drive over three hundred miles, out of the mountains of his childhood, across the flat delta land, with its rice and cotton fields, across the big river, and into more of the same kind of country. They'd usually get off the big highways and follow the smaller two-lanes across the countryside. Their destination was their Aunt and Uncle's house, and Aunt and Uncle who were more like Grandma and Grampa than aunt and uncle.
Johnny and Tommy Miller couldn't hardly sit through their classes until noontime when school would end on that Wednesday, or on the years where school didn't let out early, their parents would come in and sign them out anyways. Then they'd hit the road. Once in a while, when they had a little extra money saved up, they'd stop at Wendy's in the city they had to pass through on the way - boy those burgers, even if it was only every couple of years, were something to remember. Johnny didn't get to eat out very often.
There were memories from those trips that would last through the years, burned into Little Johnny's consciousness, becoming threads in the fabric of his being. Even little things. From the sight, year after year, of sharecropper's shanties, looking like they were about to fall down, in the delta country, with, sometimes, a big Lincoln or Cadillac parked in the driveway. Johnny would forever wonder how it was that someone that couldn't afford to have a nice home could afford such nice cars. Another time, they were flying along in his Daddy's pickup, passing traffic that was crawling along, when all of a sudden, the motor stopped, right almost at dusk, in the middle of nowhere. They coasted over to the side of the road, and sat there. After some tinkering, and finally a couple of smacks against the electronic "brain" of the truck, it restarted and they continued on to their destination, where his Daddy would do an emergency repair as soon as an auto parts store opened.
Once they reached their destination, there were all sorts of interesting things to do. Their older cousin, who still lived at home with his Mom and Dad, had tons of Archie comics, and Johnny and Tommy would spend hours reading the comics. And, when things were quiet, they'd watch the Thanksgiving Day parades on TV (which was a treat since at home, the TV didn't come on before the five o'clock news!) They'd ride bikes up and down the road between their Uncle's house and their other cousins' homes. Sometimes, they'd even ride up the other way, past the big field with the pond and the pecan trees, to the small elementary school, and play on the playground, or even go out behind the school, and "explore" in the dumpsters. You'd never believe all the cool stuff that they found!
Probably the most memorable activity that would happen, for Johnny, at least, was just sitting on the old front porch. The porch had a wooden floor, and it was wide, and two or three feet up off the ground, and open underneath. The columns were wide, and Johnny could sit on the edge of the porch and dangle his feet off the front, while kids and/or dogs would run underneath the porch, and chickens would cackle out across the yard, or maybe he'd lean back against one of the columns supporting the wide roof overhead, and close his eyes, and breathe in the smoke of the Prince Albert cigarettes that his uncles and his Dad would roll, and listen to all the tales they told of times gone by.
And, somewhere before the weekend was over, they'd have a big feast, giving thanks for all that they had, and of those things, the most important of all was family. On Sunday, they'd pack up all their stuff and head for home. The drive home was never quite as fun and colorful as the drive to see family. They'd know that within the next day or so, they had to return to school. And they were so tired after all the non-stop playing and fun and family, that oftentimes, they'd doze a good bit of the way home.
Life in Armadillo Creek was good, but these occasional trips to another place were great, too. Being with family, during those special times every year was a wonderful thing. When Christmas would come, a month or so later, Johnny Miller's family would usually spend it at home, and although maybe they didn't get a whole lot of things, they did get love. And they'd always have the memories of the Thanksgiving that had just gone by.
The big trip, however, typically came the day before Thanksgiving, and lasted through the Sunday following. They'd drive over three hundred miles, out of the mountains of his childhood, across the flat delta land, with its rice and cotton fields, across the big river, and into more of the same kind of country. They'd usually get off the big highways and follow the smaller two-lanes across the countryside. Their destination was their Aunt and Uncle's house, and Aunt and Uncle who were more like Grandma and Grampa than aunt and uncle.
Johnny and Tommy Miller couldn't hardly sit through their classes until noontime when school would end on that Wednesday, or on the years where school didn't let out early, their parents would come in and sign them out anyways. Then they'd hit the road. Once in a while, when they had a little extra money saved up, they'd stop at Wendy's in the city they had to pass through on the way - boy those burgers, even if it was only every couple of years, were something to remember. Johnny didn't get to eat out very often.
There were memories from those trips that would last through the years, burned into Little Johnny's consciousness, becoming threads in the fabric of his being. Even little things. From the sight, year after year, of sharecropper's shanties, looking like they were about to fall down, in the delta country, with, sometimes, a big Lincoln or Cadillac parked in the driveway. Johnny would forever wonder how it was that someone that couldn't afford to have a nice home could afford such nice cars. Another time, they were flying along in his Daddy's pickup, passing traffic that was crawling along, when all of a sudden, the motor stopped, right almost at dusk, in the middle of nowhere. They coasted over to the side of the road, and sat there. After some tinkering, and finally a couple of smacks against the electronic "brain" of the truck, it restarted and they continued on to their destination, where his Daddy would do an emergency repair as soon as an auto parts store opened.
Once they reached their destination, there were all sorts of interesting things to do. Their older cousin, who still lived at home with his Mom and Dad, had tons of Archie comics, and Johnny and Tommy would spend hours reading the comics. And, when things were quiet, they'd watch the Thanksgiving Day parades on TV (which was a treat since at home, the TV didn't come on before the five o'clock news!) They'd ride bikes up and down the road between their Uncle's house and their other cousins' homes. Sometimes, they'd even ride up the other way, past the big field with the pond and the pecan trees, to the small elementary school, and play on the playground, or even go out behind the school, and "explore" in the dumpsters. You'd never believe all the cool stuff that they found!
Probably the most memorable activity that would happen, for Johnny, at least, was just sitting on the old front porch. The porch had a wooden floor, and it was wide, and two or three feet up off the ground, and open underneath. The columns were wide, and Johnny could sit on the edge of the porch and dangle his feet off the front, while kids and/or dogs would run underneath the porch, and chickens would cackle out across the yard, or maybe he'd lean back against one of the columns supporting the wide roof overhead, and close his eyes, and breathe in the smoke of the Prince Albert cigarettes that his uncles and his Dad would roll, and listen to all the tales they told of times gone by.
And, somewhere before the weekend was over, they'd have a big feast, giving thanks for all that they had, and of those things, the most important of all was family. On Sunday, they'd pack up all their stuff and head for home. The drive home was never quite as fun and colorful as the drive to see family. They'd know that within the next day or so, they had to return to school. And they were so tired after all the non-stop playing and fun and family, that oftentimes, they'd doze a good bit of the way home.
Life in Armadillo Creek was good, but these occasional trips to another place were great, too. Being with family, during those special times every year was a wonderful thing. When Christmas would come, a month or so later, Johnny Miller's family would usually spend it at home, and although maybe they didn't get a whole lot of things, they did get love. And they'd always have the memories of the Thanksgiving that had just gone by.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Trick or Treat
In Armadillo Creek, trick-or-treating always happened on Halloween. Not a day or two before, like in some places, but the evening of Halloween, all the little Rooster Cogburns, and Darth Vaders, and other fellows would be marching up and down the streets, going door to door.
There were stories on the news of "tampered candy", and razor blades being stuck into apples, and things like that. In Armadillo Creek, however, parents didn't worry about such things too much. Of course, they'd check the candy out, but it was more because the 5 o'clock news told them they should. Johnny Miller and his brother Tommy always loved to go door to door. They'd make their rounds all around the town, loading up huge bags of candy.
Often, in those days, people would hand out fresh fruit, like apples, or popcorn balls, or some other homemade goodie. And, some of the more memorable candies were the sweet tarts, the rolls of smarties (take your pills yet?), and candy bars of any sort. In their house, candy was fairly rare. Their parents didn't forbid it, it just was an "extra" that they couldn't always afford.
One memorable Halloween evening, Johnny and Tommy got home from school, and started trying to figure out what they were going to "be". Mom decided, since she had some wigs from somewhere, that they'd go as girls. Only, two countrier girls there never were.
Johnny and Tommy had pipes that had once belonged to their Uncle Roger stuck in their mouths. They had painted on freckles, and lipstick, and boots and skirts. They made their rounds through the town, stopping eventually at Mrs. Smith's house. Mrs. Smith happened to be a teacher at the school, who had daughters, the youngest one of which was Tommy's age, just a little older than Johnny.
When Mrs. Smith answered the door, she made a comment about how pretty the young girls looked, and the daughter said, "Mom!!! They're boys who ride our bus..."
Johnny and Tommy could have both crawled under a table and died, and felt better about themselves than having to deal with that embarrassment, but, life went on. They went on to the next house, and the next, and by the time the evening was over, and candy being eaten at breakneck pace, they had quit worrying about what other people thought.
Years later, they'd chuckle about being "girls" on Halloween night, but it was an experience neither cared to repeat.
There were stories on the news of "tampered candy", and razor blades being stuck into apples, and things like that. In Armadillo Creek, however, parents didn't worry about such things too much. Of course, they'd check the candy out, but it was more because the 5 o'clock news told them they should. Johnny Miller and his brother Tommy always loved to go door to door. They'd make their rounds all around the town, loading up huge bags of candy.
Often, in those days, people would hand out fresh fruit, like apples, or popcorn balls, or some other homemade goodie. And, some of the more memorable candies were the sweet tarts, the rolls of smarties (take your pills yet?), and candy bars of any sort. In their house, candy was fairly rare. Their parents didn't forbid it, it just was an "extra" that they couldn't always afford.
One memorable Halloween evening, Johnny and Tommy got home from school, and started trying to figure out what they were going to "be". Mom decided, since she had some wigs from somewhere, that they'd go as girls. Only, two countrier girls there never were.
Johnny and Tommy had pipes that had once belonged to their Uncle Roger stuck in their mouths. They had painted on freckles, and lipstick, and boots and skirts. They made their rounds through the town, stopping eventually at Mrs. Smith's house. Mrs. Smith happened to be a teacher at the school, who had daughters, the youngest one of which was Tommy's age, just a little older than Johnny.
When Mrs. Smith answered the door, she made a comment about how pretty the young girls looked, and the daughter said, "Mom!!! They're boys who ride our bus..."
Johnny and Tommy could have both crawled under a table and died, and felt better about themselves than having to deal with that embarrassment, but, life went on. They went on to the next house, and the next, and by the time the evening was over, and candy being eaten at breakneck pace, they had quit worrying about what other people thought.
Years later, they'd chuckle about being "girls" on Halloween night, but it was an experience neither cared to repeat.
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