Childhood memories

So, lately I've been somewhere or seen something or talked with somebody about something that took me back to my childhood.

First, the new school brings all the school buses back to the highways.  And, it takes me back to when I used to ride Marengo County School Bus No. 22.  Yeah, you guessed it, I'm old and so was my bus.  The bus driver was Coach Washington.  He picked me up at about 6:05 AM.  I was usually the first to get on even though my stop was second or third along the way.  But, that also meant I was among the first to get off.  I was usually home by 3:30 in the afternoons.  Coach Washington was awesome.  He was a heavy black guy that had been a basketball coach at some point in his career.  He came complete with a constant piece of drool on his lip.  That reminds me of my 15 month old.

The second bit from childhood came when the family was eating at the Pita Hut a couple of weeks ago.  A kid came in and tried to sell us some doughnuts on behalf of his "church".  Out of pity, we helped him out, but told him to give the doughnuts to somebody else.  I pitied the poor fellow because I remember selling doughnuts.  The great thing about selling doughnuts where I lived though is that KrispyKreme was a special treat because there wasn't a KK store there and they weren't being sold in the grocery stores like they are now.  Yeah, I'm both ancient and country.  But, oh the misery of rejection when you attempt to sell something.  And, oh the pain of having to deliver the tons of stuff that you've sold if you do make lots of sales.   Fundraisers are a double edged sword.  So, mamas don't make your babies grow up to be salesmen.

And, the next memory came when I was talking to somebody about Saturday morning cartoons.  I got my fair share when I was little, but the minute my dad thought I was useful for anything (even holding his hammer), he took my Saturday mornings and turned them into opportunities to make money.  We either went to my grandmothers to do stuff (like cut hay, rake hay, bale and stack hay, fix pasture fences, look for the cows - if they got out of the pasture, chase the cows into the catch pen - so we could haul them away and sell them for you your steak or hamburger, feed the cows hay or feed, pull corn, shell peas, pull watermelons, collect eggs from the chicken).  Okay you get the picture.  My grandma lived on a cattle farm and my dad made me work on Saturdays.  And, if it wasn't working there, it was cutting grass.  So, guess what I'm buying a farm and a riding lawn mower.  Caleb's going to be working soon.  That way, he can be a great guy like his dad.  Yes, I can be vain.  :o)

Much love

Roots

Okay, some of you will see the title of this entry and wonder if I’m going to cover the book written by Alex Haley covering the history of his family from Africa into slavery in America. Some others of you may see the title and think of black magic. I can’t think of how many times I’ve seen an infomercial where somebody says, “She put a root on me!”, exclaiming that someone had done something through use of an old evil practice to hinder that person’s progress through life. And, lastly some of you know that I’m just an old country boy who spent too much time in the hay fields and the woods of rural Sumter County, Alabama. So armed with that knowledge, you might think I’m going to cover horticulture. But, none of these are it.

Instead, I want to talk about the root of who we are and what we do. I recently met a seven year old kid. In him I saw lots of things that had a root of some sort. And, by that word root, I mean an origin. And, in the experience I learned things about myself that I wondered, what are the origin of these? My experience with this little guy made me question where his parents were and what they were thinking to not bring him up with a solid structure? It seemed that he had wondered through most of his life not experiencing real love; the kind of love that I received from my immediate and extended family when I was his age. They thought enough of me and of themselves to guide me through life. Their love affirmed me when I did well. It guided me when I lost my way. It corrected me when I was wrong. But, I looked at this little guy and it was as if he had no consistent affirmation when he did well. He was lost but he fought the very idea that anyone could show him the way. And, he found for himself that he was never wrong. It was only those that offered guidance and correction that could be wrong.

So, to the root of the matter, how far back does blame go for one child who is passed from home to home, never staying long enough to really soak in real love and experience what it is like? And, I am partially to blame because he passed right through here but I find some challenges are indeed too much for one man and his family when work and many other things are calling. Oh, I pray that God helps us to get something right before we leave this earth. Help us to love and help us to explore our roots and eliminate the cause of shallow ones –roots that is.

Much love my friends!
J. Wright