I remember all to well when I was
a "just a kid".
It was a world of adventure, excitement
and joy.
The sadness, disappointments
and pain were also a big part of my childhood memories.
There is nothing in my life I would
want to change. But the regrets are overwhelming.
SPEAK TO THE HAND
About the furthest back I can remember
is a memory of complete horror.
I was no more than three or four
years old. I was terrified every time I was placed in my crib.
I screamed and cried in fear, for
I knew what was about to happen.
Then, out of the darkness would
appear...."the hand".
The hand grew larger and
larger the closer it got to my face, till I was gasping for air.
I screamed and cried out for help,
but help never came.
Someone was attempting to smother
me, or just trying to "shut me up".
Would I die this time??? Who did
this??? Why???
This horrifying dream continued
into my teenage years. The question still remains to this day.......
Was it really just a dream?
ICE CREAM
We all loaded up in the Model 'A'
and went to Hawk Point for groceries. Mom, Pop and 6 anxious kids.
While I was in the grocery store
with moms, I spied a cute little mouse in the cracker barrel.
It sure did look like "MY" mouse,
so's I picked the little critter up to take back home.
That little sucker slap bit the
crap out me and made me cry like a "sissy" girl.
I weren't only wounded, but moms
"walloped" me a good one on the back my head.
After that little ordeal, it was
ice cream time, so's we would all shut up. Oh boy!
We was all sit'n on them porch
steps licking home made vanilla ice cream cones.
When, out of nowhere, appears a
bunch of black folk slap dab in front the store.
There was a whole passel of barefoot
boys and girls, all look'n right straight at me and my delicious ice cream
cone.
I just sat there a think'n bout
that big old butcher knife.
The older boys snickered and laughed
as I sat there watching my ice cream slowly melt and
drip into the dirt below. Tears
streamed down my face into the vanilla flavored ground below.
Bastards!!!
LITTLE RED WAGON
I had a little red wagon when I
was 5 years old what my dad droped off at the farm.
This little red wagon was a tractor,
a truck, a car, and even a hay haul'n wagon.
But most importantly this little
red wagon belonged to me. Mine.
Not one of the other boys dared
even think of touching my wagon.
Being the youngest of the other
kids, 'MOMS' took care of Billy.
I learned real quick, that I could
be a total "terror" to the other boys any time I took a lik'n to.
They never "beat me up" or mess
with as long as I was with-in hearing distance of 'moms'.
All I hadda do was start scream'n
"MOMS", and she come running.
You gots to be tuff and knows how
to take care youself when you're a cute little kid.
One day I took my little red wagon
down to the creek. Before long I spied a little turtle, what I promptly
placed in my "safari pick'em-up
truck". Then another, and another, and another.
Before long I was fully loaded
with totally confused prize turtles of every size and shape.
Back at the farm house, moms sat
me down and explained my first lesson about "family".
Each of my treasured catch was
either a mom, a dad, a son, a daughter, a sister or a brother.
By the time moms had finished "lectur'n"
with me, I was in tears trudging my little red wagon
back to the creek to reunite my
precious cargo back to their saddened families.
Ever since that lesson, I have
never removed an animal from it's own territory.
With the exception of my cat "MIKEY"
I stole from San Antonio, Texas.
And a dog "LUG NUT" stolen from
Santa Maria's R/V Resort in Georgia.
BRIAR PATCH
I was barefooted running at break
neck speed across the corn field with two of the older boys hot on my heels.
Them two boys had done got them
a "good" whoppin from Moms because of me "tell'n" on them.
I was headed for the only sanctuary
I was safe in, the briar patches down by the creek bank, scream'n "MOMS"
all the way.
I knew my way in and I knew
my way out.
My feet was tuff as leather and
no sticker burrs or thorns was gonna slow me down.
Even that "old ugly dog" wouldn't
go in there usless he was foller'n me.
Them boys was out to get even,
but ain't no way they gonna catch a bolt of lightning.
They was throwing ears of corn,
rocks and sticks and cussing like sailors all the ways.
But this day was not their day
to get even.
I started screaming "I'm gonna
tell moms" and they back off in the corn field and let me be.
I could see them hiding out there
in the corn field, waiting for me to come out, so's I stayed in there for
hours.
Just me and that old ugly dog,
talk'n and schem'n up new adventures.
I caught me a red fox one time
in that briar patch. But turned him loose real quick when he bite the crap
outta me.
My intention was to take him back
to the house for another pet.
But intentions can be changed in
the twinkling of an eye.
Or should I say, a nip on the bud....or
a drip of blood???
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