Perhaps for many of us old folks, the late 40’s and 50’s were the golden years. One of the best gifts our parents gave us was never telling us we were poor. We were not poor in the sense of not having food or clothes or a home. There just wasn’t a lot of ‘extras’ around. Now some kids wore hand-me-downs and some of those were a bit too small or usually a bit too large. But I don’t remember anyone making fun of them, and kids can be cruel at times. And I remember my Mom had some iron on patches for the holes in my jeans. Which mostly came from shooting marbles on my knees. But I never had to go barefoot unless it was my choice, which it was about all summer. We had the privilege of running wild and free in the woods and creeks. Our doors were not locked. No one worried about us kids being gone for hours riding bikes, fishing, playing cowboys and Indians, and chasing girls.
We lived in an era just after the great depression and World War II. It was a time of uncertainty and fear for the future. There was little cash money, but our people had Hope and a strong Faith in America. In fact, I think America was built from the beginning on three great principles: Work, Worship, and the Willingness to help each other. And America came together and prospered like no country before her.
I’m sure some of us longed for the luxuries that we read or heard about. We wished we had water in the house instead of a well and pump in the backyard. We wished we had a bathroom in the house instead of the outhouse out in the woods. And my sisters and my Mom especially wished for that. I always enjoyed looking at the Sears-Roebuck catalogue, especially at the tricycles and cap pistols. We wished we had a washing machine in the house with water running to it, in place of outside and the water had to be pumped a bucket at a time, to wash and rinse. Oh, we had running water. You had to run and get it. And of course, we saw new cars and wished we had one. When someone’s family had a new or almost new car, we thought they were rich. But mostly folks back in those years just made do. There was a saying about tools and such, “Use it up, Make it do, Wear it out, Or do without…” Folks made do.
Nevertheless in spite of having few luxuries, we were rich in so many other ways. Everyone had chores and responsibilities in the family. And early on we were taught if you want something, work for it. And the most basic way this was taught was, if you wanted to go to the creek for instance, to dam it up, or fishing, or swimming the chores must be finished first. So, work equaled reward. And one thing I have really missed is when it was supper time. The family sat down together and ate after Grace was said, and talked about an endless variety of things. Whether school, work, the garden, rain, the fish I had caught, or the slingshot I had made, and at times the reason for the switch I had to cut for Mom. Just a special time of bonding, that I think has slipped away from us.
Occasionally, I go back to the places of my childhood. On the last trip, I went down the dirt road about a quarter mile from the blacktop and up through the woods to the house. It looks much the same as 70 years ago. And when I crossed the creek a sadness set in. The old bridge that rattled when a car crossed it, our doorbell, had been torn down and replaced with a concrete bridge. After leaving there and driving on up the road, there were houses with paint peeling off, on the few that had paint on them. There was roof tin missing on a couple of barns. Some had sagged and fell, giving up hope that the mules and horse and even the tobacco would once again fill the stalls and lofts. A time of the 50’s and 60’s disappearing into the twilight never to be again.
I too am worn down with time, and the paint of youth is long gone. And I barely recognize myself from the young boy who lay on the old oak bridge and dreamed of playing ball for the Yankees and winning the World Series with a homer. Or graduating from High School and foolishly thinking I had arrived and was going to make my mark in a big way. But even today I still dream.
I reach for hope sometimes, and just as my hand grasps for it, I often find it gone. But, I’m just like you, a human with many faults, but enough Faith to keep on keeping on. I write sideways off course sometimes, and up ‘rabbit trails.’ I sing off key sometimes but I still sing loud and often. I dream about a perfect tomorrow, when like in those other times, folks loved and helped each other. A man could borrow money on his word, a handshake was binding and a neck hug was a normal response that said I care about you.
I worry some about things that never happen. I’m a product of the old ways and the old paths that made America The Land of the Free, once upon a time. I find it difficult to understand todays world. I hear awful language from very young folks, I see weird movies advertised, destructive games for kids and hear strange ideas I don’t understand. I wonder why folks have changed so much? Or perhaps I have changed. I look back and I see good times, strong beliefs, hugs, and handshakes with meaning, and I love you said often… I remember love sewed in every stitch of those flour sack quilts, every meal cooked on a hot stove, every prayer that was said. I have those good memories, and so do you.
And if once again I could hear my Mom yell out the back door, “Jack, Jack, come in, it’s suppertime”… Oh, but I can, just lean my head back on the chair, close my eyes and dream, and go home once more.