My great uncle Jim was a jovial man, a pleasure to be around. He lived in a small house, set on a low hill, just across the North Carolina line up in Virginia a ways. The first time I was at his place I was ten years old. My Dad and I were walking to our pasture land on the mountain. The wide dirt path we took went right by his house. On our way up we stopped by my great uncle’s spring to get a drink. Fresh water gushed out of a pipe in the hill right beside his back porch. On our way back down we stopped to rest and set a spell with him. We hadn’t been there very long when he got up and went inside the house. He soon returned with a brown paper bag. Chuckling, he held it out for me to get some candy. That was a real treat, I only got candy at Christmastime.
Later I was visiting my best friend, Kay. She also lived in Virginia, just down the road from my great uncle. I told her I knew where we could get some candy. So up the hill we went and knocked on his door. He seemed “glad” to see us. He said “Come in and set down,” and “How are your folks?” He talked on while we sat there and squirmed. Then we said we had to go but did not leave. Chuckling softly my Great Uncle got up and left the room. Soon he returned with a brown paper bag full of candy. After we got our grubby little hands full we really did have to go, giggling all the way down the hill. We continued to visit the Candy Man and get chocolate drops until we were too old to beg.
My Great Uncle Jim remained jovial and happy for the rest of his life. He died when I was 17 years old. A lady from the community and I set up all night at his wake. We were awake. He was not. In the wee hours of the morning, I thought about what the candy man had meant to me. He was my friend. He brought me joy. And he never told my Dad about us begging for candy. Then I remembered the time my great uncle Jim came to our house for supper. I was about six years old. My Mom had fixed candied sweet potatoes with lots of butter and sugar, my favorite food. They were baked in an old iron skillet in a wood burning cook stove. At the table my great uncle kept getting more and more of the sweet potatoes on his plate. Finally I said, “Pass me some more potatoes before he gets them all.” That remark got me a swift kick under the table from my older sister – so I just set there quietly and watched him finish them off. I thought about all that as I sat there looking at him. I said, “Candy Man, I am so sorry I was stingy with the sweet potatoes when you came to my house for supper.” I halfway expected him to laugh, but he remained quiet – thank goodness.
When is a brown paper bag a poke? When you poke your hand into it to get some candy out!
