Chapter
10
HE IS OF AGE.
(From the beginning of June 1964 thru Christmas 1964 and thru New
Year’s holidays 1965. Daddy unceremoniously totally releases me
from his strict dominion over me, his son. I gain
employment and start earning wages for college expenses.)
“Verily thou art a God that hidest thyself,
O God of Israel, the Saviour.” (Isaiah 45:15) “And I will wait upon the Lord, that hideth his
face from the house of Ja’cob, and I will look for him.” (Isaiah
8:17)
One important characteristic of our Creator God is that He is a God that hideth
Himself. Therefore, at times, often
times, we must look for, diligently
search, for Him. I think of this important characteristic of God when I
consider my Dad’s ways. He interacted with me and
spoke to me so very seldom. But at crucial times, he immediately
stepped out of his hiding and came thru for me with the help I direly
needed. Thank Thee,
Lord, for this Christian Daddy of mine, steadfast as a rock.
In the previous chapter, I told you that I applied for a job at Sanford
Company, mainly because there was a good chance they were hiring, and
because the 2 miles from Dad’s house was walking distance for me, and
because I knew of no other prospective work site to apply for a summer
job. I heard nothing from Sanford regarding my job application. During
my senior year, as typical of him, Daddy gave me no counseling or hints on job
hunting. Likely he knew I applied at Sanford and that Sanford was silent regarding
that.
So, on his own, Daddy “came out of hiding” (a few days before I
graduated). He reminded me that a U.S. government office in the Vernon
courthouse annex hired a few men each spring to measure cotton and peanut crop
acreage because the U.S. government regulated the amount of these 2
crops that each farmer was allowed to produce. One day Daddy took me with him
to that office and asked his good friend who worked there, Mr. Howard Rowland,
about the possibility of hiring me. Howard gave my young self a somewhat doubtful
look while replying that some young guys had done a good job and some hadn’t.
That day he was plenty uncommitted to hiring me.
Lamar County was divided into about 5 districts for this annual crop
measuring and 1 man was hired in each district to do the measuring. And by
God’s grace, Mr. Howard did hire me to measure the acreage in the
district my family lived. I am much indebted
to Dad for that job. Without Daddy’s good influence, likely I would not have
gotten that job. Job training started just a very few days after my Graduation
Day from high school (about 3 days later). That 1st training day, I
walked the 3 and half miles from Dad’s house to that
office in Vernon and also walked back home after the
training session.
I well remember the 1st day as we 5 or so
trainees sat around a table with the large aerial photo maps spread on the
table; Mr. Howard and Mr. Matthews explaining how to recognize ditches, ponds,
fields, a tree, electric power lines, forests, and all such things on the earth
that showed up in the photos. We were each given the few small
instruments we would use, like the “ruler” about 8 inches long graduated to the
scale of the aerial photomap. We practiced drawing and measuring on the map and
such.
That 1st day, we were in that room
about 4 hours. I left with a splitting
headache and feeling terrible, mainly because the
room was filled with cigarette smoke the entire time. No longer was I
on Dad’s slave labor farm breathing God-created clean air (except for
the times our poor tractor’s broken muffler was blowing its harmful exhaust
smoke into my face). I had now entered the devil’s evil world system of
labouring for a human boss in exchange for mammon. And from this day in early June 1964 until 12 February 1975 when I got
discharged from active duty in the Marine Corps, I am to breathe in much
second hand cigarette, cigar, and pipe smoke on the
job as I work various jobs out in the devil’s world.
I was greatly relieved to finish that 1st day of
training and then walk the 3 and half miles home in God’s clean air, getting
away from that smoke-filled room and recovering somewhat from the much
poison I had breathed.
Arriving at the house, I quickly change into my farm work clothes and
walk down to the field where Daddy is plowing on the tractor. Daddy strictly
controlled us boys, making us work most of the time. Each day we returned home
from school, if we were to work apart from Dad, then previously at the
breakfast table that morn he would have clearly assigned us our after-school
tasks. Or we clearly knew to come straight to the field where he was, to work
there with him. Strict! No deviation allowed! After graduating, I
labored for Daddy all day every day during the very few days until I
started this job training today. On this day, I didn’t know anything had
changed. I thought I would have to keep working in his field when I
was at home.
Thus, I walked right down to the edge of the field where Dad was headed
on the tractor as he plowed or cultivated in that field. When he arrived where
I stood, he killed the tractor engine. Likely I told him I had finished my day
at that office. He spoke briefly, asking me a question or 2 about how it went.
I stood waiting for him to assign me work to do, as a few hours of daylight
remained. But he started up the tractor engine and plowed away from me.
It took several seconds for my slow (and surprised) brain to grasp the profound
event and major change that had just instantly occurred in my
life.
With absolutely
no ceremony, speech or grandeur, my earthly father had totally
released me from his strict dominion that he had keenly exercised
over me since my birth. I was set free from the slave labor farm. He
had never before told me to expect this. It was
evident that I was welcome any time and all times to freely abide under
his roof and eat from his meal table. But he no longer required me to labor for
him. Also, from then on, he had practically no verbal input into my life (advise or such).
1a.
Daddy releases me from his strict dominion in early June 1964.
Heavenly
Father, I heartily praise Thee for creating me at the exact time Thou didst
create me, for giving me Godly Christian parents, and for locating me on an old-fashion
farm under the strict dominion of an earthly father who severely punished me
and worked me hard. All that gave me a most firm foundation for a blessed
life and prevented much disaster in my future years.
From
the time I was able to learn about my Dad when I was a
2 or 3-year-old boy, all way till Dad’s death when he was close to 86 years
old, he was most silent to me, just as he was to most people. I perceive
that left a void in my heart, preventing me from feeling close to him or having
strong emotional ties to him. So be it. I have no grounds to judge him one whit
regarding that. But Almighty God is right now clearly commanding me to tell you
parents to keenly listen to what His Holy Spirit is speaking to you,
now, regarding this in relation to you and your children, no matter
what age your children are at the time you read this.
In
Genesis chapters 2 and 3, The Lord God ordained that His
created human race nourish itself by tilling the ground from which we
were taken, in thus manner growing the food necessary to sustain our
physical lives. I thank God that I was born into a family that practiced
that God-ordained occupation (in its old-fashion manner at the start of my
life), and thus I experienced farm life the first 18 years I was on earth. Since
this day when Daddy released me from his strict dominion, I have seldom tilled
the ground. I have grown very little of the food I have eaten since then. I am
thankful for the farmers who till the ground to produce the much food that has
kept me alive since about June 3, 1964. I am deeply indebted to them all.
Dad
releasing me from his strict dominion was a major change
in my life. There have been many such changes down thru the years, but I will limit
the ones I name and outline in this book to 5 or so (the most major
ones), each of them composed of several stages that I will list separately. I
welcomed most all these changes as improvements and betterments in life, for
which I heartily thank God.
My
younger brother, Joe, also starts his own life soon after this. So, I want to
insert a note of thanksgiving at this point. Basically, God protected us 4
children from major sicknesses as we grew up. Also, He protected us from
major, severe injuries in our work, school, play, and few
travels. God similarly protected our parents from major injuries. My
poor family had no health care insurance, no money to spare for hospital or
doctor, and we needed all hands always available to slave away at all times on the farm (not to be
laid up for months recovering from a major injury). Thus,
at this point in my life’s story, I humbly thank Thee,
Most Gracious and Merciful Lord, for keeping Thy Loving Protecting Hand constantly
upon our family, and for protecting us 4 children during the vanity of
childhood and youth.
I was
blessed with a most stable
upbringing in that Daddy owned the farm we lived on from the time I was about 9
months old. Thru out my boyhood, my family made no periodical moves to other
locations. Also, my parents lived and worked at home (mostly). Thus, they were
at home each day we children returned home from school to work with them on our
home farm, and to live most all our hours together
at home. All such things greatly stabilized my developing years,
and (along with being made to labor hard and regularly from a
very early age) put my life on a most solid and stable foundation,
thank God!
1b. I enter employment and start working for wages.
(The
above sentence is the 2nd stage of this first major
change in my life. Now, back to my job training.) We may have spent only that
first day in the office breathing deadly tobacco smoke. Possibly it was as
early as the 2nd day that Mr. Matthews began to take us to farms (2
or 3 trainees together). He measured the 1st farm, sketched the map, and filled out the form as we watched and listened to
him explain. Then he would have one of us measure the next one, listening to us
telling him what we were thinking and doing. He would correct us when needed
(which was often).
About
the 4th day, he gave me my 1st set of photo maps, the
long measuring tape on a hand reel, and each acreage info sheet for several
farms and turned me loose on my own. In a few days, after I finished all farms
on one photo map and turned it in to his office (along
with my written work), he would go to 1 or 2 of those farms to spot check my
work. For some reason, once I had to briefly go back to a farm I had
previously measured. While there, the farmer told me that Mr. Matthews had come
there after me to spot-check my work. “He said you were doing a good job.” Thank
Thee, Lord.
Mr.
Matthews started me measuring fields right at home, first doing Dad’s farm and
immediately surrounding farms. Thus far, I had walked to town and then rode
with him in his truck to on-the-job training at a few farms. He soon asked me
how I would travel. I was embarrassed. ‘First, I will walk to the
nearest farms and then borrow Daddy’s car or Sidney’s car when I can. Then when
I get a pay check, I hope to buy my own car.’ He sort of chuckled. Thank Thee, Lord,
that he didn’t fire me for being so immobile. Likely,
down thru the years, no other man had ever walked
from farm to farm to work this job.
“You
were special, weren’t you, Boy?”
‘In more
poor ways than I care to think back on.’
Daddy
had much knowledge in this matter. So, he watched me carefully and gave me
pointers as he and I measured his cotton fields together. (It was the custom
for each farmer to accompany me to answer my questions, hold the end of the
long measuring tape as I unreeled it, and such.
Next, I
walked to Mr. Tennel’s farm located on a dirt back
road behind Daddy’s farm. Many Septembers, I had picked cotton for Mr. Tennel
for pay, before Dad’s cotton was ready to pick. He was amused that I was now
doing the measuring job (an adult man’s job). Likely he ribbed me a
little. He might have asked me if I planned to walk to all the
farms, hand carrying that large board with the photos spread on it and the
other necessary equipment. My cramped style provided him
amusement amidst his hard farm labor.
After
walking to all the nearby farms, I began to borrow Daddy’s car or Sidney’s car,
ever which car was most available. My pay was all “piece work” pay. I received
a certain amount of pay for each acre I measured. As best I recall, I got no
pay for those 3 days or so of training.
My
paycheck came from the U.S. government. Uncle Sam issued paychecks twice a
month, mid-month and at month’s end. I begin to look
around for a cheap used car to buy. Sidney told me that Lowell (his co-worker
with whom Sid rode to work) had an old 1952 Studebaker for sale for $75. I
preferred a better car. Likely my 1st paycheck came in mid-June and
covered just a week or more of work. I think it was just over $100, good pay
back then. I cashed that check. After my workday,
I walked the mile and half or so to Lowell’s house with my cash in my pocket.
He was home from work. I looked the car over (a jalopy plenty dilapidated and
rusty); test drove it with Lowell, paid him $75 cash for it and drove it home.
I’m now a car owner and start going to each farm in style, chugging along in
my own old rust bucket of a Studebaker.
1c. I
get my drivers’ license in May and soon buy my 1st motor vehicle in June 1964,
using most of my 1st paycheck to pay cash in full for the old
clunker.
I greatly liked the nature
of this work. I liked its location(s), on farms out in God’s lovely nature.
I found the job interesting. I had to go to each farm in my designated
area that had been granted an allotment of cotton acreage. Tho I had lived in that area since I was 9 months old, I now
follow some narrow dirt farm roads into isolated areas to which I had never
been. It was interesting to explore new territory, meet new people and hear
what some of them had to say.
I went
to elderly Mr. McGee’s farm that had McGee’s Lake where people came and fished
for a fee.
“So,
you’re Pascal’s boy? You’re named after your great granddad, Uncle Dick
Yerby. Did you know him?”
‘No,
Sir. He died before I was born.’
“A
very upright and Godly man he was. One summer when Martin Lawrence was a
teenager, he plowed for Uncle Dick for hire. You know Martin?”
‘Yes, Sir.
He’s one of the school bus drivers now.’ (Martin is now elderly.)
“Let
me tell you a good one. One time when Martin was plowing for Uncle Dick (my great
granddad), Uncle Dick walked to the field with a jar of water to give Martin a
fresh drink. Martin didn’t see him standing at the end of the row and just at
that time, Martin cursed the stubborn mule he was plowing. Then he looked up
and saw Uncle Dick.
“Uncle
Dick kindly gave him the fresh water to drink and then gently said. ‘Martin, I
heard you curse the mule. I’m going to pray for you now that you will stop the
habit of cursing.’ A subdued young Martin (and the mule) quietly listened as
Uncle Dick interceded to God for the lad’s spiritual well being. Then Uncle
Dick said most seriously, ‘And I hope I never hear you curse again.’ And Martin
told me (told Mr. McGee), ‘He never did hear me curse again’.” (That doesn’t
mean that Martin never cursed again. But he made sure that he never cursed
again within Uncle Dick Yerby’s hearing.)
Heavenly Father, I thank Thee for giving
me such a Godly heritage with such Godly ancestors.
Mr.
Howard issued me one lead pen and 2 pencils with which to write while on the
job. I clipped the lead pen into my shirt pocket. One day while measuring, I
jumped a narrow ditch and likely the lead pen was ejected from my shirt pocket
when I landed, because when I soon felt for it to use it, it was missing. So, I
used a pencil for writing. The next time I went to the office, I related that
incident to Mr. Howard and told him I needed to pay him for the lead pen I
lost. He smiled at my simplicity, quickly issued me another lead
pen, and said I didn’t have to pay for the one I lost.
During
my upbringing in poverty, our family members mainly used only the few things that
we owned (as opposed to using other peoples’ belongings). Our
poverty inbred into us the instinct to take the best care of our scare belongings, which including
doing one’s best to make sure we never lost anything. Thus, when I was
entrusted with anything that belonged to another person, I felt a strong
duty to take care of and protect it. I now learn that the world’s system often
does not exercise as much responsibility regarding loss and even
careless waste.
For
brevity’s sake I will limit my stories about this crop acreage-measuring job to
these 2 about Uncle Dick Yerby and the lead pen. I worked 6 days a week (long
hours) taking off Sundays. The pay was per acre I reported measured. I wanted
much pay, so I worked long hours. Also, the office wanted it all finished promptly. Any time it rained, I had to cease work
while it rained, no matter how short or long. It would ruin those large photomaps
to get them wet.
That job of measuring cotton and peanut
fields lasted about 5 weeks, till mid-July or so. When it ended, I had a little
money now, but no further job prospects. Being a farm boy, I was too shy to go
search out every carpenter, construction boss, etc. in the area to ask them for
short time work. I felt that would be like begging. So, I did nothing (or
practically nothing), regarding looking for another job, knowing nothing
more to do.
Tho the time clock of my young life was steadily
ticking away when I needed to be daily earning
more money for college, I am amazed now in my old age that I didn’t worry much
about that matter then, and didn’t strain my brain
trying to devise ways to find a paying job. You who have lived long on this
earth know how worries and fears are few in our youth, but
increasingly creep upon us as we age. (Ecclesiastes Chapter 12)
“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord.”
Again,
I stand humbly amazed at how God miraculously and promptly
provided my next job thru Dad, unexpected to me, and to Daddy also. On top of
that, in a sense Daddy actually did nothing to
obtain the job for me. Look at that Scripture above from Psalms 37:23. I
confess I have nothing good in my SELF. But God has imputed abundant goodness
unto me. I praise Him for that and for ordering my steps. My Godly ancestors
were a direct source of much of that goodness.
“Also,
young Richard, the Almighty takes great pity on the helpless and feebleminded,
doesn’t He?”
‘Of a certainty,
He does! Praise His Name for doing so!’
Lord
Jesus, I praise Thy Great Name for setting my life on a straight, unwavering
path upon Daddy releasing me from his dominion over me, upon rearing me to
adulthood.
Quite
early on a morning only 2 or 3 days after finishing the crop measuring job, I
was sitting (idle) in our (3 boys) bedroom reading, when Daddy came briskly
there from his busy work out front where he was preparing the tractor equipment
for his work that day. Reaching my closed door, he slapped it with the back of
his large hand from the hall side of the door and called out hurriedly. “Hey
Ric, you want a job?” (Miracle!!!)
I had
heard a car stop just 3 minutes or so before. I didn’t bother going to see who
came. After the newcomer talked to Dad just a minute, Dad came back here to me.
County Superintendent of Education (Garvis Moore) had come to ask Dad if he
wanted a short time job doing roofing. Mr. Moore knew
Dad was a hard worker, and also usually hard up for money. But Dad said he was too busy with
farm work now in the summer. “However, my boy, Richard, might be interested in
the job.” Similar to Mr. Howard being leery of me for
his job, so was Mr. Moore leery of a young’un.
“But
it’s hard work, and awfully hot on
that roof. Do you think he can take that?”
“If
anybody can take it, he can,” my dear Dad said of me. Dad never
told me directly that he paid me such a compliment (ever being
careful not to spoil me). But a few weeks later, he told
that in my presence to my new roofing boss, Mr. Mars.
(Back
to Daddy’s knock on my door), I was too surprised to be shocked, I reckon.
‘YES!’ I instantly replied, and went out front to Mr.
Moore. He told me to go to the garment plant in Vernon where a crew was roofing
it. Inside what we all called the “garment plant”, workers sat at sewing
machines making men’s trousers (where all our family had so hoped Mother would
gain employment shortly before her death). I hastily put
on work clothes, drove my Studebaker there, and told the boss (Mr. Mars) that
Mr. Moore had sent me there to work. Mr. Mars immediately put me to work at an
hourly wage.
Mr.
Mars was from the largest Alabama city of Birmingham, about 110 miles
east of Vernon. His roofing crew here at work was from Graysville (just this
side of Birmingham) about 90 miles away. Ed was the straw boss. His very short
brother-in-law (nicknamed Shorty) was one of the crew. There were about three
other young men (about 20 years old) on the crew. One or 2 of them were Ed’s
sons. All those young boys were lazy, sinful, city punks,
their foul speech readily revealing their most sinful hearts.
It was
a broad, flat, “industrial” roof. They were laying a new layer of roofing paper
on the entire roof, sticking it to the old paper and sealing the seams with
black gum coating from 55-gallon drum cans on the ground next to one wall of
the plant. They had turned 1 drum can on its side on a makeshift platform and
it had a large spicket (faucet) screwed into the larger of the 2 holes in its
top, faucet now on lowest side of horizontal drum.
“When one
of the (4 or so) five-gallon buckets from which they are brushing the black gum
coating onto the roof becomes empty, I want you to fill the bucket at the drum
can on the ground. Keep us supplied with the sticky black sealant.” Thus Mr.
Mars assigns me my job.
“Yes,
Sir!”
I
started filling the empty buckets and immediately saw that I would be idle a
good deal of the time doing that only. Thus, I concluded that Mr.
Mars wanted me to always be “mopping” the black sealant with one of the long
handle brush “mops”. And each time a bucket was emptied, I was to let it down
with the hook on the long rope, go down the ladder, fill the bucket, climb back
up the ladder, pull the full bucket back up with the rope, and quickly get
back to work mopping. (Ed and Shorty were rolling out the heavy roofing
paper, cutting it into sections and laying one section after another in place.
The young lazy guys were mostly brushing the black gum onto the old roof, to
stick the new paper onto. Much brushing was necessary.)
Daddy
reared me doing strenuous farm work for no pay, instilling in me a grave
duty to work as hard as possible when getting paid to work. When I got the crop-measuring job, I did it
diligently in order to do it correctly, but I worked
as fast as possible to earn the most pay possible doing “piece work”.
This day on a new job paying by the hour, in
order to give Mr. Mars his money’s worth, I now vigorously mop
while keeping an eye on all the buckets from which the crew are mopping. When a
bucket became empty, I took it to the ladder, let it down on the rope hook,
shimmied down the ladder, filled the bucket at the drum can, hooked the hook
into its handle, and ascended the ladder while sliding one hand up the rope to
keep it taut to prevent the hook from slipping from the bucket’s handle, pulled
the rope hand over hand to get the heavy bucket up onto the roof, and went right
back to furiously mopping. (That was a long
sentence!) Aggressive, I was, thank God!
Thank
Thee, Lord, for ordaining me to be reared on a slave labor farm by a hard-working
Christian father. Such rearing has stood me in good stead all my days.
Mr.
Mars
keenly observed us as he supervised us, also doing some of the work
himself. Sometimes, he was on the ground instead of on the roof. One time when
I was busily “mopping away” and the boss was on the ground out of
sight, one of those lazy punks said to me, “You don’t have to work so hard
when he isn’t watching.” I didn’t slack my pace one bit.
In just a day or two, Mr. Mars told the straw boss Ed: “Next time you come back
here to the job from Graysville (where they lived), leave 2 of those boys behind.”
(Mr. Mars fired 2 of them.) They didn’t like that at all. T’wasn’t my hard-working fault! T’was
their lazy fault!
I was
doing more work than 2 of them were doing. They ought to work hard, if they don’t want to get fired. I think it was the
first time Mr. Mars came to my house (2 weeks or so later) and met Daddy that he told Daddy of laying off 2 of Ed’s crew upon seeing
me work hard. I was unaware of that until he told Daddy. That’s when Daddy told
Mr. Mars what he had said to Mr. Moore (about me being able to endure the heat
and toil), on the day Mr. Moore came offering the job to Daddy. Glory!
(Mr. Mars stayed in the motel at Vernon during the week and drove home for the weekend. Ed and his whole crew commuted daily from Graysville in a large, old station wagon, to save paying for motel rooms. It made for a long day for them, and much wear and tear on their old vehicle.)
County
Superintendent of Education Garvis Moore had given Mr.
Mars several roofing jobs on the county school buildings. Thus Mr. Moore
was out looking for workers for Mr. Mars. After we finished the garment plant,
I worked on roofs at schools in Vernon, Sulligent, and Kennedy. We also worked
on the Vernon courthouse roof. Also, Mr. Moore hired us to mop the black
coating onto the aging shingle roof of his own house.
(Let’s
break from work now for some terrifying adventure!) Late on a
summer afternoon, 2 country boy pals rode with me in my Studebaker down to Mr.
Lloyd’s cabin at the edge of a large swampy area just across the state line
into Mississippi. Mr. Lloyd gave us permission to use his cabin. We spend this
night there, fishing part of the night. I had worked
most of that day, and it was after dark when we arrived at the cabin, put our
few things inside, geared up for night fishing, and walked out to the small wooden
rowboat we planned to use.
Lighting
our way with 2 flashlights, we three waded into knee-deep water out to where
the boat was tied to a tree in the edge of the swamp. Shining the lights into
the boat revealed that it was about half full of rainwater. ‘Let’s all three
get on one side of the boat and try to lift that side up almost vertical to dump out most of the water.’ I centered
myself in line with the other two guys each on my left and right. I planned to
do the greatest load of lifting with both hands, while each of them held
a light in one hand. The boat was heavy with much water.
‘Heave!’ And
as we strained much to start lifting up the near side
of the boat, I instantly voiced the frantic thought that flashed
into my mind. ‘There’s a good chance there’s a water moccasin under the
boat!’ The timing of my warning was perfect. With us now holding the
side of the boat up at about a 50-degree angle, both guys point their lights at
the water’s surface close in front of us where the boat (and the large,
poisonous snake) had been resting until now.
“Snake!”
Ultra high “soprano” voices sing out loud and clear in synchronized fright,
serenading the host of slimy creatures in the dark dismal swamp as we behold
the big, ugly, poisonous viper zigzagging randomly, surprised by our
sudden intrusion and confused as to where he should go. It was just an unfortunate
meeting for all four of us, especially for the snake, because it soon
ended his temporal existence!
Boys,
this ain’t no time to strike up choir practice!!
“And they all forsook him and fled.”
In
sheer panic, my two faithful companions instantly release their
hold on the boat (thus doubling the weight I am struggling under), and turn in the opposite direction to flee away
posthaste. Their courageous self-survival act leaves me in pitch black
darkness struggling to hold up that heavy weight with my left hand and
arm only, while unsnapping the holster strap and drawing out my
pistol with my right hand.
‘Get
back here! Put your lights on him so we can see where he is!!’ I was so
hoping that serpent had the exact amount of courage as my brave companions, and thus was fleeing away from me instead of
heading underwater toward my legs to sink his naughty fangs into one of them. I
was flipping off the pistol’s safety and getting ready to give all ten of the
.22 caliber, long rifle, hollow-point bullets to “Snaky” free of charge.
Thankfully, my fellow soldiers repented of their cowardice and
turned back to me. Search lighting, they fixed their beams on cowardly “Snaky”
fleeing away (in front of the inclined heavy boat I was still straining
to hold up).
Thank
you, Snaky, for not attacking me! I’m going to return the favor by ending your
frightening existence! My pistol was a semi-automatic with a 10-round clip in
its “grip” that I was carefully gripping, totally void
of desire to drop my firearm into the dark knee-deep swamp water. It is
difficult in the dark to see the 2 sights on the pistol barrel to line them up
and then fix them on Snaky. But Snaky’s water habitat made such precise sight
alignment unnecessary. With my right arm thrust straight out, I just point the
pistol at Snaky in the lights’ beams and squeeze the trigger. “Bam!”
Seeing
that bullet kick up water just to the right of Snaky, I turn the barrel slightly
left and fire again. It is easy to adjust one’s aim watching where bullets hit
in water. My 2nd or 3rd shot was on target, tearing out a
hunk of Snaky flesh as the hollow-point bullet tore apart upon introducing
itself to Snaky. (Hollow-point bullets are
designed to do thus. Thus, I delight to present
them to serpents.)
Upon a
bullet first tearing into Snaky, he began writhing into somewhat
of a coil, doing the hula-hoop twist, thus making himself a more compact
and easier target, for which Snake Terminator Boy was much obliged!
That aided the next 5 or so shots I fire rapidly to
each hit on target and rip out hunks of snake meat. Bam-bam!
Bam-bam-bam! Flaying Snaky meat in the dark, dismal swamp!
Shaky
Snaky gradually ceased moving.
Shaky Choirboys
quickly found that soothing.
Snaky
Blown-Apart found closure.
Whereupon, Choirboys regained welcomed composure.
Choir
voices settle back down into their normal alto ranges as we voice strongly
emotional eulogies to Snaky regarding the profound effect he had
on each of our lives (supercharging our nervous systems in the unique
way serpents are endowed by their Creator to do), during the brief 28
and half seconds we had known Snaky before he abruptly erupted to the snazzy
rat-a-tat-tat beat of my trusty Snake Charmer, and found peaceful closure
to his dull, temporal life in the dismal swamp.
“Snake Charmer Boy, you have just about completely
traumatized us with these horror stories about snakes!”
‘You’ll
get over it. I only have one or two snake stories remaining and they are years
in the future. So, take a break from that horror and relax as I move on to a
milder subject.’
When
September arrived, I didn’t really have enough money to start the Fall Quarter
at Auburn (that began about September 21st). I felt lonely and shut
out as I observed the local schools starting again in early September when
summer vacation ended. Plus, all my classmates who chose college were now
heading to the colleges of their choice. But I was still doing dirty roofing
work. I longed to be a university student, to be back in a school
atmosphere. I had my doubts if I would ever be able to enroll in a university.
That thought hurt much.
I drove that old Studebaker to Auburn in early September (likely around September 7), before university classes started in the Fall Quarter. I wanted to find work in the Auburn area, something more pleasant than roofing. Plus, if I worked in the Auburn area, I felt that would better my chance of starting the Winter Quarter there in early January. I told Mr. Mars I was going. He bade me Farewell, assuming I would enroll and start college now. I told Daddy I was going to Auburn, and wasn’t sure when I would come back. ‘I’ll write.’ I packed a few clothes in a cardboard box and left in that old Studebaker. This poor boy had no suitcase (or travel bag of any kind actually).
That
old car had a straight shift transmission with 3 forward gears. But as the
engine wound up in the last (3rd) gear, it automatically shifted
into overdrive (like a 4th gear). Until now, I had only driven that
old jalopy locally in Lamar County. I wondered if it would make the 225-mile
trip (one way) to Auburn and back. I was counting on the “overdrive” helping,
as the engine turned at a lower RPM in overdrive. But just a day or 2 before I
planned to leave, it ceased to shift on into overdrive. I deeply regretted to see that. I decided to go on as planned. But I stopped in
Kennedy at Worth Hidgon’s vehicle repair shop and asked him to look at it. He quickly
spotted the problem. “The electric fuse for the overdrive ‘kick in’ is burnt out. So, it won’t ‘kick in’.”
Immense relieve to hear
that, thinking that simply replacing the fuse would be a quick, cheap
fix. Mr. Hidgon replaced the fuse and I got into the
passenger seat as he drove it. When overdrive again failed to kick in, he said:
“It shot that fuse too. That means the overdrive switch has worn out.
You could probably find one at a junkyard if you searched junkyards for one,
and I could install it for you.” But I was packed and ready to go. So, I drove
on toward Auburn, now somewhat concerned about my crippled old car.
I
arrived in Auburn late that afternoon, parked in First Baptist Church’s parking
lot and spent the night there, sleeping in my jalopy. A motel room was a luxury
I could not afford. The next day I walk much on the deserted, quiet campus (between school terms),
and recall my joyful stay here 4 summers ago during the 4-H state convention. I
think I slept 3 nights in the car in that parking lot, eating just a little
each day to conserve money. I made feeble attempts at looking for work but
found none. Then in the early afternoon, I said: ‘Enough! I’m going
home!’
The
225 miles would take about 5 hours
to Vernon in that old car. But I was in too big of a hurry, drove too fast and
overheated the engine. It would have been wise to slow down. I wasn’t
wise. A faint knocking started in the engine and got
louder. As I neared Gordo, I pulled over onto the shoulder and stopped. I had
burnt out the inserts in one of the pistons of the engine. If I kept driving,
it would probably sling that piston rod thru the engine wall, totally ruining
the engine and stranding me when that occurred. I drove slowly on to a store
with a pay phone and called my brother, Sidney. He came in his car with a
strong rope and pulled my car by rope the 38
miles or more to Daddy’s house. I sat in the driver’s seat of my “dead jalopy”
ever so alert to be ready to step on the brakes (no power brakes then) when
Sidney braked as he pulled me. Otherwise, my car would ram into the back of his
car when he stopped. I arrived back at Daddy’s being towed by my brother. Such
was the end of the longest trip I had thus far made alone.
Someone
told me that Bobby M. had a 1955 Bel Air Chevy for sale for $300. I got up with
Bobby in Vernon and he priced it to me at $325 after showing it to me (trying
to get a little more for it). We settled on a price of $315 and I wrote him a
check for that amount. That purchase just about
completely depleted my money. Looking back now, it is good that I didn’t drive
that unsafe Studebaker any longer. It had “play” in the steering system and
other defects that made it plenty dangerous to drive on public roads. The 1955
Chevy Bel Air was a popular car. Mine was a quite attractive 2 tone, green
below with white top. It was good to graduate
to this better car from that unsafe rust bucket.
I immediately
sought out where Mr. Mars was presently roofing. “So,
you’re going to put off university till January?”
‘Yes,
Sir.’ And I asked him to let me work.
He was
so good to take me right back into the work, tho I had
more or less told him I wouldn’t be working for him
anymore this year. I was most thankful
for his kindness!
Listen
to me, young man and young lady! You be a diligent, honest,
hard-working laborer, and you will have a tremendous great
advantage in the job market. Pay attention to the much talk you
presently hear about employers being unable to find dependable workers
who will do a good job of even the simplest tasks.
Mr.
Mars was presently working on the roof of Kennedy school. He had ceased hiring
Ed and his crew from Graysville, now instead hiring local men here in Lamar
County. The closer his workers lived, the more convenient. Also, tho Ed and Shorty worked hard and well, the young punks with
Ed did not.
Two
school bus drivers (Mr. Grady Butler and Mr. Martin Lawrence) are now working
for Mr. Mars 5 hours or so a day between the morning and afternoon school bus
runs. I debated telling Martin about Mr. McGee telling me about my great
grandpa praying for young Martin decades ago when young Martin cursed the mule.
But I didn’t mention it at all.
Local
schools are in session now in mid-September. From atop the Kennedy school roof,
I would see several of my 1st cousins and a few friends who were
students here, as they went in and out of the building. (We would greet each
other.) I continued to have that hollow feeling in my heart because I
wasn’t in college. All my other classmates who chose college were now in
college studying hard. Would I ever actually
attain to that? In doubt, I feared I never would, and that I’d still be
mopping black gunk onto roofs 60 years later as I now write this in
2024. (That sure would make for dull reading for you.)
This
was the 1st of 3 major delays
Almighty God graciously put into my university studies. In
hindsight, I now believe that in Great Loving Care for me, God delayed my graduation
more than 1 year to keep me out of that awful mess and deadly nightmare of
those killing fields in Viet Nam.
Sweet
Precious Lord Jesus, I am most thankful to Thee for doing that. Truly, Thy Way
is Perfect.
One
day (likely in late September) when I met up with a neighbor in public, he
remarked in passing, “I saw Pascal driving a cotton picker.”
Tho I was living in Daddy’s house, this was the first news I heard of
Daddy’s plans to buy a mechanical cotton picker. He rarely
discussed any of his plans with his children. I was mildly
surprised at the news. I lightly remarked something like: ‘I thought the only
cotton pickers Daddy would ever drive were his boys.’ But on finishing
high school, each of us boys ceased our cotton picking, necessitating an
alternative for him.
This year of our Lord (1964)
was a pivotal time of change in which most family
small cotton farms thru out the southeastern U.S. went out of
existence. Thru out such rural areas, farm boys and girls my age (like my
siblings and me) daily walked to their cotton fields early many summer mornings
(usually barefoot), one carrying a jug of water and the others carrying hoes on
one shoulder. We spent many long, hot summer days hoeing
and chopping cotton, cutting out the weeds and grass. Come autumn, typically we
daily came home from school to pick cotton by hand till dusk, and we picked
cotton all day on Saturdays. We grew and harvested a large variety of fruits
and veggies for us to eat (along with hay and corn for the farm animals to
eat). We daily fed farm animals, milked cows, gathered eggs and such. We
shoveled manure from the barn, cut firewood, and did numerous other farm chores.
We kids helped our parents butcher hogs and calves out back of the house, and put away the meat for the family to eat.
But most
farm families around us ceased doing many of those things right about
1964. The few who continued to grow cotton, sprayed poison to kill the
grass and weeds and hired a farmer who had a mechanical cotton picker (like
Daddy) to pick their cotton. Steadily they ceased keeping farm animals and grew
fewer fruits and veggies for the family to eat. At this time in my area, a rural family’s “small farm” life (the
whole family together working it all) practically became extinct.
Lord
Jesus, I praise Thee for creating me at the exact
time Thou didst create me, to experience old fashion farming using animal
power (horses) the first 12 years of my childhood life. I am most thankful
that the family farms in our area lasted until I left this farming community
after the end of 1964, and that I slaved away at hard manual farm
labor until I was 18 years old, till Daddy released me from his strict dominion
at that time. I believe it was the most valuable
boyhood experience possible. Thank Thee, Lord, for
ordaining thus for me.
Likely
it was in early October when I left Daddy’s house early one weekday
morning and drove that 55 Chevy to Auburn, going into the Navy ROTC
Department on campus to inquire about getting into Navy ROTC, knowing naught
of admission procedures.
I drive
down U.S. Hwy. 82 East, and turn east on Alabama Hwy.
14 that goes to Auburn. On Ala.14, when I come to the intersection of U.S Hwy.
31, it’s a divided 4 lane. A Stop sign faces me. So, I stop and look
left at the 2 lanes coming south from Birmingham. No traffic. I cross
those 2 southbound lanes, stop on the wide medium and now look to my right
at the 2 northbound lanes. A car is approaching me in the near, inside
lane of 31 northbound. Tho it has no Stop sign,
that car stops. An elderly couple is in it. Likely he thought he would do me a
favor and let me cross. Being a new and young driver, my only
thought is to quickly get on out of their way. So, slowly heading
across in front of their stopped car, I totally forgot
about that 2nd lane of traffic adjacent to them (with no
Stop sign for it).
“Hold
it, Richard Boy! Let me guess! You crossed right in front of that heavy
1959 Ford speeding by in that adjacent lane at 80 miles an hour. It hit
your car mid-broadside, and instantly killed both
you and that speeding driver! Did I guess right!?”
‘You
were ever so close. Much too close for comfort. You only
mis-guessed the timing by a mere 1 and half to 2 seconds. Had I
been only that much earlier (or had that speeding
driver been that much later), your guess would have
been the story of his and my short lives. There were no seat belts or air bags
in those days. I don’t see any way either he or I would
have survived him broad siding me dead
center (T-bone) at that high speed.’
“Had
that happened, Brother Richard, we wouldn’t be reading your autobiography now. Instead,
some sad soul would have written a short biography of your short 18 years and
that tragic end. But you have to admit that powerfully
explosive collision and the gory details that followed, would have made
a most exciting ending to the short biography of your life!”
‘HUSH!’
My car
was slowly moving across in front of the elderly couple’s stopped car
when I saw a quick flash go by right in front of my nose. He was flying! The left edge of
his rear bumper must have been a mere few inches from my front bumper as
his car finished passing in front of mine. I immediately stopped.
‘Opps! Forgot to check the 2nd lane for traffic.’ I now look
in amazement at that speeding bullet rapidly shrinking away toward Birmingham.
Then I look at the direction he came from, saw that 2nd
lane was now clear, crossed it, and went on my way. It took a few seconds for
it to sink into my mind just how extremely close I came to
getting killed in a most violent and gory fashion. It unnerved me much, to put
it simply. Likely also for that elderly couple sitting there, that
near accident was a surprising sight to behold.
“Pa,
did you see that?!”
“I sho did, Ma! I almost got those 2 drivers killed!”
Lord
Jesus, I thank Thee for the many times Thou hast kept me safe during a very
close brush with death.”
Thank God,
I made it safely on to Auburn, found the Navy ROTC office, and told the
secretary and receptionist, Mrs. Davis, that I desired to join. She told me to
go into the freshman instructor’s office right across the hallway in that
office area, and talk to him, Navy Lieutenant Morgan France. This redneck farm
boy was so naďve. I knew not, that
application had to be made well in advance, in order
to even attempt to get into Navy ROTC, and that many
who attempted were rejected.
At
that time, all able-bodied male students at Auburn were required
to take the first 2 years of military ROTC (Reserve Officers’ Training Corps).
Then the small percentage of them who desired to become military officers
stayed in ROTC for 4 years. All males who took the required 2 years only,
chose either Army or Air Force ROTC. Most chose Air Force because it was easier.
The
Navy specialized, accepting only male students who had firmly
decided to become a Navy or Marine officer. Each year, the Navy set a quota for
the freshmen class of midshipmen. At Auburn, about 8 times that quota number
of young guys applied to enter Navy ROTC. Thus, only 1 out of 8 or so
applicants got accepted, mind you. My high school classmate at Vernon,
Jimmy, entered Auburn this September. Back in the early summer, he applied for
Navy ROTC and was rejected. Later, next January when I start school here, Jimmy
relates this ratio (1 out of 8) news to me (who am presently ignorant of
such, and ignorant of most other things, except
farming).
Only one
university in each state had a Navy ROTC unit. Most (or all) had
Army and Air Force ROTC at that time.
Also,
freshmen males entering Auburn back in September (who desired Navy), applied
for Navy ROTC months before September. After 7 out of 8 applicants
had gotten turned down, with fall term now well under way with that 12.5% “cream
of the crop” in this year’s Navy ROTC freshman class, this know-nothing
farm boy casually walks unannounced into Navy Lieutenant
France’s office in October telling him, ‘I want to join Navy ROTC next
quarter in January’.
“Richard
Boy, Almighty God is about to shower exceedingly abundant mercy
upon ignorant you, isn’t He?”
‘Amen! It should even convince an infidel!’
Each
year, the Navy chose the best prospects (of course) from the many
applicants. Many of the 12% of the applicants that got chosen this year profoundly
proved themselves to be “sailor-like” by the way they drank and partied
as soon as they started their 1st year at Auburn (and thus not
applying themselves to their studies enough). When I came to his office, Lt.
France was observing several of his 1st year midshipmen in the
process of flunking out of school. Several would not be allowed to study the
following term, winter quarter. (He didn’t mention that to
me. I will hear it next January from fellow midshipmen in my
class.) Thus Lt. France told me I could take a test for applicants scheduled in
just a few weeks. I rejoiced to hear that. Thank Thee. My
Precious Lord, for Miracles!
I
drove back to Vernon that very day. It made for a long day.
“And driving back home, you performed much safer
at that highway intersection of 31 and 14, did you not?”
‘Of a certainty, I did, and for many years
to come!!’
I
continued mopping black sealant onto roofs for Mr. Mars. A few weeks later, I
arose after 2 AM the morning of the test and drove the 5
hours to Auburn. A motel room in Auburn (the night before) to get up at 7 AM
refreshed, and better ready for the strain of the 4-hour long test was no
option for poor me. Thank God I did well on the test. The Navy accepted
me, allowing me to start one quarter (term) late. That rarely or never took
place. I thank God that this farm boy was accepted into Navy ROTC at
Auburn. Had I applied at the normal time (last spring), and
entered Auburn University this September 1964, no doubt the Navy
ROTC would have rejected this farm boy among the (8 times too many)
applicants.
As the
weather turned cold in late October, that black gum coating we mopped onto the
roofs got cold and thick, making it slow to pour from the drum can and
difficult to mop onto the roof. Mr. Mars would build a fire next to the barrel
and heat it to thin out the coating. Also at that time, his jobs got scarcer in
the Vernon area. Also, the cold air on a rooftop was miserable,
just as the summer heat had been miserable.
Again
Daddy “came out of hiding” and mentioned to me that this was the year the U.S.
government was taking a nationwide agricultural census that they took
every 10 years, and that at the Vernon courthouse annex they would be hiring a
few census takers to do Lamar County. (The regular national census was taken in
years that end in zero. This agricultural census was taken in years that end in
4, I reckon. Upon hearing about the job, I was most desirous to gain it.
I told
Mr. Mars about it, and said that I wanted to apply. He
was most encouraging. He said he would be glad to give me a good reference if needed, and would do anything he could to help me. I think
he wanted to shut down his roofing work during the winter,
and was thus relieved that he would not have to try to provide work for
me any longer, and have to be out in that cold himself.
Around
mid-November, I took the test with other job applicants, in the courthouse
annex. The “time limit” test dealt mainly with numbers (some were “math” and some were the “arranging” of numbers) as the
census-taking job entailed. Thank God, the test was simple for me, the
math award graduate fresh out of my high school math studies, and with a sharp,
young brain. Thank Thee, Lord.
I
breezed thru the test quickly (well before the time limit was up),
checked my work again, and still was first to turn in my test, long
before any other applicant (most of them being older men, some farmers). The
young lady from Fayette who administered it, smiled at me as she said “Quick”.
I could sense she was thinking that I likely had a lot of wrong answers in my haste.
She quickly graded my paper. I had only one wrong answer. I knew how to
arrive at the right answer for it, but had been careless, got it wrong, and
didn’t catch it on double-check.
She
was impressed with my high score. “You definitely qualify,” she
said more than once. (I wasn’t as dumb as I looked, was I,
my Kind Lady?) I was hired to do the section of Lamar County in which I
lived.
I greatly enjoyed doing
that job, somewhat similar to (but simpler than)
measuring crop acreage back in June. The area of the county assigned to me
contained part of the area where I had measured cotton and some adjacent areas
where I hadn’t measured cotton. There was a short training session for us 5 or
so chosen for the job. They gave me a map of my assigned area that supposedly
had each residence in the area drawn onto the map, a little square for each
residential building.
Throughout
my assigned area, I was to drive every highway, road, and lane
that was accessible to motor vehicles. I was to look for any new
thoroughfares (roads) and any residences not drawn on the map. I was to note
any such additions. I was to visit each
residence. If that household did absolutely no farming activities, then I only
had a few designated questions for them. If the household had any farm animals
(chickens, a pig, calf, horse, etc.), or if they just worked
a small vegetable garden, hayfield or cultivated any land; that qualified them as
farmers regarding this census, and many more questions had to be answered. I
was issued a briefcase containing my map, questionnaires, etc. This was a “clean”
job (as opposed to measuring fields and roofing), and it was an indoor
job. I just sat in people’s houses and asked questions. So, I wore clean and
neat casual attire and penned my “census takers’ badge” onto the breast of my
jacket to make me look as official as a green 18-year-old boy could look. ‘I’ve
become a young executive!’
As
with the crop-measuring job, I traveled some country trails not many miles from
Daddy’s house that I had never
traveled in my short life. It was a thrilling adventure! I met a variety of
interesting people! I liked meeting them! The pay was “piece work” pay, so
much per residence (similar to the “piece work” pay
for measuring cotton fields). When it rained, I had to take off from measuring
fields and from roofing, getting no pay while I waited for the rain to stop.
But weather didn’t hinder this Young Executive Census Taker. I certainly
liked that tremendous
advantage. I started this indoor job
(inside my ’55 Chevy and inside people’s houses) in the cool crisp fall days of
late November. All aspects of the work were so nice. It was my first indoor
paying job.
Thank
Thee, My Lord Jesus, for this clean, comfortable job.
Many
folks worked away from their residences during the day. Thus, we were allowed
to knock on doors till 8 PM (or so) to catch them at home. Typically, I would
return to Dad’s house close to 9 PM, and eat the
supper they had left for me on the table and in the oven.
One
day, I knocked on Malcolm M.’s door, whom I had never met. Back then, when a
visitor came to a farmhouse, typically the visitor was immediately invited
inside without having to first state his purpose. Times sure have changed!
Malcolm
(about 60 years-old) came to the door; I gave him a
friendly greeting, and came in as he invited me to do.
I knew nothing of him till now. I sat down. He and I chatted briefly, friendly
rural style. I soon told Malcolm my reason for being there, as I
pulled a blank questionnaire out of my briefcase preparing to start asking him
questions. Malcolm stood up from his chair, stalked the few steps to my
chair, angrily jerked the questionnaire from my hands, and threw
it onto the floor.
“Well,
we can just forget about that!” It was a plenty mean
voice.
I
don’t think Malcolm had ever killed a man. But I also think that he would
not hesitate to do so. He had physically fought many men,
sometimes fiercely. I think he always won each fight. No one ever
got the best of him. And likely he would have killed any man if he “had to”. I
didn’t know those things about him yet. But I sensed I had better not confront
this man at all. So, I made no move toward the questionnaire on the floor.
I just
continued talking to Malcolm in a most meek and friendly guest-like
manner, being as how I was his
guest. He was elderly and somewhat lonely (though living together with his wife
and 2 grown old-maid farmhand daughters who worked like men on
the farm). So, he loved to talk. We hadn’t talked long before he mentioned
something about his farm or farming and said; “You can
put that on the paper.” So, I meekly picked up the paper, entered that
info, meekly asked him all necessary questions, and Malcolm answered them all.
My visit with Malcolm was such a joy that 10 days or so later when I was again
in that area, I stopped at his house just to visit. He was happy
to see me. I learned many interesting
things.
Soon
after Daddy married, Dad and Mother moved onto a farm near Malcolm where they
interacted with his family in farm work. At Dad’s supper table after my first
visit with Malcolm, I told Dad I had met him. Dad silently smiled,
knowing it would have been an interesting encounter.
Now, Malcolm
tells me an interesting story of my Dad’s history.
“One time Pascal and I threshed dry peas together (using a mechanical pea
thresher). I saw sparks flying inside the thresher from the blades hitting
small pebbles that had been raked up with the peas. (The thresher separated the
peas from the hulls and they used the dry hulls also,
for cow feed.) I warned Pascal that he’d better not put those “sparked” dry
hulls into his barn that night, because they might be smoldering in places and
flame up later. I poured my hulls out in my barnyard for that night, and they flared
up and burnt up. Pascal put his hulls in his barn loft,
and burnt down his barn that night.”
Daddy
told us children ever so little about his life on earth before God created us. I
had never heard this “exciting” story before. So, that night at Daddy’s supper
table…‘I dropped in on Malcolm again today to visit,
and he told me about you burning your barn down!’ Silent Dad smiled and nodded
his head. No doubt my family’s heritage would be much richer to me, had
Daddy only related more of it to me. Parents, think on
such. (Mother died when I was 8, before she had much time to tell me of my
parents’ histories.)
It
took just over 3 weeks for me to complete my assigned area and finish this
census-taking job. It was a simple job
and a great joy to do. I learned
much about my home county (Lamar County) and its people. I’m most thankful
I was there to take that “once in a 10-year period” job, instead of having
entered Auburn U. “on time” in the fall quarter. Thank Thee, Lord
Jesus, for that rich
once-in-a-lifetime experience.
During this autumn of 1964, I applied to
Auburn University for the Winter Quarter that began the 1st week of
January 1965. My test grades to date were good enough. So, Auburn accepted me.
I prepared appropriately. (Little to do in that regard.) Thanksgiving and
Christmas holidays were plenty enjoyable at Daddy’s house. Our Yerby Christmas
gathering at Papa and Mama Yerby’s (Daddy’s parents) house near Belk was most
enjoyable. However, Mama Yerby’s health is failing badly.
Since
early June when my earthly father released me from his strict dominion over me,
I have continued to lodge in his house and eat at his table for “free” (as I
have done all my life), (but now often eating lunch elsewhere) as I have worked
3 different jobs consecutively for wages. All thru the Christmas and New Years
holiday period, I savor to the fullest these winter holidays at home, knowing
that I now plan to move out of Daddy’s house. I will fortunately have many
future opportunities to visit here and lodge with him in my boyhood home.
Still, this upcoming move to a university campus marks a major change
in “family life” for me. No longer will my boyhood home be my primary
earthly abode.
Abba
Father in Heaven, I heartily thank Thee for the boyhood life Thou didst ordain
for me, and most of all for saving my eternal soul during that boyhood. Amen!!
The
End Of Chapter 10