IT WAS ONLY YESTERDAY
I was born
on the backside to nowhere. My house was at the end of the road. The only thing
that went past my house was the footpath used by the Indians who lived deeper
in the Louisiana
I knew the woods the same way a city boy knows the streets. For me to
get lost in the woods was something never to happen. I could say to my buddy, “Meet me after school
over at Pine Cone Ridge, Cedar Tree Alley, or the old hollow cypress,” and he
knew exactly where to go.
Deep in the woods behind my house was a swift flowing creek. I knew
every log that crossed Indian Creek, and I knew on the other side was a vast
territory of endless woods. A venture to
the other side required a gun because Louisiana
What I experienced as a youngster would astonish the avid woodman of
today. I survived the charge of the Louisiana
My closest neighbors lived about five miles
away, but a mile meant nothing to a country boy. They all had large families but
none had cars. The only place we had to
go was to school and church, so we created our own entertainment. In the back
of the school bus coming home from the junior or senior plays, or returning from
basketball games, we engaged in activities that would have surprised the
church-goers of our community. We were
determined the city kids would have nothing on us when it came to living an
exciting life.
The woods provided a large playground for the younger generation. The
adults had no idea of the wild social activities that went on in the woods.
Boys experimented with girls and girls with boys, and occasionally the opposite
occurred.
All the girls knew the shortcut
through the woods to take food to ailing Aunt Molly. And boys knew how to
confiscate more than food from the girls who made a deliberate pathway through
the woods. Poor old Aunt Molly never
realized how much pleasure her sickness brought to the young people of our
community.
A good place to meet friends on
any summer day was on the way to the swimming hole. There was an ideal spot in
the chilling waters of Indian Creek meant just for swimming. The swimming hole
was deep and big enough to accommodate a large number of swimmers. Mixed with
water moccasins and large catfish, it was a summer meeting place for teenagers,
and if one word could describe it; it would be fun.
No one owned a swimsuit and if we did it was not allowed at the Indian
Creek swimming hole. Male and female nude bodies were looked upon as the norm
and norm was the usual in country living.
We were a group of friends who probably knew too much about each other.
But we were kids and we didn’t care. We were a tight-lipped group, and we kept
secrets that have never been revealed not even until this day.
On Sundays we knew how to put on the invisible robe of righteousness, give
a quick wink to our friends, stare the preacher directly in the eyes, and sing
the gospel hymns. At a young age we had
experienced hypocrisy, because we had seen the examples set by the adults.
We knew the best places to build the Saturday
night camp fires, and even though no one had a telephone, we just knew to be
there. We experienced the pleasures of a midnight dip in the cold waters of the
old swimming hole. And even today, there is a lingering memory of the vision of
the moonbeams that danced across the waters from the waves being made by nude,
well-defined, suntanned bodies.
Youthful days seemed to pass slowly but in the reality of time they
passed quickly. We were eager to grow up and experience the bright lights of
the big cities never realizing we were leaving behind the camp fires of
paradise. But it happened. We quickly became adults but never dreamed that one
day we would be the senior citizens. And as strange as it may seem, we now face
the twilight of our lives. The days past quick and the nights are restless. We have
a full understanding of the meaning, “Young men will see visions, and old men
will dream dreams.” Retirement is made tolerable because we dream about
being young, and in our dreams we relive those days of our youth.
Today, as I read the obituary of an old-time special friend, something
strange happened. I started trembling and dropped the newspaper. Then I heard a
roar. It came like a hurricane. It knocked me to the floor. A vision appeared and suddenly turned into a
flashback. I heard the voices and I saw the faces of my young friends. We were on the school bus ride. We were
laughing and talking with a joy so deep we did not recognize it as a source of
pleasure. Then the bus ride turned into
a summer day at the swimming hole. The vision was clear. I was standing by the side
of my obituary friend, and I reached out and put my arm around him. We were
laughing, talking, and having a great time. Our youthful bodies were glistening
in the sun. We were young, proud, and happy. But the vision changed. Suddenly, I was seated
on the third row of the Pleasant
Hill Baptist Church
Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine,
We’ll understand it, all by and by.
The vision faded and I pulled
myself into a standing position. Then in an uncontrolled voice I shouted, “I’m
alive!” Still in a confused state, I used the words, “Master, what is it that
you would have me do?”
The answer came, “I command you to live each day with hope.”
“Hope,” I answered, “Where is an old man’s hope?”
“It is the hope for a tomorrow.”
“But wisdom says there are more yesterdays than tomorrows.”
“If given the opportunity would you return to the backside of nowhere
and do it all over again?”
“You bet ya!”
“Then I’ll consider your request tomorrow.”
“But what if tomorrow never
comes?”
The
answer came with a paraphrase from the scriptures.
“Even though a man liveth, without hope he is
dead.”
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