Ah, September! The heat of the summer passes, the September rains come, football heats up, and ... winter is just around the corner! AAAAGGGHHH!
That is the one fact that keeps me from enjoying September as I should! I know what's coming, and its not gonna be good. Now I know some of you love winter, but summer holds my heart. In any case, both of my parents were born in September, so I will dedicate this column to them, and tell you some more about them.
My dad now, was a real corker. Some of you who knew him would agree with me, I'm sure. He was born in 1909, in Rhea, Okla., the grandson of German immigrants; and he could remember hearing them speak German, especially at night, when they said their rosary. One side of his family came up the Mississippi River from New Orleans, and the other side came down the Mississippi river from New York, via Canada. They met in the little town of St. Genevieve, Mo., right on the Big Muddy. From there, they headed west and stopped in the panhandle of Oklahoma. He told me many stories about growing up a poor country boy, some of which I'm sure were exaggerated just a little. But I will never know for sure.
Once, according to Daddy, he was sent out to hunt for their supper with only one bullet, so he had to make it count. He spied a squirrel, and thinking to save his bullet, decided to climb the tree and stick his hand into the hole into which he had seen the squirrel disappear. Bad decision. Instead of going home with supper, he went home with a torn up hand. But ... he still had the bullet!
His family also owned a cotton gin and, at one point, his parents had to go into town, or on some errand, and Daddy was told to stay away from the cotton gin. I guess his parents weren't acquainted with child psychology. Of course that is the first place he went, as soon as they were out of sight, and lost a fingernail to the gin. That nail never grew back correctly; it was deformed all his life.
He also had a small green line on the bridge of his nose. Seems that while helping a friend move a stove, he dropped a section of stovepipe on his nose, upon which the pipe deposited a small amount of soot. Well, the wound healed over the soot, and he had a permanent reminder of his incident, sort of like a nose tattoo.
He had many other scars too numerous to mention. And I have already spoken here of how he lost the majority of his teeth!
And then there was the time that he had a date on Saturday night, but his dad insisted that he finish discing the field before he could go. They had draft horses that pulled the disc and Daddy, of course, was in a big hurry, so he turned the horses too sharply on one corner, and the disc rolled over one of the big horse's back feet and cut it pretty badly. So there he was, in hot water, again!
But his tendency to jump into situations without thinking also brought about some good results. One very cold winter day, (I believe it was when the family lived in Illinois), two little girls fell through the ice on the pond in the town park. My brother alerted my dad and Daddy rushed out wearing nothing but his long underwear, jumped into the water and saved them both. One of the girls was already sinking beneath the water, and all he could reach was her blond hair as it drifted near the surface. He grabbed her hair and pulled her in. The other had on a snowsuit that kept her afloat for a few critical moments. I have the newspaper article describing the event. Its title reads: "Thank goodness for long blond hair and snowsuits," but I always thought it should have said, "Thank goodness for the brave man in his underwear!"
Mom was opposite of Daddy in a lot of ways. She was more soft spoken, cautious and, well, just less "out there." She had a four-year nursing degree but married Daddy soon after graduation and didn't use her education until much later on in her life. She was born in 1911, in Follette, Texas. Her parents were also mostly German, with some French and Welsh thrown in for good measure. She had a dry sense of humor but was still a no-nonsense kind of person. And if looks could kill, well, there would have been bodies everywhere. She could freeze your soul with one of her steely-eyed stares. But it was always well deserved.
Mom's family knew plenty of hardships too. She told me of surviving dust storms in the '30s. They would stuff fabric, towels and the like, under the doors and windows, but the dust still found a way in and coated everything inside, including people.
Her family also moved around a lot when she was young. She told me once about taking a trip from St. Joe, Mo., to Arizona in the winter, in an old Model-T with no heater. Grandpa took his dogs along for the ride, and Mom said that is all that kept her from freezing to death in the back seat. And my mom wasn't really a huge dog lover. So for her to snuggle up with the hounds, it must have really been cold. On the other side of that coin, she also told me that one very hot summer when my brother was a baby, they lived in an upstairs apartment with no air conditioning. She would fill a dishpan with water and sit with her feet in it, and drizzle water over her and the baby to keep cool. When I think of what they went through, I realize how fortunate I am.
Both of my parents worked hard all of their lives and expected nothing else from their children and grandchildren. As kids, we picked up walnuts, helped clear rocks out of the fields, helped in the chicken houses and with the chores around the farm. I wouldn't trade my raising for anything. So here's to September, and to my parents, Ruth and Ely Williams. Love and miss you, Mom and Dad!
Tamela Weeks is a freelance writer in the Gentry area. She may be reached by email at [email protected]. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 10/01/2014