STRETCHING THE INVISIBLE UMBILICAL

My sister “Cleo” was born on the 7th of May and my brother left home on the 7th of June in 1951. He was barely sixteen. He’d fallen in-love and wanted to get married. In order to do this, he’d need to find some means of support. St. Louis, Missouri was about two hundred and fifty miles away. Many of his friends had gone there and found work in the industrial plants. He felt certain that he could do the same. My Daddy was opposed to the idea. He had four other children to support and he didn’t want to lose his helper.

After much discussion, sometimes very heated, my brother was given the family blessing to seek his own fortune. He packed his few belongings, and before I realized what had happened, he was gone. The thought that he would never live with us again brought a dark gloom into our home. I never knew I loved him so much. The feeling of emptiness was overwhelming to me. He’d always been there and to imagine life without him was impossible. We’d slept in the same bed for years. Never dared touch each other, of course, but nevertheless we shared the same bed. I waited anxiously for the General to receive his first letter. It came at the end of the second week. He’d obtained a job in a meat packing company and was receiving union scale wages. We rejoiced in his success. I waited eagerly for his first visit. I wanted to hear about the great city that lay beyond my small world.

The following week he wrote that he would be coming home Friday evening after he got off from work. I waited for what seemed like an eternity for his arrival. Finally, at midnight I heard a car stop. I heard his voice and then a door slammed. I leaped from my bed and rushed out to meet him. The General had heard him too and had beat me into the living room and turned on the light. I went to the front door and fairly jerked it open. He came in and the General fell into his arms and started to cry. I stood in embarrassed silence. “There, there, Mom,” he said, holding her away from him. She dried her eyes and laughed happily. Turning to me he smiled and reached out his hand. I grabbed it and shook it vigorously. My Daddy had come into the room and we all started to talk at once. I was overcome with pride for this handsome, confident, young man that was my brother. At that moment I’d never admired a man more. A few years later, I’d name my firstborn son after him.

The place he had occupied in the family had fallen to me. I was fourteen and would now do the hard labor that he had previously done. I welcomed the new position, but resisted the work. My Daddy had a whole new expectation of me now. We had a very difficult time adjusting to my new post. I’d not been trained as my brother had. I was inept at skills in which he’d been an expert. This was of great frustration to My Daddy. For the first time our relationship became strained. I began to think of the far off city. Perhaps, I could find my way there too. Overtime we worked it all out and came to respect each other. Before I knew what had happened, I was graduating from high school.

Those of you that read the previous chapter, where the General communicated to me, may have doubts as to that really happening. I can only say that it was my psychic impression. The exact source of the information that came into my conscious mind is a mystery. I do know that the General communicated this to me, in some form, at some time. Maybe I collected the information as I watched and listened to her when she was living. I don't know that it really matters. It was a very real and emotional event for me and this is the way I’ve chosen to tell the story.

When I started these simple essays of my life I’d no intention of writing what I have. I wanted to tell of all the fantastic events that I’d witnessed in my life from rural Arkansas to the battlefields of Vietnam. I didn’t want to plow through the sad, mundane things of my childhood. In fact, recounting some of the more painful events was quite troubling. My intention was not to stand emotionally naked before you. But I had no choice and felt compelled to do so. I’d suffer hours before each essay. A good number of these events, I hadn’t thought about in years. I’d spend sleepless nights tossing and dreaming of my childhood and then the memory would pour forth from my sub-conscious. The clarity of the events was almost mystical.

Many have tried to influence me in what, and how, I was to write. I resisted. I’ve had doubts, at times, if I was doing anything that would have lasting value. I put all my misgivings aside and wrote with the idea of being true to my inner self. Even though some of it may seem daring, it was straight from the heart. It reflects culture and beliefs of generations passed. Time will tell if I gave them justice.

People have asked me, “Do you really remember the color of the hat the man was wearing when you went to get Ol’ Trigger?” I must say, “No, I do not." I wrote as if I was watching it from a distance. The picture would come into my mind, and I would record it as it unfolded. I told the stories from the standpoint of the culture and language of the time as I remember it. All these stories, in fact, are based on truth. They were all real events that have occurred in my life.

What came forward seemed to have a life of its’ own. When I was confused about how to continue I’d walk in the park. Then, I’d get impressions. When I wrote of our mother not being just a soldier of Jesus, but a General, it came to me on the wind. I suddenly realized she was no ordinary, garden variety, Christian. Everyone that came to know her sensed it. I realized she’d been given a special role in her life and wasn’t of the rank and file. She was the Officer that led us. Her last ten years lying unable to move in a nursing home only added to her great dignity. I felt then, as I do now, that she was given the opportunity to complete her walk into sainthood.

The day that I wrote about Ol’ Gray I’d been walking in the park. I looked up into the heavens and I saw a big, white, cumulus cloud floating. I plainly saw an image of a man sitting on a great, white horse. I walked to my car and wrote the simple poem at the end of the essay.

After a few futile attempts at trying to write something impressive about my adult life, I faltered. Then, little by little, I became aware that this was to be about the part of my life that had formed me. I came to understand that this was not only about me, but also about My Daddy, mommy, sisters and brother. The things that had the greatest impact on my development happened before I was fourteen. At that age, I’d become a man. After that, I responded as I’d been formed. I now realize that boys and girls are men and women long before society allows them to take on the role. Now, I understand why in primitive societies young men and women go through rites of passage to manhood or womanhood at the age of thirteen or fourteen.

In coming generations when people read this account, I hope they will give thought to the spirit of our family. The human condition is forever changing. Wealth comes and goes as the world shifts. The great thing about our family is the indomitable spirit we have inherited from our ancestors. The hardships from the Civil War, poverty, disease, and death challenged us as a people. We rose to meet those challenges. The wheat was separated from the chaff when the strong winds blew. We have a great heritage. We have come from, and remain, a great people.

The day I left for the U. S. Navy the General and I stood on the front porch looking at each other. She had tears in her eyes and her heart was broken, I’d just completed high school the previous Friday. I felt the call to go and seek my own destiny. She knew the life of a cotton farmer was not to be my fate. We slowly walked arm in arm to the car where the Navy Recruiter waited. Upon reaching the car I opened the door and turned towards her. She pulled me to her and through her tears she whispered, “Always be a good boy, son.” I kissed her, stepped into the car and left my childhood forever. The invisible umbilical was being stretched to its limit, but it had not yet been broken.