DADDY'S BABY GIRL

Growing up, I was known as “Daddy’s baby.”  My father made no bones about it.  I was his “baby” until the day he died.  He was my go-to person as is usually the case with little girls and their daddy.  Don’t get me wrong, my Momma was everything a Momma is supposed to be, and more.  But, you know.  It’s a “woman thing” with Mommas and little girls.  Sometimes, they just flat out don’t like each other.  Especially when it comes to prissy clothes, hairdo’s, makeup, and being perfect.  I wasn’t into any of those things like she wanted me to be.  I marched to my own drum being slouchy, tacky, stringy headed, etc.  But Daddy was my hero.  Only once did he ever punish me with a spanking after I jumped up and grabbed a sturdy looking limb on the small pecan tree which was just perfect to swing on, between our house and Big Momma’s.  Although I’d been warned about it, I just couldn’t resist.  The limb cracked and broke smack off the tree trunk.  Uncle Aubrey wasn’t pleased.  Neither was Daddy.

Daddy and I connected.  He didn’t scold me.  He didn’t judge me.  He loved me unconditionally and I knew it.  Through the years, he and I would take road trips together to visit Aunt Mattie Mae in Wrightsville every time they had a family reunion or homecoming, at the little country church near her house. We’d have “dinner on the ground” with fried chicken, potato salad, cakes, pies, and of course home cooked fresh vegetables and jugs of tea.  Sweet, of course.  There was no such thing as unsweetened tea when I grew up.

About once a month, we’d travel to Atlanta to visit Granny Elkins who had moved there after Granddaddy passed away.  Daddy loved his Mother and made a point to visit her as often as possible.  Momma seldom went with us.  Just Daddy and me.  I looked forward to that time with him.  He stopped in Eatonton once and showed me the Uncle Remus House and we talked about Brer Rabbit and the briar patch stories.  We walked around the square and found a café to have lunch.

Most every time, we would have lunch upstairs in Ding Ho’s restaurant in downtown Atlanta. It was Daddy’s favorite Chinese place and I felt so grown up as we dined in the dark atmosphere and oriental décor with white tablecloths and napkins.  I remember how I loved the Blue Willow plates!  The bowls would be brought to the table full of rice and our favorite dish, Chop Suey. And the silver teapots with steaming tea was quite a novelty for a country girl.  But Daddy knew just how to fit in.  He ordered like it was an everyday occasion to dine there with his “baby” girl. The trip home wouldn’t be complete without stopping in Jackson for some of the delicious barbeque and Brunswick Stew.   I treasured those special outings with my Daddy.

Daddy loved to tease me about my sweetheart when I was a little girl.  Yes, that sweetheart was the one who became my husband of 60 years.  But the truth was, that Daddy didn’t want to lose his “baby girl.”  Many years later, he wrote the sweetest poem which is part of a large collection of treasured poems of his, Granny Elkins, Momma, and even my own.  I guess we were just all able to express our thoughts better in writing than in person.  Especially Daddy.  He was a man of few words, but some of his writings were hauntingly beautiful.  He didn’t talk about himself much and they gave insight into a man most people didn’t know.  

My Little Baby Girl

By Herbert Elkins

Quite a long time ago, back in ‘38

Something wonderful was about to happen

And I could hardly wait.

Then an angel came down from another world,

And brought to our home a precious little baby girl.

I strutted around and bragged with joy.

To tell the truth, I was glad it wasn’t a boy.

I remember the cute things she would do and say,

Winding herself around your heart, growing tighter every day.

But all too soon time flew by,

Then one day I noticed a twinkle in her eye.

“Not my Baby!” I said, “Good heavens above”

When she said, “Daddy, I need your blessings –

I’m deeply in love!”

“Leave our home?  Get married?  Change your name?

True, you never caused us any worry or brought us any shame.

But if you’re really in love and your lover is true, go with my blessings my Baby, and good luck to you!”

It must have been right for there is happiness in her home. 

She has a wonderful little family and little babies of her own.

I hope you’ll always be happy and have the best things in the world.

But don’t forget, your Daddy loves his little baby girl!

…………………………………

The Daddy I knew and loved is the only one I remember.  Time and events have a way of changing us as we grow older and the Daddy I remember became a different person later in his life.  His life ended too soon.  I can only hope that he made peace with himself before his death. 

LEARNING TO WAIT

As a child, emotions of anticipation, daydreams, waiting and expectations were part of growing up.   I can remember how exciting it was between Thanksgiving and Christmas when I would be so full of anticipation and dreams of the gifts that Santa Claus would bring.  Usually, there was one “big” item that I focused on and hoped that Santa would find a way to deliver under our modest slash pine Christmas tree.  In my wildest imagination, I didn’t allow myself to foresee anything beyond that one item.  Anything beyond that was pure “gravy.” 

As time moved forward into my teen years, I continued to try to focus on what I hoped for.  No more Santa Claus dreams, but what I wished for in life.  Would I be married?  Would I have children?  Would I go to college?  Would I be successful in whatever I chose?  Being a planner by nature, I had a mental outline of happiness for me.   It was very clear in my mind and my heart that I wanted to marry my sweetheart, have a family and a home of my own.  It all equaled love, happiness and security. 

In my own way, I imagined how I could make it all happen.  I would write down a list of things that would be needed to make my life happen just the way I hoped for.  I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I finished high school, got a job, bought a refrigerator and stove “on time” and figured, heck, I was practically there.  Next, the china, silver and crystal patterns, bridal showers, and a wedding. Then poof,  two young people in love were married and ready to take on all the fun that goes into raising a family, like bottles, diapers, making a home, buying a car, food, clothes, insurance, and on and on.  I figured some of it would have to wait, but we had carefully figured it all out on paper that we could make it work.  $2.00 a week here, $2.00 a week there.  $20 a month rent, we wouldn’t eat much, so we could save a lot on groceries by carefully shopping.  We didn’t need any clothes since we brought everything we owned to our newly furnished (“on time again”) apartment.  We didn’t have a car, but shoot, we could walk everywhere anyway and we could always borrow one if we had to.  And so it was that this young girl who thought she had it all figured out, began to learn to wait.

I have always considered myself to be patient, calm under stress, and able to take control whenever I needed to.  It comes with the territory when you become a Mom.  But learning to keep a meal hot without cooking the peas until they turn to bullets waiting for your husband to come home from work until 10:00 pm, isn’t explained in the marriage manual, or the cookbook. You feed the children, but you wait.    Instructions to set up a new kitchen in an unfamiliar house isn’t included in the lease, nor is meeting new friends when you’re the new kid on the block.  New schools, new church, new home, new city.  But wait, we’ll get used to it.  Piece of cake.  Consider waiting until the zero hour to leave the house with children for an appointment somewhere important and having to explain that Daddy had to work late again and couldn’t get home in time to go.  Ponder the disappointment in their faces.

What about all the times when you’re expected at someone’s house for dinner, a meeting, church,  or a special occasion, and you’re all dressed and ready to go, but the time just slipped away and now you’re going to arrive late because you have to wait .  Time slipped away at work.   How about a much-needed vacation that had been planned and payed for, but only part of the family spends a week at the beach cottage?  “But, it’s a huge project.  A big client.  A big snafu has come up and I should be there now!  Not next week!” And so, it goes.  Year after year after year.  Move after move.   Job after job. 

And then there are two.  No more worrying about schools, football games, baseball games, commitments, or smoothing the hurt for opportunities lost and promises not kept.  Time to get on with life as an empty nester.  But, on the plus side, you have all the family time (if there is any) just for yourself.  Wow!  Think impromptu mini trips, meeting up for drinks and dinner after work, and lazy Sunday mornings with coffee and pancakes together.  You plan a secret trip to the mountains, throw toothbrushes, pajamas and robes, and a change of underwear in a small bag and sit waiting.  Something about having a break down at the last minute and it had to be taken care of before leaving work.  So, you’re finally off, three hours late to check in the resort. You wanted to sit outside in the moonlight overlooking the Peaks of Otter but instead, simply crashed, exhausted from the two-hour drive and tense conversation.

There are innumerable times of driving like maniacs to get wherever it is you’re supposed to be a 6:00 PM because you didn’t leave home until 5:45 PM to make a 45-minute drive.  Countless times meals were overcooked and you finally decide to eat alone and go to bed.  Waiting. “I’m coming home early today”!  “Next week-end I’ll be off work and I’ll help you with that garden.” “I’ll be home next week-end!” 

Retirement comes.  Eventually, there is a presence at home.  Boredom sets in.  Old habits of needing to have a challenge set in and part time jobs become full time jobs and back to retirement again.   Home is a place to come when you’ve run out of something to do somewhere else.  The garage and outbuildings become a sanctuary for old cars and various projects left unfinished through the years.  Meals are prepared, announced, and eaten alone.  Friends or neighbors have a need for some odd job and time is lost to them.  Health issues take a toll and energy level and ambition are gone.  Death comes.  Now, life is like an abyss leading to an unknown place.  Life decisions are made with great uncertainty.   There are no plans. There’s no going back.  I have learned how to wait.

WINTER DAY AT RURAL OAKS

It was one of those cold and snowy days out at Rural Oaks Farm that comes in February.  Our driveway was frozen solid with the packed snow making any effort to get down to the mailbox perilous.  Up the hill stood the big main farmhouse overlooking the entire 500 some odd acres of family land.  Several generations had been raised there.  Now, it was occupied by a family friend who loved it just as the owner did.  Huge boxwood led up the path to the porch and the large old trees surrounded the home like a Mother guarding her child.   They were bare now but in the summertime, hung over the enormous grounds providing cool shade for summer picnics.  A big barn, complete with all the farm implements stood to the left.    They were of little use nowadays since tobacco was not grown anymore and most of the fields were either leased out or used to raise sheep by another family member. 

The nearest neighbors are at least a quarter mile away in either direction, but everybody looks out for everybody else as is the custom in this small Virginia county, where everybody knows your name.  Up the hill, another small farm with a brick house sitting back through the field can hardly be seen but once you get there, the hill becomes a pinnacle for a view of the valley behind the home.  Beautiful fruit trees, summer crops, flowers, and everything good makes you want to just sit down and have a glass of lemonade in summer or on a cold winter day like this day, sit in the homey kitchen where cinnamon bread may be in the oven and a pot of navy bean soup on the stove.  Tommy and Betty Sue had raised a family here and never expect to leave.  It’s home.

Today, as usual when the weather is bad, Tommy goes out, cranks up his old tractor that’s sitting under the carport, and waits for it to warm up.  Betty Sue is inside the warm house making breakfast.   The usual routine is, once the tractor warms up good while they have breakfast, he backs it out, plows their driveway through the front field, and on down to the next house.  Once the snow is removed from this one, he drives down the road to the next one, until every driveway on the neighboring farms has been cleared enough for folks to at least get their mail.    Tommy was a quiet man, robust and happy.  He was a former Extension Agent so he was doing his thing.  Being outside in the elements winter or summer was no big deal to him.  In summer, he grew buckets of tomatoes, corn, squash.  It was not unusual to come home from work and find a huge bucket of produce sitting on my porch.  No note, nothing.  I knew Tommy has been by.

As time passes, Betty Sue realizes it shouldn’t take this long for him to come back inside while the tractor warmed up.  She wondered what’s taking so long and decides to check to see if he had left without coming back in for breakfast.  Tommy was there on the floor of the carport.  Tommy, our good neighbor had apparently slipped on the icy floor as he prepared to plow the snow from his friends and neighbor’s driveways.  

Seeing the emergency vehicles roar up the road, we knew something bad had happened.  Sol jumped in his truck and made his way up the road where he heard the story.    Good friends like the Barnes’s are hard to come by.  We’d just had Christmas dinner with them that year enjoying time with their whole family.  We were alone that year and they knew it, so they invited us to share their holiday meal around their table.  In just a few weeks, he was gone leaving a great void in his home, church, and Southside Virginia near Rural Oaks Farm.         

A PLACE AT THE TABLE

As I sit down at my table, one of the sweet servers sided up to me and whispers, "Girl, you are gone get you a boyfriend looking so pretty like you do"! I laughed and countered that there weren't many prospects in the dining room as the whole place is made up of about 99% women, and old women at that, and I wasn't about to go bar hopping.  At least, not yet.

She says "you got to get out!  you got to go someplace where they's people!   Go to the shopping center, go to Walmart!   They be lots of men out there looking for a beautiful woman like you!"  I smiled, thanked her for her advice, and took my seat next to my 92 year old classy lady friend who loves to brag about her wealthy family and complain about the residents.

Another resident drags up a chair and allows as to how she just doesn't feel comfortable at that other table anymore and she was going to sit at our table.  ( "Our" table used to be a table of one, until I started sitting with the classy lady because she was alone.)  The other two seats are now up for grabs.   The transient resident said she used to sit at that table over there,  but they started filling it up before she got there,  so she's moved to the other one where she doesn't feel "right" and now she's coming to ours.  What a mess!  

I allowed as to how I wished there would be assigned seating so that everybody had someone to sit with and nobody would be left alone or feeling like they were unwelcome at a table.  My 92 year old classy lady, black eyes flashing,  nearly threw a hissy fit when I said that.  She didn't care if anyone ever sat at her table and there were some she didn't want to sit at her table and she had been there 22 years and blah, blah, blah and all they did was gossip!

Now, I'm sitting here thinking that I chose to sit with this classy old lady because she was alone and I felt sorry for her sitting by herself, and she's ranting and raving about this and that person doing so and so and used a few choice words in the process.  I've heard over and over about how she's donated to our fine home and now I'm thinking, uh oh, I done got myself into a situation.   Maybe that rumor I heard about her just might be true.

  

Now I've already spoken to classy lady about her talking about people and told her that if she didn't stop it, I was going to move to another table.  I told her that nobody had been rude to me, tried to bully me, or talked too much.   She looked at me in disbelief that day, but I think she knows I meant it. 

I'm not sure I'm ready for life in the fast lane.   I could scope out Walmart or the shopping center after all.   I just hope I don't run into the dude again who wanted to look at my feet.  He definitely wasn't my type.  Bar hopping at the Ritz Carlton may be my last resort.  At least the clientele may be dignified.

THE TUPPERWARE PARTY

Any housewife who lived during the 50’s or 60’s remembers Tupperware.  It was all the rage!  It was almost like a rite of passage for young marrieds to have a Tupperware party which was hosted in their home with the hopes of getting a free pie carrier, cake carrier, or bowls of different sizes that fit nice and neatly into each other.  Without the lids, of course.  With the lids, you could stack them on top of each other.  Either way was a beautiful addition to your kitchen cabinets which were probably sparse like mine.  After a few years, they began to branch out their line to Popsicle molds, tomato aspic molds, juice glasses, and all sorts of other things.  They were all pale pastel colors.  And they ALL had that seal cover.

Now the idea was, that these things would seal up themselves so tight that you could keep your food covered in the refrigerator for days, maybe even weeks.  Heck, I saved some things for a few months although it did grow hair and when I remembered what was in there and opened them up, had to jump back a few feet to miss the atomic explosion of crud.  But, if you burped them like you were supposed to, they would be tight as a drum and not SUPPOSED to let in air to contaminate the food.  Therein lies the problem.  Burping them correctly.

We had just moved into a brand spanking new house so I decided it was time for me to brush up on my social skills a little and give a Tupperware party.  After all, all the beautiful wedding gifts were too pretty to store leftovers in and like I said, it was all the rage so I had to have me some Tupperware.  I invited several of my friends over for an afternoon party and spruced up my bare dining room with a card table complete with a white cloth and maybe a vase of yard flowers.  We sat around an ate petit fours, nuts, and probably some of that green punch made from lime sherbet and ginger ale while everybody looked at the beautiful display of Tupperware.  Then came the time for the demonstration to begin on how wonderful this stuff was and how it would hold gallons of water without spilling a drop even if you dropped it on the floor.   I got the largest bowl I could find, showed everybody how to put the lid just right in the little grooves, and properly burp the lid at the lip, so it would be sealed up tight as the ancient pyramids and Dick’s hat band.    Then I dramatically held the bowl up high with my two hands, and let go. 

After I  mopped the water off the floor, and asked just how many of my dearest friends couldn’t live without one of those mint green bowls and got out my pad to write up orders, they just sort of started chatting among themselves about how cute so and so’s baby was, how they just loved the new preacher, and did you know so and so is PG?  I’m not real sure how many of those little green bowls I sold, but I don’t think I got more than a sippy cup for my reward on the day’s take.  I know I didn’t sell a pie saver or cake carrier. 

Eventually, I collected, by going to somebody else’s party, enough of those bowls to stack three of them up and they looked nice with my collection of Cool Whip containers.  I lost two of the lids during one of our moves.   After the Tupperware party rage, came make up parties, art parties, jewelry parties, fashion parties, lingerie and on down the list.  Can you imagine what kind of mess I could have gotten myself into with some of them?   So, I mostly stuck with the bridge parties after that.  You can’t do too much damage with a deck of cards.

UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR

There is more than enough news recently about sexual harassment in the workplace.   Sexual harassment is when you are expected to endure or perform some type of sexual behavior to gain a higher position, more money, or simply to continue an association with some jerk who thinks he can get away with it.  I find it difficult to imagine tolerating harassment as an adult who can make a choice to walk away from the situation.  Anything a person can’t walk away from such as sexual, psychological or physical abuse is another whole subject.   

It simply isn’t ok for anyone to use their position of “importance” to entice someone to be part of behavior that they are not comfortable with. There are also instances where walking away might remove you from the immediate situation, but can place you in an uncomfortable situation.    You could ruin the reputation and cause extreme heartache for an unsuspecting family or friend or both.  Public figures are at a great risk for this very reason.  Remember the “swinger” web site scandal?  Ouch. 

In small towns, everyone knows everyone.  You sit next to them in church.  You are class with them.  You are in class with their children.  You may babysit for them.  You might sing in the church choir or go to parties with them and you wave at them on the street passing by.  You’ve known these people all your life and you trust them because they are like family.

When I was in high school, I took a class called Vocational Office Training.  Part of the class included working in a business at a nominal wage for a short time to gain some experience in a work place setting.  I was at my desk typing one day and my employer, touched me inappropriately.  He said nothing.  I said nothing.  I immediately covered my typewriter, got my school books and purse, and left to walk home.  He followed me in his car almost all the way home calling to me to let him give me a ride.  All I could think of was that if I told my folks, my Dad would be out for a showdown and it wouldn’t be pretty.  Embarrassment would surely follow as this was a member of my church with a fine family.  I couldn’t think straight.  I just kept walking.  The next day, I knew I had to let my teacher know, since she would have to make the arrangements for another place for me to work because I had no intention of going back to that office.  I told her in confidence and asked her to never place another student in that business again and to please not betray my confidence.  I never told my Daddy.  I didn’t tell my Mother until the man had passed away and I had grown children of my own. 

I don’t tell this story to accuse someone who waits years and years before coming forward with their accusations.  I make no excuses for allowing a grown man with children get away with what he did to me. In my opinion at the time, the consequences would have hurt too many people who were innocent and, thankfully I wasn’t hurt physically.   I tell this simply to say that sometimes we don’t know the right thing to do or say.  We stay silent because it’s the least complicated way to handle a situation.   Sexually abused young children may simply not want to cause a fight at home or experience punishment.  They may have been abused by the most trusted member of their family and they are so confused about love that they allow themselves to believe it is ok and that’s a way of showing love to them.   Some of them live the rest of their lives trying to sort out the wrongness of it all, sometimes blaming themselves and feeling they deserved to be treated that way.   Sexual, physical and psychological abuse is more prevalent than most people know.

Currently, it seems that the more prominent, more powerful, more visible people who should have our respect because of their accomplishments and positions, have dirtied not only their own families and friends who supported them, but our nation.   When our President can face the nation, and lie, be proven guilty, and even impeached but remain in the highest position in the land as if it were a minor school yard offense, surely, we must know there’s trouble on the horizon.     Our society has become so complacent that we just listen intently to the news and then wait gleefully for the next scandal to break.      It’s just a matter of time.

MEMORIES - Reflections of My Life

Recently, I have been doing a lot of family research for membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution.  I don’t know why, at my age, suddenly it has become a mission other than the fact that I never knew I would remotely qualify for admission.  So, after finding out my gggg grandfather had served in the Revolutionary War, I set out to become a member of what my impression had deemed a coveted and special “club”.  It is still special, but I have a greater understanding of the requirements.   Not as easy as it sounds.  I may never reach my goal due to strict guidelines of proving lineage.  I’m almost there, but not there yet.

That’s not the focus of this story, however.  While reading everything I can get my hands on that may give me any history of my heritage and pedigree, I have read and re-read my Mom’s special log book “Memories – Reflections of My Life” looking for clues.  What I really want to tell you about it is how precious it is to look at her entries and in my mind’s eye, be that chubby little round faced girl who grew up to become that amazing woman that I called Momma.  I can visualize so clearly her wide brown eyes and little fingers as she tiptoes to reach the piano keys.  I can see her playing around in the dirt at Big Daddy’s shop with her hammer he “loaned” her to make her table from scrap wood.  I imagine the excitement of the little ones getting a “sack” when Big Daddy came home from the store and always remembered to bring them some stick candy.  And the time when they took a trip to see her brother in the Model T ford which had to be cranked by hand and they tried to cross the river when it was swollen with flood water from a storm.   And as she grows older, I can imagine how she swooned over my Daddy when she first saw him and was asked out on a date with him when all the girls were asking “who’s the new good looking boy in town”?

The family of Tom and Nona Scott never had much in terms of material things.  They worked hard raising seven boys and three girls in the country near Dellwood, Georgia.    According to Momma’s memories, her father was a tall, sturdy and good looking man, quite muscular and emotionally stable.  He was a happy family man, not so well off financially, but always worked hard and made a living for them all.  He wasn’t a social man much, but had many, many friends that loved and respected him.  He was a blacksmith.  Something we don’t know too much about today, but had his own shop where he worked every day repairing wagons wheels and buggies, and shoeing horses.  Mother would play with the little scrap pieces of spokes from the wheels and make her a little table using the spokes for the legs.  He never used profanity, spoke well, and taught the children never to use slang words.  He was beyond reproach as a father and husband.

Nona, my Grandmother, was everything a Mother should be.  Her home and children were central to her life.  She was a happy person, singing hymns while cooking, sewing, and cleaning.  She was content with what she had, although she never acquired many worldly goods.  Her outlook on life was one that never dwelt on gloom.  With just a meager education, she managed to teach her children good grammar and didn’t accept anything less.  She loved pretty things, and though nothing she ever owned could have been very expensive, she was a stickler for neatness. 

Attendance to church was mandatory to the family and family prayer was held each night as they knelt around the fire.     Of the people who my Momma admired the most in her life, she says “First and foremost, as a child, I most admired my Mother and Father.  They were the greatest two people on earth because they taught us all the right things to say and do and to become.   They were special people!

Reading Momma’s memories of her first day of school, her Christmas seasons, her first date, her marriage, and people who most influenced her in life is like having a sweet conversation with her.  It hasn’t given me the information that I seek, but I keep reading through my tears, as I remember who I am, who she was, who her Mother and Father were and how my life was shaped forever by those who loved me and sacrificed for me.