I was reminded yesterday of an old story my mother told me. You see there was this lady of color that lived just down the road from our house. Mom knew her in a casual sort of way and would greet her whenever they met. This being in the late 1950's many people still walked to work and in our town there certainly wasn't any bus service. This lady walked past the end of our road on her way uptown. She was domestic help for the Gardiner family that lived on Main Street, just past the flagpole. It was a walk of considerable distance. Occasionally someone would stop and offer her a ride. She didn't always accept it, being a proud woman and independent. There may have been more to it, but no one talked about any of that back in those days. Anyway, she was amicable enough by all accounts and liked by the community.
Now just around the corner from my house was soak hide road. It is just a short connecting road from one main highway to another, at least what we thought of as main highways. In my day it was a two way street. I understand it has been made a way one these days. Mr. Nathan Collum lived on soak hide. His son Barry was born on the same day and year as I was. Yes, we were childhood friends, although we had different interests as we grew older. Still I knew Mr. Collum as a kind and gentle soul. He was usually working and I didn't see him much but he always seemed to me a timid sort of fellow. I say timid, but I really mean cautious. He was known for driving rather slowly wherever he went and had a curious habit of swinging wide on the turns. My father explained to me that Nate, as he was called, had learned to drive with a model A ford. On those old cars you had to swing wide when turning to avoid wheel chatter. The steering geometry hadn't been fully developed on those cars. Nate still swung wide although he was now driving a Chevy Impala. A 1965 if I remember correctly. It was blue.
There came a day when Nate stopped and offered a ride to that lady I was talking about in the first paragraph. I regret that her name has escaped me. Evidently she accepted because my Mom saw her getting out of his car. When she asked this lady about it one day the lady replied with, yes maam, Nate gave me a ride to work the other day and it was sure nice of him. Mom asked her how it was, riding with Nate. She says, oh it took some time to get up the road I can tell you that, fact is I said the pledge of allegiance three times as we passed the flagpole.
Well that story has been told and retold in my family for fifty years or more. It is probably not that funny to others that don't really know all the characters in the story. Everyone has stories like that. I expect playwrights and screenwriters collect those stories to use in their works. Those little incidences in life that strike a chord. We repeat them so often we only need to say the punchline. Part of what makes them funny is remembering what the person sounded like. I didn't personally hear that lady say those words but know the sound of her voice. I can hear the tone and inflection. And so in my family if someone is slow we may say, I said the pledge of allegiance three times as I passed the flagpole. The rest of the story is unimportant.
There are other stories and phrases that we use unconsciously. They are the things we have heard our parents, siblings and friends say. They may be descriptions or anecdotes. They can range from a single word to a tall tale. I think of them as the dialogue of our life. Those expressions, thoughts and conclusions we have gathered over the years being shared. To live is to add to the conversation not just repeat the dialogue. What stories may be told of me I couldn't say. No matter, as long as you are remembered. You are who you choose to become. It's nothing to take too seriously. Life is far too short for that.
Now just around the corner from my house was soak hide road. It is just a short connecting road from one main highway to another, at least what we thought of as main highways. In my day it was a two way street. I understand it has been made a way one these days. Mr. Nathan Collum lived on soak hide. His son Barry was born on the same day and year as I was. Yes, we were childhood friends, although we had different interests as we grew older. Still I knew Mr. Collum as a kind and gentle soul. He was usually working and I didn't see him much but he always seemed to me a timid sort of fellow. I say timid, but I really mean cautious. He was known for driving rather slowly wherever he went and had a curious habit of swinging wide on the turns. My father explained to me that Nate, as he was called, had learned to drive with a model A ford. On those old cars you had to swing wide when turning to avoid wheel chatter. The steering geometry hadn't been fully developed on those cars. Nate still swung wide although he was now driving a Chevy Impala. A 1965 if I remember correctly. It was blue.
There came a day when Nate stopped and offered a ride to that lady I was talking about in the first paragraph. I regret that her name has escaped me. Evidently she accepted because my Mom saw her getting out of his car. When she asked this lady about it one day the lady replied with, yes maam, Nate gave me a ride to work the other day and it was sure nice of him. Mom asked her how it was, riding with Nate. She says, oh it took some time to get up the road I can tell you that, fact is I said the pledge of allegiance three times as we passed the flagpole.
Well that story has been told and retold in my family for fifty years or more. It is probably not that funny to others that don't really know all the characters in the story. Everyone has stories like that. I expect playwrights and screenwriters collect those stories to use in their works. Those little incidences in life that strike a chord. We repeat them so often we only need to say the punchline. Part of what makes them funny is remembering what the person sounded like. I didn't personally hear that lady say those words but know the sound of her voice. I can hear the tone and inflection. And so in my family if someone is slow we may say, I said the pledge of allegiance three times as I passed the flagpole. The rest of the story is unimportant.
There are other stories and phrases that we use unconsciously. They are the things we have heard our parents, siblings and friends say. They may be descriptions or anecdotes. They can range from a single word to a tall tale. I think of them as the dialogue of our life. Those expressions, thoughts and conclusions we have gathered over the years being shared. To live is to add to the conversation not just repeat the dialogue. What stories may be told of me I couldn't say. No matter, as long as you are remembered. You are who you choose to become. It's nothing to take too seriously. Life is far too short for that.
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