My father was not the customer-is-always-right barber. He threw out foul- mouthed persons and drunks with orders not to come back. As a result, his business was known as a clean and safe place. One rough character, after having been extracted from the barbershop, promised my father he would be sorry. Nothing was thought of his threat until later. Mother and a mildly retarded young cousin, Lorene, were out back of the house washing clothes when mother heard me crying. She came to check on me and was shocked and frightened to see my crib on fire. She grabbed me from the bed and placed me away in safety and managed to smother the flames. We will never know how this happened, but my parents suspected the low life character. Everyone knew my father adored me so what better way to hurt him? Daddy’s love for me led him to buy me an unsuitable gift when I was only a year old. It was a fancy doll. Mother pointed out that as a baby I would simply yank the hair and punch the sleepy eyes of that doll. Reluctantly, Daddy returned it for a soft rubber one with painted on hair and eyes. While he didn’t understand infants back then, he was otherwise an exceptionally bright man who could shoot through to the heart of a problem while others might be talking all around it. This ability gained him much respect when he served for many years on the town council, as well as an elder in the Methodist Church, and an actively participating member of the Parent Teacher Association. Considering Daddy came from a deprived, poverty-stricken family, few would have expected him to develop as he did. His mother died a few months after giving birth to him as her ninth child. He was only allowed a formal education to the third grade, but he was an avid reader. At age fourteen he hired out as a farm hand and helped his struggling father and stepmother. Using poor judgment, my grandfather Murphy had married another young woman and brought nine more children into the world. Grandpa John Harvey Murphy was illiterate, although it was said he could do a sum of figures in his head faster than anyone could write them down and add them up. My mother’s background was more privileged than my father’s although she did not come from a wealthy family. Her father was a farmer, merchant and part- time Methodist minister. He loved books, music and catfish. I own his now more than one hundred-year-old primitive bookcase. It may be furniture he built himself. Mother was said to have been her father’s favorite child. At church when Mother was a young woman singing in the choir, her father had whispered to her mother, “See how beautiful she is!” Mother remembered her mother telling her this. With her dark hair, gray-blue eyes, flawless peaches-and-cream complexion and her slender hourglass figure she was indeed a beauty. Her father treasured her also because she often went with him to play the piano when he gave his sermons. My mother’s formal education was to the eighth grade. Back in those days, one could become a teacher if able to pass a certain exam after completing the eighth grade. She did pass the exam and taught in a country school for a while. At the same time she gave piano lessons to beginning students at the home of her beloved piano teacher, Mrs. Sheilds. At one point Mother decided to leave the small town of Vernon for Birmingham, Alabama. She found a job in a department store, shared a room with a girl friend and enjoyed city life for a while. She took a course in millinery, returned to Vernon and set up her own hat-making business in a section of Clearman’s. All the while, Mother had many admirers. We have photographs of old boyfriends of hers. She refused to marry any of them, however, until she met my father. When Daddy saw her, he asked, “Who is that girl? She’s pretty as a speckled pup.” It was an odd comparison, but he was still telling her she was beautiful when she was ninety years old. After Mother and Daddy had been married fifty years, one of her old beaus showed up. Nathan, seemingly still carrying a torch, told her, “I wanted to see you once more before we die.” Mother was annoyed because Daddy left the room, and she confronted him after Nathan left. In a typical tease Daddy said, “I thought you might want to get a little lipping (kissing) in.” Mother said, “I never lipped him back then and I certainly wasn’t going to now.” Still I think she was touched by her old flame’s sentimental visit. *** When Mother was young, a woman was considered an old maid after the age of twenty-five and should no longer wear red. She considered it a foolish rule and wore a big red rose on her hat beyond that age. She ignored other expectations as well by waiting until she was thirty years old to marry. Of those who espoused the old maid tradition, she said, “That’s them and I’m me,” a phrase she used anytime she disagreed with opinions of any nature. Down back of our home was a long pasture for Daddy’s cows. At the far end, near town, a stream ran beside an enormous water oak. One giant limb of the tree swerved out over the stream and reached just above land on the other side. The limb was so broad we could run along it without fear of falling into the stream. Not that the stream was very deep. In the deepest part it was no more than three feet in depth and four feet wide. We used it as a swimming hole although pitiful little swimming could be done in such a small space. Mostly we splashed about, but we loved it in the hot summertime.
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