“Pastor Pearl”

After living on back street in smalltown for a few years, we moved upon a hill in the middle of town. This was a good move for us for two reasons. One, we moved to a place where the backwater that invaded our town each spring didn’t reach, and, two, we had indoor plumbing for the first time. That meant I didn’t have to pump water, or take baths in the number three wash tub, and I didn’t have to use the outdoor privy unless I wanted to. It just so happened that our home upon the hill was located right across the street from the front door of the smalltown Baptist Church and that brings me to why I am writing this short story about Pastor Pearl who was hired along about that same time.

There was one thing about Pastor Pearl that still sticks out in my mind above all others. He could preach his congregation so close to the fires of hell that I could feel the heat of it across the street on our front porch. Now at that time in our little community no one had air conditioning, therefore they kept the church windows and doors open to let in any breezes that might be blowing during those Sunday sermons. So I can only imagine how uncomfortable it must have been for a lot of them folks inside that church. Our house across the street was surrounded by trees on three sides so the front porch was always in the shade but there was many a Sunday morning after the church service was over that I went in for dinner only to discover that my face was flushed and the hair on my head was singed.

Pastor Pearl wasn’t a bad fellow as people go, and some people might even say he was a good preacher, but to make a long story short, “he scared the hell out of me”, as well as a lot of other folks in town and I guess that’s why his congregation dwindled a little rather than grew during his tenure at the smalltown Baptist Church. Now my daddy was a fearless man and hot-headed as all get out, but even he didn’t go near Pastor Pearl when he was wound up and preachin’ good. I’m not rightly sure how long Pastor Pearl was at the smalltown Baptist Church, but it wasn’t a long time. As I recall, their next preacher was a little calmer when he preached and as far as a young boy of thirteen could decipher, I think the congregation was a lot happier and a little more relaxed after Pastor Pearl left town. As I recall, they were once again almost friendly to those of us in smalltown who didn’t attend church on a regular basis. OTBP

“Growing up in America”

I grew up in America during a time when families were large and most every family had four or more children. That was in a bygone age before abortion became legal and the family shrunk to less then two children per family. According to present day national statistics there are now 1.11 children per family in America not counting the illegal immigrants that are swamping our country and keeping that magic number of children at 2.1 per household that is needed for a country to survive another fifty years. In my particular family there were nine children and I was eighth in the birth order. Back then every mother I knew with the exception of a few who were teachers or secretaries worked in her home caring for her family. I was fortunate that my mother worked in the home.

I called our home, “Mom’s University” because that is where each of her nine children received their education in manners, responsibility, and how to treat others. It was during the evening meal and around our supper table that most of mom’s teaching took place because that was the time of day when every family member was present. No one in our family missed supper and the time mom spent teaching her children right from wrong. My mother didn’t have a teaching degree or a PhD in Education like most people must have today to prove they are qualified to teach in their field of expertise, but she was the smartest person I knew. Where did my mother get her unique teaching abilities? At her mother’s knee, just like her mother had before her. Back then family values were passed down from one generation to the next. Mother’s didn’t depend upon public television to teach their children how to read, count, or share. They took that responsibility upon themselves and the older children assisted them.

I took my daughter on a trip back through time last Father’s Day and visited all the houses I lived in during my childhood that were still standing. After visiting the last one, I asked her, “Did you find any one thing all of these houses had in common?” She was quick to tell me, “They were all very small.” Which was true. I never lived in a big house during my childhood. Most houses were small and families were close back then. No one I knew had their own room to escape to if we didn’t like what was on the radio or television. We went outside and invented a game to play to keep ourselves amused. We didn’t have air conditioning to cool the house in the summer, or a thermostat to turn up the heat in the winter if the house was too cold. Most people didn’t have indoor plumbing, they had a number three wash tub to bathe in and when nature called we used an outdoor privy some fifty feet from the house. Somehow we all managed to survive our meager surrounding and grow up to become responsible adults. In the summer we went barefoot and wore shorts and took our baths in the local swimming hole and no one thought we were strange. And on those long winter nights we slept three to a bed to stay warm – and on the really cold nights we added another blanket or two on the bed to ward off the cold wind that blew through the cracks between the weather boarding. The next day we added an extra layer of clothing before we went outdoors to play or do our chores.

We were tough kids and patriotic to the bone. We loved to fight, baseball, and mom’s apple pie. We were taught to be respectful and on parade days when the American flag went by, we stood up straight and watched it until it turned the corner out of sight. We respected our teachers and recited the Pledge of Allegiance everyday before classes began in classrooms where we were taught how to think for ourselves. Every boy owned a GI Joe toy soldier, a cap pistol and holster, and a BB gun. We didn’t shoot out too many of our friends eyes with them and the whippings we received on our little behinds with those willow branches cut off the tree in the yard did nothing to harm our little egos. We were America’s youth and damm proud of it! OTBP