Child's Play

  My childhood was a trickling creek that broke free from the Southern Gothic upbringing of our Father. There were remnants in my memory, backroads, dark and scary places and people that were at the fringe of our lives. The murky, foggy vestiges of the old South, where the poorest of both blacks and whites mutely crossed paths, even though the class system still reigned with its unwritten rules and presumptions. We were descended from the humblest of places. I never had to suffer as my Daddy had done, in our clean, secure but very simple home, but I was intimately acquainted with the dirt, the grease, the ditches that came before us and indeed made us. I and my siblings were blessed. We inherited the hope that comes with two parents whose aim was to dig in and make a better way for their children; at the same time, we inherited the blessing of two folks whose honesty put us squarely in the reality of our station. There were no false airs, no seeing ourselves as better than. Pretension was not allowed, just a clean, genuine, real life without sophistication. Right was right, wrong was wrong, and simplicity was just fine. No frills, plain clothing and food. Children can grow up free and happy in this kind of environment, when they are loved. Magic isn't contrived...it comes with the sunset, the blackberries, the warm earth. The fabric of experiences always comes later, like a tsunami. But the security of a straightforward, uncomplicated childhood where worth is found through work, play, and an uncluttered life, prepares and makes the most intricately-brained child sturdy and capable for their future. 

My road has taken many turns, though sophistication has never quite reached me. It's in these many decades later that I can muse over the wonder of the gift I was given, to deeply understand the value of what our parents did for us. This without fancy books, vacations, psychiatrists or competing "expert" opinions. In fact, these things might just be the ruination of modern man. Thinking ourselves to be wise, we became fools. 

Summers, hot as a blanket, then the cool night air stealing across the dark yard. Daddy would beckon us to lie on our backs on the driveway, warm from the day. Our eyes would adjust to the diamond-studded sky, comets streaking, Mars red, Venus glowing... he'd talk about God, about how He made all this. The longer you watched, the more brilliant the Milky Way became. We'd hush, take it in, think, settle, wonder. Disneyland, the skating rink, the latest clothes meant little to nothing to us with the enchantment of what was real spreading before us in real time, especially with Daddy's long arms curled around our shoulders. 

All that treasure simply gets more valuable with time.