Generations

Just five generations most men will know. I knew Great Grandfather by a faded photograph and family mythology. He was pioneer stock, Scots-Irish proud, a strapping man, mustached and sturdy. My great Auntie bequeathed to me his Winchester, legends of how he killed a bear, and that he was a beloved father. Would that we all can be remembered five generations hence. His frame farm house was crudely built with cypress planks a half yard wide. The house wide porch faced the pond and sunset. His wicker chair was empty in my childhood days. His place at table was a silent memorial. This was my Grandmother's 'home place', she grew up there. It was there she saddled up her horse in morning fog or snow white frost to ride four miles to school each day. I see her fetching potatoes from the root cellar shed, peeling onions in the kitchen, or rolling dough for apple pie. I see her even now, idly watching a farm hand prod the mule to turn the mill in making sorghum, waiting for her brothers' return from the hunt, a brace of ducks for dinner or better yet fresh venison to butcher and hang in the smokehouse. Cistern water, hard living, butter to churn, scrub board wash, garden work and sweat from dawn till dark was just a day's routine. And still she lived to see the telegraph, the telephone, electricity, Saint Joseph's aspirin, the auto and the airplane, radio and radar, TV, Johnny Carson, and Neil Armstrong landing on the moon. Then came my Mom and Dad, born in 1911, teenagers in 1929. My mother danced the Charleston, her flapper's eyes caught Dad's, then came the Great Depression, then World War II in 1939 curtailed their plans, darkened their horizon. There were ups and downs. A dream deferred is a dream lost they say. I know that aphorism well, lost youth, longing, transgression and forgiveness. I knew the sadness of my parents lives. And yet there were happy times, hearts and initials carved in a tree in 1947, a good year I would guess. There were four children, all grew up strong in our way. I remember trying to convince my father he succeeded. As for me, gathering apples, plums and muscadines, home grown tomatoes, swimming in our creek, family meals, Christmas, small town friends. My parents did well I think! But I was born to ask, why cannot a man profit from ancestors till they die? But I do know my life the best. Perhaps I did absorb some wisdom beneath the beech, along the creek, while sorting out dilemmas of my time. Good God, the 1960s in Mississippi were a fertile time for introspection. I personally knew no one who was killed. I roamed the hills and swamps, camped, hunted, fished, and thought. Steve and Charlie were my buddies. Sam cut hair and preened the produce in the grocery store where I cut meat. I worked with Willie pumping gas, washing cars, fixing flats and greasing trucks. I watched the prisoners work and traded ready rolled cigarettes for jail house tobacco and even shared a beer with convict stripped black desperadoes. I made it to Doctor King's rally, totally missed the KKK on Starvation Hill. My father refused to give directions. I remember James Meredith, Freedom Summer, the Freedom Riders, Medgar Evers. I remember Philadelphia, (Mississippi that is) , I remember Jackson State, Kent State, the War, LBJ, Nixon, Watergate! No redemption. I remember the kids I taught! Black kids - we now say African Americans! I remember their fear! We survived it all. Despite it all we flourished! My son, my son - and what will you discover? The multi-tasking world rushes toward you. I cannot help you. I was reared in slower times. No I-Pod, no cell phone, not even internet. Face time has faded to Facebook, responsibility for our words hides in anonymity, and what a world it is we give to you. Is it more a challenge than great grandfather had, to build a life after bitter civil war? Will it hold more wonder than my grandmother saw? Will there be more peace than my father knew? Will hope survive as it has in me despite the bitterness and bigotry I fought, and still I fight? Try to ignore the manure son, look for the pony always! Take your time, life is up to you. Life is what you make it.