I am walking down a dark lane lined with trees which have shed their leaves. I see in the trees one bird it seems to cower and shiver in the wind. Its feathers seem to be worn with time. It moves closer to the trunk of the tree as the wind blows harder. Read more
I walked to the top of the ladder, climbed up on the roof, turned around and sat down looking down. I pulled another scoop of goop out of the gutter and placed it within the bucket I had hanging on the hook below me.
The long row of gutter ahead was scoop by scoop being cleaned out, and the bucket was filling up.
With every couple of scoops, I looked out upon the neighborhood, seeing it from a totally different vantage point. On one look up, I could see one neighbor cutting hedges with clippers while wearing a large triangle hat often seen in films of the far east. I watched a moment as she carefully sculpted the shape she desired. The care she placed in the task was evident.
I returned to my scooping, and soon my attention was grabbed as a lawn mower engine roared in another direction. Another neighbor in a T-shirt and a pair of overalls was riding his lawnmower, carefully creating diagonal lines, which shined in an amazing coordination from my view.
Far in the corner away from his work, his wife stood by the fence talking with a blonde lady in red exercise clothes who had stopped her walk.
I returned to my scooping as I inched foot by foot around the house until I spied two kids crossing the street. Across their shoulders were fishing poles, and in one of their hands was a string of fish they had pulled from the creek.
I returned to my scooping and soon I realized I had matched my rhythm of work to a beating pattern which was coming from down the street. I looked closely to see what it was and I saw a group of kids were playing a game of basketball on a nearby driveway.
Once again, I returned to my scooping, and as I ended my task, I cleaned off the tools and disposed of the goop in the bucket in the trash can. As I prepared to shut the lid, a loud noise with no specific purpose except the deafening of those that could hear the sound of a bass that bounced from a car passed by.
I thought how the hour or so spent doing something productive allowed me to clear my mind of thoughts of everyday problems as I saw some of the best moments in my neighbors’ lives. Did they see them as the best? Probably not. But within those moments, I saw people, living side by side, in all facets of everyday life from pure sport, intense horticulture hobbies, passing the time of day, to the victory of achieving one’s goals. And like the departure of the raucous bass line as the vehicle cleared the neighborhood and the goop was tightly shut away in the waste bin, all was well in our world. And that is really what is important, how we are with one another in our neighborhood and our town. That is where we can make things better for all of us.
It seems so much of our life is spent working to prove something to someone else.
In our early years, we aspire to gain the approval of our parents or key mentors that wish to see us succeed in education, sports, music or whatever dream they hold for us or share with us.
Sometimes, it’s the approval of our peers in these same pursuits, or other less beneficial objectives of youthful exuberance. There are those who succeed here and those who fail.
Often these successes or failures catapult our emotional make up forward, setting some of the undertones for our life. I know in my case, the failures left an underlying, “I’m going to show you” settled deep in my craw. I drew upon that hurt for many years, and it pushed me to overachieve in many ways.
No matter the outcome of youth, we step forward hoping to once again prove to the world that we can be somebody – a success in work, a success in picking the right person to marry, a success in raising children, a success in whatever is next on the long list that we seek others’ approval to prop up our esteem, our importance, and our life.
Often, we find ourselves in a cycle of seeking others’ approval for the rest of our life.
In a conversation I was having with a friend the other day, I said something that I had not even thought about. As I look back upon the path I have traveled, I am blessed to have had so many distinctive mentors to whom I have tried to prove my value in some aspect of my professional or personal endeavors.
As I began thinking, except in the form of being a creator of art in word, note and other form seeking the approval of those of you who buy my work and help me sustain the existence I enjoy, I thought I had no one left to prove anything to. Many of my key mentors who held those roles in my life have taken their final curtain calls.
As I relayed the story of a recent acting experience, I heard the words come out of my mouth, that I really wanted someone to acknowledge I could do what I was aspiring to do. I realized that I had not yet left behind that desire of proving something to someone. It was still buried inside me with one more youthful goal that had not been achieved in full but could still be accomplished if I tried hard enough.
There it is driving me forward. After years of feeling I had nothing left to prove, which sometimes is not a bad place to be, once again, my blood is pumping with a desire, a hope, a goal that energizes my step.
So, what is better, being to the point of nothing left to prove to anyone or having someone who inspires you to do more? I guess it depends on your own get up and go. I know one lady around 90 working on her doctorate. She has nothing to prove except to please her own soul.
If you are generally a self-starter, you probably move along OK, but every now and again, somebody may need to pour a little gasoline in your carburetor to get a spark and provide that forward momentum. If you need that in your life, I pray you have someone who provides that opportunity in love. Because in reality there are only two of us in this race to the finish line — us and the good Lord — who gives us a new chance every day to prove we are somebody serving, sharing and loving others for Him.
I opened the door and the thickly painted white screen door slammed behind me. I seldom noticed the sound it made as I bounded down the three steps from our front stoop. Once down on the sidewalk, I was hidden from the street behind the huge green box hedges fronted by azaleas.
Once I was big enough to roam outside on my own, this is how most summer days began. Once I hit the sidewalk, I was making my way around to the utility room to pull out my green bike to open up the doors of freedom. Sometimes, my mom would be standing there by the washing machine loading in clothes she would later take out and hang on the line for drying.
As I stepped up on the pedals and rested myself on the banana seat, from behind me, I would hear, “Be back by lunch. We are going to town for ‘looking and feeling’ this afternoon.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied as I gained speed going down the driveway and turned to the left headed for adventure.
You might ask what is ‘looking and feeling?’ That is what ladies from our area called shopping when they were aiming to get out and not buy but enjoy the air conditioning in the stores in the hot summer months.
We did a lot of that which could seem to be a terminal situation when you had something else on your mind to do as a kid.
But for the morning, I was off to create some adventure, so, my first stop would be banging on a couple of doors to raise some other kids to play. Before you could say Hank Aaron, there would be about five or six of us on our bikes riding down suicide hill.
Soon we would move on to the woods where we had built a series of forts fully stocked with pinecones.
We would pick sides, and we were battling the other team to ensure the survival of our clan over the other. Sometimes we were Yankees and Confederates, sometimes Cowboys and Indians, sometimes Germans and Americans, British and Colonists, it really depended upon what movie we recently saw or what history lesson was near at hand.
Either way, and no matter who we were representing, the battles took form until we ran out of ammunition and the other team overran our stronghold. We would then restock the forts for the next battle day. Then we would be off for maybe wading in the creek and then back home in time for lunch.
Usually, a bologna sandwich with a slice of tomato from the garden, a wedge of cucumber, some barbeque Charlie’s Chips and a big glass of cherry Kool-Aid. Then I would go wash off, change from my play clothes and be ready to climb into the passenger side of our Chevy Malibu to head to the stores.
Often, I would be moved to the back seat if we picked up another mom and kids. The children were sent to the back seat, and we made our way to Woolworths, J.C. Penney, Sears or even Rich’s. Of course, in those days there were no special youth seats. We didn’t even use the seat belts. We sat still though, or we would feel the long arm of the law from the ladies in the front seat.
We were expected to behave no matter how many hours the excursion was. Especially when we were in public — in the stores. If we ever forgot ourselves (which I did on a couple of occasions and turned the women’s and men’s department into a playground and the underneath areas of the hanging clothes and good places with hide and seek with whichever other kids were on the outing), we soon felt the sting of our mistakes upon our posteriors, and it would come sooner than later if we disturbed other folks.
As I hear kids screaming at their parents and see them acting out in public today, I fondly remember the tough lessons my parents gave me. I remember those days of imagination, and the hours of fun, and I wish that children today could have those experiences, rather than a childhood attached to screens of various types and parents who look the other way when they act out.
Cashbox AirPlay Direct Spotlight
Randall Franks is featured in the 80th Anniversary edition of Cashbox Magazine in a special AirPlay Direct spotlight.
Find it on Page 102 next to a great feature on Shirley Caesar. This edition is packed with features on music stars from Chubby Checker to Willie Nelson.
Also check out a nice spotlight on my friend Amy Scruggs.
Click on the magazine at www.CashboxMagazine.org to see the pdf.
Radio find his music at www.AirPlayDirect.com/RandallFranks
Randall Franks (center) pauses back stage at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum with western artists The Farmer & Adele prior to entertaining the audience. (Randall Franks Media)
American actor and entertainer Randall Franks of Ringgold appeared at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum Labor Day weekend at the Grand Master Fiddler Championship.
“It is always an honor to be part of this great event which has played a role in my life since I first competed as a youth at the Ryman Auditorium,” he said. “It is amazing to hear and see that fiddling flourishes among all ages from around the country.”
Franks who marked his 14th year as celebrity host of the event taking over from the late Grand Ole Opry star Porter Wagoner. Also hosting were the western artists The Farmer & Adele, who Franks joined on stage to entertain the lively audience.
He joined special appearances made by Grand Ole Opry stars The Riders in the Sky, the GMFC Judges and country artist Kathy Mattea who helped make an award presentation.
Grand Master Fiddler Open Champion Trustin Baker (second from left) receives his award, from left, GMFC Directors Ed Carnes and Howard Harris and fiddler Randall Franks. (GMFC Photo)
“I was also honored to also take on the role of fiddler wrangler formerly performed by the late fiddler Charlie Bush serving our competitors as their dean of contest fiddling,” he said.
Fiddler Franks was on hand to crown the 2022 Grand Master Open Champion Trustin Baker of Missouri with GMFC Board members Howard Harris and Ed Carnes.
