The sun’s rays offered a great warmth to my cheek as I began my walk along frog leg creek. It had been many years since I eased my feet along the path I had run along so swiftly as a boy. The water in the creek churned up a froth as it swirled over the rocks aiming its strength at forcing the water south ward. A large brown leaf fell with a thump upon my head. Perhaps it wasn’t quite a thump, more like quick poke.
It had been a busy day or roaming for me around my grandparent’s place.
I am sure much of my adventures had not amounted to much but to me they seemed like I was Davey Crockett and Daniel Boone rolled up into one.
As the evening sun went down and the family gathered on the porch, the evening meal of pinto beans, turnip greens with fatback, fried chicken, and cornbread, was being set on the table and soon we would gather around it, bow our heads and hear grace emanate from my grandfather’s booming tones.
As we gathered in the living room, the black and white Zenith was turned on in anticipation of an episode of “The Porter Wagoner Show.” Grandma loved Porter and never missed his show. Plus, an added benefit, he had one of her mountain kin singing on the show too, a blonde named Dolly.
As the designated antenna holder, I would often spend my time hanging with one hand on the rabbit ears, as I hung around to see a bit of the screen being chided to get out of the way should I ever lose my balance.
As the evening progressed, the family would eventually veer from the screen to talking amongst each other. After finishing my acrobatics around the TV, I would excuse myself and head to bed.
The old farmhouse had two bedrooms each with a double bed adorned in a chenille bedspread, one for my grandparents and one for my folks and I.
You might wonder why a youth would wish to get to bed early. Well, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t sleep a wink.
Between my grandfather and my father sawing logs throughout the night, I have no idea how my mother or grandmother rested at all.
If I had not went to bed early in an attempt to beat their snores, I would have spent the night tossing and turning simply hoping to find rest.
On a couple of occasions when I awoke unexpectedly, those were nights of misery.
As I have now years between me and those memories, and they are all gone, I do wish I could go back and endure it once again. I am sure that if anyone is within ear shot of my sleeping, they probably are now finding the same misery, although I have never stayed up to find out myself. Sweet dreams!
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.
Sometimes there are points in life when one reflects on topics that bring worry, sadness, concern or even depression.
They can pile up on our mind like leaves falling from the trees in autumn covering the roots that feed our soul. Read more
I covered the cloth in furniture polish and pushed it across the top of the wardrobe, removing each object perched there and giving it a good going over.
When I was a boy, I always wondered what was on top of the wardrobe because I couldn’t see it. Now I wish I didn’t.
Dust seems to find its way into every place in our homes. I found it this past weekend settled in places that I was amazed it could find its way into.
Those dust bunnies that seem to playfully dance across the floors ran from my vacuum as if they were in fear for their lives. But after much effort, I managed to once again make my room a haven from the sneezing brought on by these allergens.
I have often wondered where all this dust comes from. I could understand when we kept windows and doors open to let in the cooler air, that it would sneak in from outside on those molecules which keeps us ticking.
Today though, with almost every house closed up tight to keep in the air conditioning and heat, I am amazed at what sneaks through. I have filters on every vent, yet it still gets in, piling up underneath and on top of everything that does not move.
Dust is similar to the things that we let into our lives when we pay little attention to the details as we rush through each and every day.
The words uttered by a love one, important to them, but seemingly a nuisance to us, that we appear not to hear or acknowledge — some dust piles up.
The unknown person we cut off in traffic who the goes home and yells at their child or worse yet in anger causes an accident — some dust piles up.
The task we are assigned at work that we half-heartedly complete thinking no one will notice its insufficiencies — some dust piles up.
We don’t volunteer for that much needed charity project, though we have the time, and we have the right skills to make it happen — some dust piles up.
We don’t spend time with our loved ones because we are simply too tired and need to relax by watching the game or going out with our friends — some dust piles up.
We do things, we would prefer others not know about — some dust piles up.
Easily, just like a neglected room in the house, we can allow corners of our lives to become covered in small particles that pile up. Over time, much like the whimsical dust bunnies playfully dancing across the floor, these particles build up higher and higher.
Sometimes in life the piles eventually get so high they impact our relationships with others, create problems we cannot overcome, and leave us lying in the dirt gasping for breath.
It never hurts every now and again to take up a wide angled broom, turn on every light in your house, and sweep away all the dust, making things clean again. Put the problems and struggles in the dust bin and close the lid. It is amazing how clearing the air will allow you to breathe easier.
