A harvest of hope to sustain us

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As the men folks worked endless hours to bring the harvest home, the women folk prepared the fires and the iron kettles for cooking in preparation for canning what was brought in on the wagons from the fields.

While much of what was gathered was taken to town to sale, enough was stowed by for the host family and all the neighbors’ families helping with the harvest and the canning.

When this crop was laid by, the men would move on to the neighbor’s farm and the women folk to the neighbors yard and kitchen and do it all again with another vegetable crop.

Tomatoes on one farm, corn on another, okra another, beets on another, and when the vegetables were all in, root crops, fruits stowed away, it would be near time for the hogs to be prepared for the smoke house.

Growing and putting back was a constant day-to-day circle of life in the valley below the Gravelly Spur.

All took it in stride and as each season turned and the tasks rotated around the circle of the sun and moon as they shined their light down in the Appalachian valley.

The work would break for church meetings on Sunday, community socials, and an occasional music gathering. When the harvest work was done, the musicians in the valley would gather bringing their guitars, banjos, fiddles and anything that could keep a rhythm to the center of community.

They would stand and play on the porch as the folks gathered in the dirt lane. Old Benson Wills would stand up on an apple box and call the dance.

It was in these moments the young men and women who were not yet spoken for began to smile upon one another even if it was only for the brief swings within do-Si-do.

But the happiness of the passings within the dance often sustained their hearts for days and weeks as the toiling of each day returned their routines, the life, the hardships and the happiness that on occasion brought the ends of their mouths to upturn.

Stoicism was the norm, the happiness was reflected in the hearts rather than their faces oftentimes. It was sometimes difficult to tell the difference between sadness and happiness in many, but anger could easily be distinguished because that usually brought a raised voice and raised hands formed in a fist. \

Thankfulness was visible also, it could take the form of an outreached hand to shake, a bowed head in prayer, or returned unexpected kindness.

When work was done each week, the families gathered to give the Lord thanks in the chapel, sing songs, and hear the scriptures.

It was these times and the music gatherings that eased the in between.

When we look at our own lives in this ever spinning modern world, may we find the comfort that sustained our ancestors in the much harder lives that they lived.

Will AI create a semblance of what was in what will be?

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Many of us are hearing more and more about Artificial Intelligence and the impact that could have on our lives in the future.

You are likely aware that many of the entertainment unions have held strikes in the last year. AI was a major aspect of the items being negotiated in the new contracts they were trying to establish with producers.

AI is becoming a major player in creating visual, voice, writing, and likely many other aspects and trade jobs will be affected by the advances of what this new technology.

As artificial intelligence continues to advance at a breakneck pace, the film and television industry stands on the cusp of a technological revolution. From script writing to visual effects, AI is poised to transform nearly every aspect of production, promising increased efficiency and new creative possibilities. But this sea change also raises concerns about job displacement and the very nature of artistic creation.

One of the most immediate impacts of AI is likely to be in the realm of pre-production and script writing. AI-powered tools can analyze successful scripts, identifying patterns in structure, dialogue, and pacing. This technology could assist writers in developing more engaging narratives or even generate entire script drafts. While this may streamline the writing process, it also raises questions about originality and the role of human creativity.

As a writer, I could go to an AI generator and pose a query – “Write me a 20-inch newspaper column about the future impact of AI on film and television.” I would not have to spend the time of putting this together these words from my gray matter. My fingers would not have the joy of feeling the keys on my computer.

Perhaps most controversially, AI is making inroads into acting itself. Technology which uses machine learning to create or manipulate video and audio, could potentially resurrect deceased actors for new roles or de-age living actors for flashback scenes. This raises ethical questions about consent and the ownership of an actor’s likeness. States around the country, the U.S. Congress, and the workers unions are continuing to look at options to protect individual performers and their estates from potential uses without permission and compensation.

I understand even now as an actor, with an adequate sampling of my performances on film and of my speech patterns, my image can be created doing almost anything a producer might want.

In production, AI is set to revolutionize visual effects and animation. Machine learning algorithms can create realistic digital environments, crowds, and even entire characters, potentially reducing the need for expensive on-location shoots or large teams of animators. This could democratize high-quality visual effects, making them accessible to smaller productions and independent filmmakers.

I was visiting with a director of photography who was telling me of his work for a project totally created within an AI system, which is beyond my knowledge base but reflects the transition of more types of jobs into a box.

Post-production is another area ripe for AI disruption. Intelligent editing software could automatically assemble rough cuts based on emotional beats or narrative structure, significantly speeding up the editing process. AI could also enhance color grading, sound mixing, and other technical aspects of post-production.

AI will make creating shows more efficient and likely lower costs. Despite the challenges, proponents argue that AI will ultimately enhance rather than replace human creativity. They envision a future where AI takes over mundane tasks, freeing creatives to focus on higher-level artistic decisions.

Here is my take. I have spent a life behind the scenes in film, television and music watching the people create in those mundane aspects of what has to be done to bring all these things to fruition. Every task has its art within it.

Technology has always allowed us to forge new ways to do things and improve the process, but the human creativity of all the trades was still present and imprinted on every foot of film and inch of recording tape to move our emotions with film, TV and music.

As the industry adapts to this new technology, one thing is clear: the landscape of film and television production is set for dramatic change. How Hollywood navigates and we receive this AI revolution will shape the future of our entertainment for years to come.

Now was this me or was it Memorex? If you are old enough, hopefully that line will close us out with a smile.

Where are we headed?

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I sat in the back of the blue 1964 Chevy Malibu with my legs dangling of the blue seats with my feet moving to the beat of the Buck Owens coming across the AM radio.

My father Floyd was driving and my mother Pearl in the passenger seat. The back seat was my domain, the only thing back there was my pillow and a few of my favorite toys, a couple of books. There was a small box with plastic army men, and a few of my Matchbox cars. Unlike today, I could move around as I wanted on the seat or into the floorboard. If I wanted to lay down and take a nap, I could. That was probably how my folks liked me best on those long trips. Because I am sure I wore them out with my impatience asking “Where are we headed?”

It’s not like they decided to go somewhere else while we were driving, but I just wanted up to date information. Of course, back then we didn’t have those new fangled things that talk to us telling us where to turn. We had those big map books, or fold out maps on every state that we went through.

Of course, by the time I came along, the interstate system was solidly in place around the country, so much of the time was spent on those types of roads between places.

And prior to the internet and widespread franchising, every little community we stopped in had its own feel and identity – restaurants, stores, and events. Of course, my mom always had a trunk full of homemade food on ice and we stopped along our paths to eat.

Whenever we hit the road for a vacation, we always had mysteries and new things to find and experience. Even if it seemed odd or hokey, there was great things we were able to see among those too.

I loved those trips with my folks. We always managed to talk to each other. My folks would wake me in case they thought I might miss something, probably not always wise, because it probably broke the silence they were enjoying. But they saw trips as an educational opportunity for me and even for them.

As I grew and my interest in history became primary, those types of destinations were added along the way. I was able to share my excitement and learning with about the topics and locations with them. They could also do the same with me.

I wouldn’t trade those road trips, short or long, for anything. I had my folks sometimes for endless hours right at my fingertips together. We cherished those moments.

When I was very small, especially during winter travel, I loved to crawl up into the floorboard at my mother’s feet and sleep on those trips.

I know travel is now different for families today than they were for us. But I encourage you to find those opportunities to make such adventures come alive for your family. And you know what, you don’t have to spend a mint to make it a memory.

Remembering The Nelons

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Our life’s story is sometimes made up of brief encounters with others that have a tremendous impact on the momentum of our existence.

These encounters could be seeing someone on a television program that leaves a lasting impression. We might be driving down the road with the radio on when a song blares through the speakers reaching right out and touching our soul.

Seeing and hearing the artists draw us to seek them out in person and attend a concert or some other kind of public appearance where we have the chance to stand at their merchandise table and tell them what an impact a particular song has made in our life.

We hold on to that encounter through the years listening and watching always connected to the personality as new songs and appearances come and go.

The years pass and we all get older and they remain in our heart as part of who we are or were.

If we are lucky, this is the relationship that most of us have musical artists or actors. Sometimes folks gain a closer friendship with these creatives that intertwines our walks.

I have spent my life as a creative in music, acting and writing and have been blessed with many such encounters with legends. Because they welcome me as part of their club, the passing encounters have become deeper friendships as we share our lives on the same canvas, painting a similar picture, to a slightly different tune. We often share life’s celebratory moments together, love one each other’s family members as our own, and mourn with each other in our losses.

This week I will sit down in a church in Roopville, Georgia with a host of my extended gospel music family as we gather to support some of our family as we mourn and all celebrate the lives of three of The Nelons – Kelly Nelon Clark, Jason Clark, and Amber Nelon Kistler along with Amber’s husband Nathan – also a talented vocalist. All lost their lives in a plane crash in Wyoming a couple of weeks ago. Also passing in the crash was their assistant, Melodi Hodges, along with the pilot, Larry Haynie and his wife, Melissa.

The family was on their way to meet the Gaither Homecoming Friends for an Alaskan Cruise to perform for the anxiously awaiting voyagers. The second daughter and her husband – Autumn and her husband Jamie Streetman had traveled separately and were at the airport waiting on her family. She and Jamie would soon be told and join her extended Gaither family briefly before returning back to join her uncle Todd and his family as they deal with what is ahead.

An entire music industry has spent the last couple of weeks immersed in their music, remembering concerts, funny experiences and everything we cherished about these great people. Even as a youth, Autumn is a third generation star in our field as the granddaughter of Rex Nelon who took over the legendary LeFevres of Atlanta, Georgia rebranding the group as the Rex Nelon Singers. Kelly was Rex’s daughter who we all watched grow up, just as we did her daughters Amber and Autumn.

The group is in the Gospel Music Hall of Fame. Kelly knew she was being inducted into the Southern Gospel Music Hall of Fame next month. Their careers are comprised of years of hit songs and awards. And as a ministry, countless souls brought to Jesus. You can learn more about their recent career at https://www.thenelons.com/.

I have known the Nelons music since Rex’s days with the LeFevres. I grew up near the LeFevres. When I was a young aspiring musician I found myself by happenstance walking in on an early Rex Nelon Singers recording session when I was working on my own first album. That is when I officially met Rex and Kelly.

Through the years, I found myself on concerts with them and as my star rose in music and I started acting on “In the Heat of the Night,” they told me they were regular viewers. It seems Kelly and I have always been friends and we often talked about her daughters and I watched them grow into their gifts. When they began trying acting, we of course also talked about that. The last time we were performing in the same show, they had me join them to play fiddle. I am glad I got to do that. In a way, it was a completion of the circle of that aspiring young fiddler who was in the studio with Rex decades earlier.

Autumn has had her entire family ripped from her life as she and her husband awaits a new child. Her livelihood is also gone and she is having to deal with the expenses related to all her family, if you can assist, a fund has been set up to support the family here: https://give.cornerstone.cc/projectlovethyneighbor or for checks: Autumn Streetman, 5566 Clipper Bay Dr., Powder Springs, Ga 30127. If you can’t help financially, please simply pray for them in the coming months.

Where are our Davids?

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I looked in the mirror seeing the passage of time in the lines around my eyes.

The lines created by years of smiling and squinting in the sun. After shaving, I washed my face realizing that it sure would be nice to be able to pull the skin of my neck tighter again.

Alas, these elements are part of who I am and were well earned to add to the character of who I am now. As we march ever forward in the timeline that is our lives, the days we are given allow us to strive for our dreams no matter how many hours, days, months or years come to pass.

Sometimes though I shake my head at what I see and hear around us, on television, the internet, in books and magazines. Things that no one should see at least within the realm of my raising.

As I was growing up, I was raised by and around strong bold men and outspoken women of courage. They stood up for what they saw as being right, no matter the consequences. That meant their faith, their family and their country, and usually in that order, although in some circumstances, family would rise to the top of their list.

I never had any fear with them around. I knew no matter what might arise, the men could handle most anyone with their fists and there was always some guns to fall back upon, if needed. The women folks I knew were excellent shots.

They taught me to follow in their footsteps.

I know looking back if they could see what is being thrust upon us today as the world attacks, mocks, ridicules or attempts to change the precepts of our faith. Or as Americans do the same to the America that generations of our family lived and worked to build and some fought and died to protect and secure in freedom. The institution of family they knew has been destroyed by divorce, simply not marrying, or other things they would not abide.

I wonder sometimes where those strong men and women are today. The ones that stood up for God, country and family above all things even if it meant they might lose everything.

I know I still see them portrayed in films, and in television shows. I have known some soldiers and some police officers in my life that I would put in that category. I have seen very little backbone in our political class in my lifetime. Most talk bravely but back down when their world might be disrupted and they could lose. I now have seen someone who will stand up for us and doesn’t back down, and it emboldens my hope in the future.

I do still wonder if we have these kinds of men and women of old in the church. Through the years, I have seen so many not standing up for the faith as the world has pulled and pushed upon it. Where are our Davids who will stand up against Goliath?

Are you the he or she that will make the difference in this world? Can you stand up against the rising tide which wants to wash away what was good and decent?

I look back into the mirror, brush my teeth, comb my hair and think upon seeing things in recent days I never thought I would see on the screens in our life. As I stare into my own blue eyes, I wonder if I am he. Will I take a greater stand for what is right and good than I have before? Am I the one? Could you be the one? Our God, our country and our families need you.

Show your teeth

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With each passing day, I am reminded how important it is we must be mindful of what our neighbors are facing in their lives.

Some are dealing with personal issues, others are impacted by national concerns.

With rising costs of everything imaginable putting pressures upon almost everyone no matter their age or family situation, many of us concentrate on our daily existence.

We look toward the week’s or bi-week’s end or the first of the month to receive a check. From that check, we manage to divide up the proceeds between a stack of household bills – water, power, insurance, groceries, and gasoline. Special needs for kids or other kin folks are added in the mix. Regular medical or prescription costs also stack up for many.

In my case, there is a regular interval of vehicle expenses also. Usually, when no money is readily at hand to meet those.

The daily ups and downs grind upon all of us. Often we might meet our neighbor only to discover them a bit testy. Or maybe its our self who got up on the wrong side of the bed.

Some folks are better at controlling their actions and emotions than others. They don’t let things weigh as heavily upon their faces and their walk.

Either way, perhaps when we go to town, to community events, to church, or to work, why don’t we make an extra effort to put a spring in our step, a smile on our face and a lilt in our voice.

We can bury those worries behind those teeth we are showing.

I remember the older folks in our family who knew many troubles, but they never showed it except privately.

We have lost a bit of that in today’s world where we seem to put everything out on social media for others to see.

We share our opinions on other’s thoughts and lives without anymore right to that than a carnival barker in the fairway.

Keeping our own counsel might just be a blessing each and every day when it comes to our own problems.

I learned long ago, in most cases, we all share the same types of problems, it is how we manage to carry those that makes life a blessing to ourselves and others.

A fist in the air

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I waited as long as I could to type these words into my computer because I was praying for the inspiration needed to provide some words that might be appropriate for any readers whose eyes might find their way in front of them.

I have lived now through two shootings of Presidents – Ronald Reagan and Donald Trump. My extended maternal family includes four who were killed and one who was wounded – Presidents Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, James A. Garfield, William McKinley, and Theodore Roosevelt.

When the news announced the shooting of President Reagan, I remember the fear and worry for he and Nancy brought on me when I heard and saw it. I looked up to them both. But I also looked up to President Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter, who I had known since childhood. That use to be OK, you respected and looked up to those who took on the mantle of leadership that we gave them.

I was preparing to entertain at a concert Saturday night, when I was told by some attendees about the shooting of President Trump. I have never met him, although I have shook hands with Don, Jr. and know many who are in his circle from my time serving as a local elected official. Unlike the others listed above, I have no familial ties with the Trump family, so other than the fact he has always been part of my life through his media exposure and seeing all he did and tried to do for Americans like myself during his four years in office, he has my appreciation as my president.

At the concert, I led those who attended in prayer for President Trump, for the others shot and their families and for all who were forever changed by witnessing this. I prayed for our country, for our leaders, that our shared love of America could bring us together to further the principals of this great experiment created under the greatest generation of thinkers and patriots to ever live.

It was many hours later that I was able to become more familiar with what came to pass through the videos and eye witness accounts available online. The strength of spirit exhibited by President Trump under fire and threat of fire was amazing. The love and dedication of the men and women in that crowd who also stood their ground under fire and were more concerned about the president, protecting their families and their fellow attendees than themselves. Had the crowd ran rather than going to the ground, many more could have been injured. The selfless attendees who responded to help those who were shot and comfort those with them was inspiring. And the outpouring of support for the victims and their families is heartwarming. My prayers go out to the family of Corey Comperatore, who gave his life protecting his family, and the other injured victims whose names I do not know.

As I write, the Republican Convention is underway and President Trump is now the nominee and he has just named his running mate as Senator J.D. Vance. Despite the fact that such an outcome was a couple of millimeters from not occurring just 48 hours earlier, President Trump and the American political process is moving on.

I will not sugar coat the fact that what I have seen the last couple of days has moved me greatly. I have found myself holding back tears several times. That is why I wanted to write these words. I know I cannot be the only person who is hurting by seeing what happened. To see where the country I love has come. To see the work my family members fought and died for beginning in 1775 all the way up to the present being treated so recklessly. Now, I know this is not new, obviously based on the list of cousins I have lost to this type of violence. On many occasions, my ancestors would challenge someone to a dual over a point of pride or a political difference if that difference was pushed to insults. That is true of many of our leaders especially in the first 125 years of our republic.

Civil society left those practices behind by in large decades ago. But perhaps that is the problem, perhaps we are once again moving away from a civil society. Impressionable people are being brainwashed by others – politicians, educators, media and others to the point of violent acts to get whatever it is they want or whatever they have been taught will save the world. Is this the direction we want for our future?

Granted our ancestors fought a Civil War when we could not solve our political differences; we overcame political differences, social, political, economic and equality ills struggling forward during the suffragette, labor, and Civil Rights movements, and many were injured and died during these struggles. But in my opinion those brave men and women were struggling to further the more perfect union ascribed to and dreamed upon by our founders. And through the years, we marched ever closer to that realization of those hopes.

I saw a man last Saturday get up off the stage, bloodied by an assassin’s bullet, probably somewhat angered, probably greatly worried about his family and those who had come to see him, who defiantly and boldly reached his fist in the air not knowing if another shot might be close at hand to take him out. The words he chose to say to Americans was “Fight, Fight, Fight.” In my opinion he was letting everyone know that he was OK and no matter what happens not to give up on our country. That video and the images captured around it were those that photographers live a lifetime hoping to snap. They will endure as long as America does. I pray that Americans can see it is time for our country to come together and work in unity rather than spending our time fighting among ourselves. Otherwise, we won’t have a country to fight over, because our enemies, many who are within our borders, are inch by inch working to take America and the founders dreams for it away from us.

May I ride in your little red wagon

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I slowly filled in white letters on the side of my red Radio Flyer. The restoration project of the wagon which had pulled around neighborhood friends, dogs and all kinds of childhood toys along Warwick Circle and the surrounding area was now complete.

Why? You may ask. Well, when I was about six, that bright red wagon was sitting with a bow on it under the Christmas tree. It had come from the local hardware store and was something I am sure I had asked for, although I don’t remember that aspect of history.

It became a constant companion through my childhood years, pulled behind me by hand or tied to the back of bicycles, ridden down hills, and always signified happier childhood adventures.

I managed to hold onto it through the years and I realized that it would make a great platform for the small Christmas tree that I set up.

So, I decided to restore it back to its original condition. I brushed away any rust that might have popped up through the years, and then gave it a nice coat of red, black and touched up the white lettering and wheels. I shined up the tires and got those looking sharp.

Sometimes, we just need to do something that brings a sense of accomplishment to our inner child. Revitalizing a piece of our history in a way it might again be put to use was such a blessing to me.

In many respects, I have become the custodian of many family heirlooms through the years. Appliances like pedal sewing machines, furniture passed down – bedroom, dressers, oil lamps, walking canes, photos, and other items.

The care of these, so they might be passed down to another generation, is an important aspect of who I am and my overall tasks in my life. I was entrusted in these efforts by loved ones no longer here. Will they know what happened to them. I doubt if they are keeping an eye on me or them from the other side, but its still my charge.

I have managed to bring several of these back from poor condition in hopes these will be valued by whichever relative ultimately receives each item.

No matter how long we may hope we walk this earth, we are not promised tomorrow. Only today is within our grasp, and our hold on it is totally in the purview of God.

We are to leave things better than we found them. For me, that is my constant hope. I try to make things entrusted to me better than they were.

I couldn’t make my childhood wagon new again, but I could make it look a close as possible and find a use that would give me joy in seeing it annually when I pull it out for Christmas and fill it with decorations that remind me of the happy family times.

So, for me the adventure of restoration, made my inner child happy and once a year it brings a smile to adult me as it enhances the joy of Christmas. Find something to restore in your life that will make you happy.

I hope the mention of Christmas has brought a bit of cool thought into your summer. We could use a bit less heat where I live!

Ripples run

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Ripples float endlessly across the lake as a large frog croaks in the distance.

The line running from the end of my pole drifts slightly with the light current pulling away to my left as the red and white float
moves with the ripples.

I had spent much of my time working thus far in my first fishing adventure to bring the hook with the worm slid upon it into the
drink.

My childhood adventures of fishing with my dad, especially early in the learning process reflected the scenarios of the episode of “The
Andy Griffith Show” where “Howard Sprague” went fishing with Andy and the rest of the guys only to spend more time with his hook
in a tree or his own pants than in the water.

In retrospect, my dad’s patience as he taught me the process and answered the questions the younger version of myself asked was
amazing. Why do fish eat worms? Why do we have to put the hook through the worms, can’t we just throw them out and let the fish
eat them? Why do we have a float on the line?

Why do I do better throwing the line behind me rather than in front of me?

These are just a few that I recollect in the process.

My father was someone much like myself – outdoor sports were not really his thing – but he felt it was important that I learned them,
that we shared the experiences that he had shared with his father and uncles. There are lessons that are shared in the midst of the
teaching that settle deeper beyond the immediate task at hand.

The bonds created between a father and son through positive joint experiences; respect for the world around us and the other people and
creatures who share it with us; and an understanding about what is expected of you when you are a man.

I am so glad that he did take this time with me, oftentimes, it seemed strategically placed around tough points in my life when I
needed the input, the lesson, the hope, the insights that he wanted to share.

Establishing the groundwork at a younger age, when the years passed allowed us a smoother path.

When as an older teen, I wished to push the bounds of our relationship by asserting my own authority on my life, we were able
to work through those tense moments when I was spreading my wings, and make them teachable moments in the life experience. They added to
our relationship rather than pushing us farther from each other.

Perhaps my father’s early passing set my prospective of our relationship forever in the nostalgia of my youth. We never really
got to the good stuff of the best friend relationship that should have happened as time went on because he was still having to spend
time being my dad. Not that such a role would have ever ended, but as I was able to take on more of the responsibilities for my life after
college, I would have hoped that the lessons could have taken on a different form.

It is in this time of the year, that my father’s memory seems closest to me, because we shared so much in the summer months. I am
thankful that God sent me to be in family where I had two parents who were present and participating. So many youths do not, and as the
news of the world seeps into my life, I can’t help but wonder if a few more participating, present mothers and fathers would have
prevented many of the headlines which plaque our country.

Are you present in your children’s lives? Are you teaching them the lessons needed? Do they respect other people, creatures, and
cultures? If they don’t, may I suggest a fishing trip. There is something iconic and idyllic about those opening TV shots of Andy and
Opie Taylor walking with fishing poles in hand along a country road. Funny how so many long for the simplicity portrayed. We may never
have it, but it never hurts to take the walk.

“So, take down your fishin’ pole.”

Glistening from the heat

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I watched the white shears wave gently back and forth in the windows of the living room as the breeze eased its way into the house.

It was an extraordinarily hot day. By midmorning the coolness gained in the previous night had given way to the demands of the sun making everyone glisten in anticipation for the afternoon that would change all of us into a cross between a drenched cat and a swimmer climbing out of the deep spot in the creek. That is except for the woman folk whose glistening would be fought off by the thick application of scented powder on face, arms, and torso.

When the heat was so extreme, I often thought the ladies in my neighborhood carried a powder puff with them everywhere they went.

When there was no breeze and absolutely no chance of finding relief by a stroll by the creek of sitting in the shade of a massive oak, the ladies would gather up the young folks and load us into station wagons and away we would be whisked for an afternoon of looking and feeling at Woolworth’s, JC Penney’s or Richs which all had the tremendous advancement of air conditioning. If we were lucky that might materialize into a visit to an air conditioned theater to watch a movie carrying us through the heat of the day so that by suppertime, we would be able to gather in the breeze on the porch or in the yards.

It is amazing how the heat never really bothered me much as a kid. I knew it was hot but that was just the way it was and we did what we wanted to creating adventures around the neighborhood. We built forts out of down tree limbs, gathered pine cones storing them up for massive battles between each other. We ran, rode our bicycles, played baseball, football, kick ball, dodge ball, whatever brought us together and created activities allowing us to engage with one another. I was at a disadvantage in much of these activities due to my health but despite limitations, I tried allowing me to win sometimes, fail sometimes and build the initial experiences upon which my life would be built.

The street lights would come on and after supper, most of the kids would gather in the street for a game of baseball as the parents and neighbors sat in chairs on porches, stoops or under trees cheering us on as we gave it our all.

I can still see myself wearing a pumpkin colored short sleeve shirt half buttoned up with burgundy colored shorts standing in the middle of the street playing outfielder with my older brother’s baseball give. I would try to catch the next pop fly that Bruce, Jennifer, Charlotte, Art or Bubba might hit and then coming up to bat only to be out as I rounded the man hole cover, which was second base, as Kay or Charles tagged me. Eventually as the darkness enveloped us, we each would hear the calling home of one of our parents and we would give in, relinquishing another day to powers beyond our control. As we reached the doors, we looked like we had a bath and often smelled like we needed one.

For many of us that was shortly our next stop before a few minutes of TV and then off to bed until the sun summoned our rise again as it sent its rays through the holes in the window shears making a funny design on our faces and pillow.

The smell of bacon cooking would draw us to wipe the sleep from our eyes, hurriedly throw on some clothes and move us towards the kitchen to begin another odyssey of adventure among our family and friends. The sound of the slamming of the screen door, and the heat of the day often beckons such sweet memories that are seared into my memory when life was not as comfortable but each day held such opportunities.