I Will...

...Always Be the Baby!

From Left to Right Dede (Darsey) Holden, Steve Darsey, Rusty Darsey, T.R. Darsey

From Left to Right Dede (Darsey) Holden, Steve Darsey, Rusty Darsey, T.R. Darsey

Deliberate Pause

When a child is given a piece of candy or has kind words spoken to him or her or is given a gift, the parent might well say “now what do you say to the nice person?” The child, following script, says “thank you”.

This is not an unfamiliar script. Most of us, whether child, parent, teacher or significant adult, have more than likely played the role both as child and adult.

This script provides a “deliberate pause” in the child’s agenda. It is a “deliberate pause” that is designed to encourage the child to “thanksgiving”.

Thanksgiving Day brings a “deliberate pause” in schedules and lives. It is a time afforded to“give thanks” for abundance and blessings. Thoughts and voices will speak this day to bounty and provision.

The United States government established “Thanksgiving Day” as a legal holiday. It was established to “prompt” Americans to say “thank you” to “the nice person”.

“When I was a child, I said thank you as I child, I was grateful like a child, I was limited in my understanding of gratitude like a child. Now that I am grown, may I put away childish thanksgiving and ‘give thanks’ from a heart that is a ‘grateful heart’”

From a heart that is at this moment filled with gratitude I say “Thank you Heavenly Father. Thank you for your bounty and provision. Thank you for heavenly relationship with you, with family and with loved ones.”

Echoes

There are a few things I remember about the lake. I recall there was a water well with a hand pump. There were two reasons a very young boy would be attracted to well pump.


First, it was fascinating to figure how this mechanism could cause water to come out. Second,...I was constantly being told to “leave it alone”. Those are the real magic words to make it irresistible.

I remember the lake because Rusty found a “snapping turtle”. He put it on top of a “coke can”. I step away for a moment to share this editorial. Just as we do in the south today “coke can” was generic. It could have been any flavor soft drink. For all I know it could have been beer can. “Coke” meant any beverage.

In my early years drink cans were made of “tin” instead of recyclable aluminium. It was opened by a removable “pull tab”. Some purported to have actually collected “pull tabs”. This may be true but I never believed it.

The “utility” or “multi-function” of the “coke can” is what is called to attention. Rusty was able to put the turtle on top of the can. Once again, two things were accomplished. First, it kept the turtle from escaping. Second, it created the penultimate platform for “close-in” turtle observation. The “close-in” part is what established this turtle to be a “snapping turtle”. Nuff said.

I step aside from the narrative again. The "turtle on the can" reminds me of an idiom I heard several years ago. “If you see a turtle on a top of a fence post, you can bet he didn’t get there on his own”. This is a truth I have stated in other conversations on a regular basis.

I once remember swimming in the lake. I repeatedly opened my eyes under water and developed “pink eye”. (Yes..I actually remember opening my eyes under water)  By the time we got home I would not open my eyes. I remember how sensitive my eyes were to the light. Mama and Daddy had to literally force my eyes open to treat them with medicated drops.

There are facts about the lake that remain unclear. I cannot recall who owned the property. “Uncle Earl”?. There was a second man who would come to the lake. Perhaps he too was an owner.

I recall this second man because he always had mints, gum or a bag of Funyuns in his car. They represented a potential treat for me. He kept them “to eat to cover up the smell of drinking if ever stopped by the police”. Funny how I remember that detail.

I seem to recall a structure on the other side of the lake. Maybe it was an old rail car or something unique that had been moved to the property. Daddy spent time there working. Once he was  was using a welder or cutting torch. Something happened and the structure burned.

Early memories for me are generally impressions. Details and specifics are limited.The integrity of details is “up for grabs”. However, there is one vivid and irrevocable memory I have about the lake. It is the first memory I have of an echo. I can see the lake and vista spread before me. I can hear the return of the voice. It is one of my most fascinating memories.

Over recent days I have been plagued with the “sinus crud” suffered by others; the runny nose, the sneezing, the coughing and hacking....the coughing and hacking...the coughing and hacking. Daddy must have it too because I’ve heard him coughing and hacking....or is there an echo in here?

Grown Ups

It's easy to see from the photos how the years have made their mark. I thought these photos might serve as a reminder of our many blessings as the 2011 Holiday Season begins.

Mountaintop Experience

I've been away for the past several weeks...at least I’ve been away from “Hidden Lunch Boxes”. Several things have been going on. I’ve been helping acclimate our (new) pastor to his service at First Baptist Church, Winona.

My siblings and I also continue the “process of processing” our parents earthly belongings. That continues to be a “process” that “keeps on getting...”. I encourage you NOT to make an assumption about this statement. It has several meanings for me.....

The past several weeks has also held a “mountaintop” experience”; literally and figuratively. I mentioned in a previous blog my involvement with the Mississippi Singing Churchmen. I joined this organization when Judy and I returned to Mississippi almost twenty-two years ago.

The Mississippi Singing Churchmen are about singing. The Mississippi Singing Churchmen are also about missions; missions support and missions action. Its missions action includes sponsoring international mission efforts. The most recent international work was a few weeks ago to the country of Peru. Our group had worked there previously and this was a continuation of that work.

Several of us from the larger group departed a couple of days ahead so we could visit various Inca ruins in Peru prior to the beginning of our mission work. The “pinnacle” experience was a visit to one of the “wonders of the world”, the ruins of Machu Picchu. It was truly a wondrous experience.

Our guide was educational and communicated clearly. The design and engineering details of Machu Picchu were fascinating. The work of the ancient Incas would rival that of other ancient civilizations such as the Egyptians.

However, my visit has left me with larger questions. My questions are the same questions that visitors to Machu Picchu have asked and continue to ask. First, why did the Incas build it? Scholars can strongly speculate the reasons why Machu Picchu was constructed. It obviously was a sacred site for the Incas. Although that sacredness is understood there is still question as to why it was built.

The setting of Machu Picchu brings another question. To reduce the journey to Machu Picchu with the lone description of “scenic” is a massive understatement. It’s like saying the Pacific Ocean is a big lake or the Grand Canyon is a big hole in the ground. Description is inadaquate.

Machu Picchu is atop a mountain in the Peruvian Andes. It is a single mountain among scores of mountains in the same area. The mountains are similar and the one on which it is built is not the highest. So the second question is “why that particular mountain top?” “Why out of all the possible mountains was that particular mountain designate for Machu Picchu?

For me these questions will remain unanswered. It is not the purpose of this post to answer these questions  much less exhaust the considered responses. However, part of my mountaintop experience at Machu Picchu is searching these unanswerable questions and taking on their challenge to my thought.

Another reason my journey to Machu Picchu was such a “mountaintop experience” was because it was my 50th birthday. It was totally coincidental that we visited Machu Picchu on this particular day. It proved to be most memorable. My only stated regret was that I was not with my family. However, I was with a great group of friends.

In the days leading up to our departure I asked myself several times, “I wonder how many people have celebrated their 50th birthday at Machu Picchu”? I am aware with the masses that have visited any number of individuals might have celebrated significant birthdays at Machu Picchu.

I do know of one other individual who celebrated a significant birthday at Machu Picchu. Our group was standing on the sidewalk in front of our hotel in Aguas Calientes. One of our group pulled out a bag of “50th Birthday Stuff” my family had asked him to smuggle. I adorned the various paraphernalia and our group begin to take pictures.

At this point II saw a lady cross the railroad track/street. (Yes..the street has a train that runs through it.) She walked up to our group, and addressed me. “Is this your birthday?’ “Yes it is” I responded. “And you are going to Machu Picchu for your birthday?” “I am” I responded.

This lady, whose name I don’t recall, stated how the previous day was her birthday and she and her husband celebrated it by hiking into Machu Picchu for a sunrise visit. I certainly was elated at the coincidence.

She then asked my age. I responded I was turning 50 years old. It then became a great coincidence that she had turned 50 years old the day before at Machu Picchu. I remembered asking myself about others celebrating significant birthdays at Machu Picchu and I rejoiced at the coincidence. It added to my “mountaintop experience”.

“Mountaintop Experiences”. A great blessing! They should be counted as such. “Down in the valley”. A great blessing! Yes, the valleys are low. However, the valley is where you find the river. Perhaps I will learn to always take peace that no matter where I am, God remains.

Mama Beehive

Music is a tool for ministry, at least for me. I am a music minister in a local church and have been for over thirty years. I also participate in music ministry that is an extension of the local church.

My extended ministry is through the Mississippi Singing Churchmen. This is a statewide men's choir whose membership consists of music ministers from across the state. It has been my privilege to be a part of this group for more than twenty-one years.

This organization meets periodically throughout the year to rehearse, sing, minister and fellowship. There are times in the course of rehearsals or concerts our group can be enveloped by a phenomena. It happens when very familiar selections are being sung. Our director makes us aware of it by announcing, “you guys are in auto pilot”.

I think for the most part my parents adored the “auto pilot switch”. Our family had some simple yet meaningful rituals. Some of these rituals were annual. Each October when the fair was in town, my father would take us. We would go on Tuesday afternoon as soon as we got home from school. Why? It was his day off and I think my mother despised the fair.

Like most, Christmas eve had its rituals. In the afternoon we would visit extended family on my mother’s side and would ride to look at Christmas decorations after dark. We would also spend MUCH ENERGY trying to go to sleep.

My father was much about ritual. He seldom varied from his wake-up time. He was usually up at 4am, drinking coffee and armed with HIS pertinent reading material. I’m not convinced my mother was as attached to this routine. but she was usually not far behind him in the activities that heralded the new day.

Sunday morning...Sunday mornings were a ritual unto themselves. We did attend church as children. Our parents did not attend with us until we were a little older. Church was an important part of the life of our family, but the focus of this memory is not church. It was the activities before church.

Pancakes...pancakes were an important part of Sunday mornings. Sunday morning breakfast might also include grits, scrambled  or poached eggs and bacon or sausage. Breakfast was a memorable Sunday morning ritual, but it isn’t what stands out the most. What stands out the most about Sunday morning? Music!!

Again, my father had some “very clear” rituals and Sunday morning music was one of them. I wonder to this day if we would remember how to chew and swallow our food if the Sunday morning music had not been playing.

I cannot recall an “established order”. There may not have been one. However, the same “players” were always present. Each Sunday morning we could count on the likes of Patsy Cline and Floyd Cramer to join us for breakfast.

We were in “auto pilot” as the Sunday morning music played. “We knew every part by heart”. We could find the key before the next song began to play on the old LPs. “In the misty moonlight, by the flickering firelight”, Jim Reeves would serenade each Sunday.

The television was also part of the Sunday morning music repertoire.. My father would turn on the television at the appointed time and we would hear:

Jubilee, Jubilee, you’re invited to this happy Jubilee

Jubilee, Jubilee, you’re invited to this happy Jubilee

Our Sunday morning was also filled with “The Florida Boys” and “The Blackwood Brothers”. However, this dimmed in comparison to the group we hoped would be on for the week....you guessed it...”The Happy Goodman Family”. We anticipated them the most because of their beloved matriarch, Sister Vestal Goodman.

Why her? Was it the music? It really was quit simple...her hair. My mother’s routine had her at the hairdresser two days a week. Saturday was “wash and set”. Tuesday was for a “tease”. The occasional “perm” always led to a residential exodus until the “perm odor” had subsided. My mother had “BIG HAIR”. My mother was no match in the hair department to “Mama Beehive”.

Certainly ours is not the only family to tag Sister Vestal Goodman as “Mama Beehive”. It is for us a moniker that recalls a picture of “large hair”. It is also a moniker that recalls a wealth of routine that is now a crystallized heritage.

"The Help"er

“Read the book, don’t wait for the movie”. Presently both can be experienced with “The Help”. The book and the movie are popular, especially in our “neck of the woods”. The book was set in the Greater Jackson area and the movie was filmed in the Mississippi delta community of Greenwood.

Set in the mid-twentieth century, “The Help” is a story of the racial and societal tensions and dynamics that have haunted the American landscape, particularly the deep south, for generations.

“The Help” is a story of what might be identified as a generation of secondary slavery. It is also a story of resiliency of the human spirit. It shows that the heart will seek to rise above adversity and oppression with which it is sometimes bridled.

My parents were not of substantial fiscal resources. My mother and father were both in the work force. However, my parents found it necessary provide child care and household support throughout my early childhood. Although memories are sparse, “The Help” in my family has given me images and experiences that are vivid in my mind’s eye.

Maggie “helped” my Mom and Dad. I have not thought to ask when Maggie started “helping” my family. She was present in my earliest memories. Memories of her remain into my early elementary years. She performed household duties such as cleaning and laundry. She also provided childcare. As the youngest of four children I was its most direct recipient

My memory of Maggie is immune to the drama and dynamics of adulthood. I know that her time with my family was not without some tension and conflict. However, she is now frozen in my “childhood eyes” and has coalesced into figure that remains above reproach. She remains as a mother figure to me.

In birth order and character I have served well as “the baby”. If memory serves me correctly Maggie regularly referred to me in some derivative as “the baby”. Growing up being “the baby” was not cherished. My life is now at mid-point and I wear the moniker “the baby” as a badge of honor.

Maggie, whether knowingly or unknowingly,  served as an integral part of my defense strategy in my sometimes misguided role as a “sibling terrorist”. Younger siblings sometime employ covert and subversive actions to counteract the regime of oppression that the “cast system of birth order” brings.

I waged guerrilla warfare on my siblings. My siblings were older and bigger so I took it upon myself to address this environmental discrepancy by provoking them to adverse and counter-productive responses. I’d “drive them to the brink of their endurance”. (see “Brink Driving”)

When they would get to their “brink”, my siblings would retaliate. I would then retreat to “The Help”, fall behind the defensive line of her behind, and watch as she would defend the injustice of the “bigger-older” attack on the “younger-smaller” innocence. At the time it felt wonderful.

I am still amazed at my stubborn short-sightedness and even rank stupidity. Maggie was not always present. I could not always retreat behind the “behind”. I paid and sometimes I paid dearly. You know...it taken years for me to realize my siblings were not necessarily mean, I was however necessarily obnoxious.

I have novel memories of “The Help”. Maggie was not to be disturbed when she watched her “soaps”. She regularly needed a “BC Powder” and I was sent to fetch one from the store on the other side of our block. Yes..I would go as a young child...by myself...around the corner...out of sight... to the store to purchase Maggie a “BC Powder” and “pop”.

I recall how Maggie would iron clothes with starch. She would mix the starch in a 12oz Coke bottle. It had a top that could be inserted and the top would sprinkle the starch water on the clothes for proper ironing. I recall her need to “warm” during the cold months. She would back up to the spot heater in our living room, hike her skirt just a bit, and warm herself.

I still feel the security. I now realize her security was fragile. Truth be known, she was probably as scared of life as me. Yet, for me, I was sheltered. I had physical and emotional shelter provided by loving parents. Part of their provision for their “baby” was “The Help”.