Thoughts From the Front Porch

Howard Bunch

As I said previously, I do not remember my mother from those days at Pa’s house. My bonding was with Granny, and all my life I was always much closer to her than I was to Mother.

One day in April 1942 (the spring before I turned 4-years-old in July), Marie, Inez and I were playing under the crib - or Little House - and I would guess we were again rescuing doodle bugs. The crib stood on stone pillars high off the ground and the sandy soil under it made a fine place to play. On this day, someone came to fetch me - told me Granny wanted me. And I, still holding a corn shuck I’d been smoothing the dirt with, went to my doom.

I stood at Granny’s knee, and saw also in the room my mother and Mr. Armstrong - but whether I knew his name was Mr. Armstrong or even whether I’d ever seen him before, I cannot say. As I stood there, Mother told me that she and Mr. Armstrong had gotten married and that I would go to live with them.

This is my first memory of my mother.

I held on to Granny’s apron with one hand and my corn shuck with the other. I suppose I was going to use the shuck to stave off disaster. Isn’t it interesting what minutia the brain will hold on to! But that corn shuck and Granny’s apron are as clear and real today as they were those long years ago.

Somehow, I won a week’s reprieve. I’d guess that Granny and Pa counseled that “next week might be better.”

A week later I ended up with my mother and new step-father. I have absolutely no memory of that dreadful day. Psychologists say that we block out those things too painful to remember; and, quite frankly, I’m glad I do not remember the event.

It was a move of only 2 miles or so, but to a little boy not quite four years old, it might as well have been a thousand miles.

Step-father was the principal of Bryant School and lived in a little brown house adjacent to the school. It was called the teacherage, a house provided by the school for the principal.

It was an empty house. At Granny and Pa’s, there had been eleven people. In the little brown house there were three, and I slept in a room by myself. Where at Granny and Pa’s, at night, I had been in the room with other breathing bodies who loved me, now in the night there were only the terrors of darkness and nightmares.

There was an outside door to my room, and the door had a window in it. Deep in the night, beasts of all sorts would clamor to get in and devour me. The bear and the wolf would scratch and claw at the door. In my terror I would go to Mother for comfort, but it was never the comfort of Granny’s loving bosom and safe arms.

Added to the nighttime distresses  were the daytime chores! I was assigned, by step-father, the task of pulling weeds from the front yard - a sand bucket full per day. Personally, I had never heard of anything more absurd in my life! My heart rebelled and resisted, but there was no escape. I had to do it. The seed heads of those weeds were somewhat like tiny cattails, and I never see them without also seeing my little bucket full of them.

Because of my rebellious heart, I experienced guilt. I’m sure mother talked to me about obedience to her and to God, and that obeying her would please God.

It was because of this conflict of good and bad that I saw the devil late one summer evening.

Now, I’m sure that by this time I had heard many sermons on how bad the devil was and that Hell was down and was on fire. On this particular day, I had once more lost the battle of weeds and had been required to pull the wretched bucket full.

It was twilight, and mother and step-father were on the front porch while I wandered aimlessly and dejectedly in the backyard. I sat down on the back steps, pondering over the incomprehensible mysteries of life. I glanced over to the tree next to the steps, and my soul was filled with stupefying horror. A gaping hole had opened at the base of the tree and the flames of hell shimmered and flickered within. I could not move; I could not scream. I knew life was over and damnation had overtaken me. But when I saw the devil himself rising out of the pit, I did scream, and as I screamed I ran to the front of the house yelling, “I saw the devil! I saw the devil!”

I knew the devil must be in hot pursuit and that only Mother could save me. And she did. Somehow, she calmed me down and took me back to show me that the devil was not there. And there, where I had seen Hell and the devil, was a lightning bug crawling up the coils of an old set of bed springs leaning against the tree.

After that, even though the devil had been only a firefly, somehow I pulled the weeds a little more cheerfully for a little while.

Mother made her clothes and mine. To make me feel better in my new home, she had made me two pairs of overalls - at least I remember them as overalls. On the bib on one she had appliqued a dog and on the other a cat. They were the finest clothes I had ever seen, and I loved them. It was these overalls that forced me to make the first great decision of my life.

I had decided that I really had to get back to Granny and Pa’s. At one point with the weed pulling madness burning my soul, I had unwisely informed Mother, “You’re not my boss; Grandma’s my boss!” The switching that followed let me know that Mother was indeed my boss. It was a miserable day.

So, I’m sure I kept up an unending plea to go back to Grandma’s. Finally one day Mother said, “All right, you can go live with Grandma.” My heart sang, for I thought I’d won. But then Mother said, “But you’ll have to leave your new overalls here. You can’t take them with you” What a terrible thing I faced. There I was, the only kid on Sand Mountain with two pairs of new overalls - glorified with a cat and a dog. How long I pondered and to what depths my spirit zig-zagged, I don’t know, but the overall won and Granny lost. I stayed with the new overalls - and, quite secondarily, stayed with Mother.

…………
*Photo Details
My mother is second from left in back row; Granny is holding Inez; Marie is the little girl in the second row. Four boys are my uncles who dragged me around with them until I was snatched away. The boy holding the hat is a cousin that Granny and Pa raised. Uncle Eskell is holding me, but the camera just about cut me out of the picture.

Joe’s Meanderings is a series by Joe Whitten

Joe's Meanderings