Buddy Killed Birdie

I've had a lovebird for a couple of years. Daddy caught it outside of his house on his air conditioning unit. I didn't want Mama to give it away when it got to be too much trouble to take care of so I brought him home with me. Scout and I were able to feed it by hand. 

After Scout and Colt didn't live here any longer the bird got real attached to me. He would fly around and land in a window and watch me fix dinner or wash dishes. He was getting friendlier and friendlier. 

The other day I had to go some place and I forgot and left Buddy in the house with the bird. It was out of his cage. When I came home that evening it took a while before I realized my little buddy, the bird, wasn't around annoying me and seeking my attention like he would usually do. I started feeling anxious and looked for him. I even went outside and whistled for him, hoping he would hear me and come to me. I knew something was wrong.

I finally found my little bird lying in the floor behind a chair. He had a gash in his chest. 

I was crushed. 

That bird was the last tangible thing I had from my father. It was my last living connection. It really hurt knowing I had lost my little bird because I was in a hurry and didn't even think about putting Buddy outside that day. It was my own fault.

I sure will miss my little friend.

And So This Is Christmas

It certainly is a strange Christmas season. Scout decorated the house outside with lights but we haven't done a thing inside. Not anything. Scout has some little mice Moma helped him make pinned to a egg carton. Moma's the crafty one who has always encouraged my son's creative side. We haven't even gotten our little Christmas tree out to put them on. I've been sick for a couple of weeks and haven't felt like doing anything.

It's very hard to get into the spirit of Christmas and the joy of the season after the tragedy at Shady Hook in Newtown, Connecticut last week. It brings home the importance of loving your children and family, and holding them close, and telling them you love them because, for some people, it may be the last chance you get to tell them. It only takes one selfish person with a gun, or one driver who is out of control, to turn your life upside down. 

It has been so painful to hear about the lives of the women and children lost in this senseless tragedy that I have avoided listening to the news as much as possible. I still get plenty of information anyway. I am sick of the tragedies that happen across this country because of the lack of gun control. I am tired of the murders of innocent people who are gunned down because some deranged gunman decides to exact revenge against people who have done them no harm. 

We need to do more to make sure that mentally ill people have access to mental healthcare before they decide to do something awful. It's too late after the fact. I read that Ronald Reagan cut back mental health funding in the '80's and that is why there aren't enough programs in place for people to turn to when they have a friend or relative who is exhibiting antisocial behavior. 

It's ironic that Reagan would cut funding to mental health in light of the fact that in 1981 he was targeted by a mentally ill gunman who tried to kill him. He and James Brady, Reagan's press secretary, were shot during the attack, Brady critically. In 1993 President Clinton signed the Brady Handgun Violence Act which required a background check by the FBI before purchasing handguns. The Brady Act expired in 2004 and, because of strong lobbying of the National Rifle Association it has never been revised again. The lobbyists have too much control over Senators and Congressmen to ever allow it to see the light of day.

In light of the slaughter of 20 little kids, you'd think that everybody would be in favor of more control of assault weapons. Instead, I have read people defending the weapons, and all guns, since the terrorist attack at Sandy Hook School. 

I've decided to call them what they are, terrorists. They may be insane. They may be desperate. But they are still terrorists. The country is being terrorized by evil people with guns. When is it going to stop? How are we going to stop it? How many more lives are going to have to be lost in deadly rampages before the American people rise up and demand change?

The Mayan calendar predicted a new era. Many people predicted the end of the world. I enjoyed playing along with the fantasy but, like everything that is hyped, it proved to be a bust and the world is still here. Thank God. Maybe the new era can be a time for change and growth. Maybe the new era marked by the Mayan calendar will usher in a new age of peace and compassion for our fellow man. Maybe, just maybe, people will wake up and start caring more about people than their precious right to own a gun.

I'm not anti-gun. I don't believe the government needs to confiscate every weapon in the country. Someday I want to buy a titanium handgun. I saw one years ago and really liked it. But that still doesn't absolve the testosterone driven ego that thinks being a man means having a bigger and more powerful gun than everybody else. No man needs, or should have an assault weapon. If you want to get your kicks with high powered weapons why don't you man up and join the army? Or, if you can't handle that, why don't you apply to the police academy and become a police officer? Channel that he-man drive to wield a weapon in a productive way.

The Second Amendment states: "A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."    

I'd say the closest thing we have to "a well regulated Militia" is the National Guard which is supposed to protect America from within her borders. It implies that the Militia must be "well regulated". That, to me, sounds like they have to have regular meetings and exercises designed to respond to any threat the State may encounter. I've never seen a bunch of men get together and practice military skills in my neighborhood. Have you? I've never seen people get together as civilians and use their weapons to prepare for invaders. Have you?

The right to have a weapon has long been established in this country. When I was growing up boys would go squirrel hunting with shotguns. Nobody thought a thing about it. They had relatives who taught them gun safety and how to hunt, but there weren't any bloody attacks on people during that age.

It is a different world today. Most men have never touched a gun, much less own one. They wouldn't even dream of hunting. I'm not discounting the men who hunt. I'm just saying most men today don't hunt. They don't use guns. The world has changed. 

Hunting doesn't bother me. Hunting and killing people, does.

My father and grandfather used to hunt. They owned shotguns and rifles. Nobody I know owns an assault weapon though. There is a difference. If you are a real hunter, you don't need an AR15 or any other weapon that holds thirty rounds. You certainly don't belong in the woods with a weapon like that. 

I hope the tragedy in Sandy Hook was not in vain. I hope the people will demand the Brady Act be reinstated so that everyone has to go through personal background checks. I hope gun manufacturers feel the pressure of their customers and the government and they quit making and selling the macho-man guns that have turned up in so many tragic shootings. I hope we wake up before it is too late. Sadly, it is too late for too many people.

In closing I'd like to say, I have met many people in my life and honestly, I wouldn't want most of them to have a gun. People are not as bright as they think they are. They certainly don't need to be armed and dangerous.

Maybe God will give us reason this holiday season. I sure hope so.

AS ALWAYS

PIO

Party Down Yall

I must have been a socially awkward teenager because my mother got it into her head one time that I should have a party and invite all my friends. I looked at her like she had grown two heads. Was she crazy? I didn't have lots of friends. I only had a couple of close friends and I didn't know anything about throwing a party. I think Moma was worried about me because I wasn't a social butterfly and she wanted to help me make friends. So we decided to have a party.

I told my two friends, and they told their two friends, and they told their two friends, and so on and so forth until everyone wanted to come to the party. My cousins, Randy and Mike, lived next door so all their friends wanted to come, too. Before long we had a crowd.

We played spin the bottle and I remember walking around the house with a boy named Joel. He kissed me. When we walked on around the house we came upon my dog, Rip. Rip was a German Shepard. We had him chained up at the corner of the house. He jumped at Joel and barked. Rip scared Joel to death. I should have taken note of that.*  All the boys had to maneuver past Rip to circle the house. It still didn't deter the boys from playing the game.

I felt nauseous the next day and blamed it on the kiss. I decided not to kiss any more boys.

I went into my bedroom during the party and caught a bunch of girls dousing themselves in my huge bottle of Ambush cologne that my mother had bought me. They were having so much fun they didn't care.

Daddy had piled an old dog house next to the creek to burn when it got dark for a fire. He had hooked the trailer to the tractor and piled hay on it for a hay ride. Daddy drove the tractor around the neighborhood and let the kids ride on it until everyone had an opportunity to go on the hayride.

The boys hung out around the fire together. Daddy tried to get them to roast marshmallows or hot dogs over the fire but they all refused. They didn't want to cook their food over a dirty old dog house even if it was on fire.

Everyone seemed to be having fun except for me and Moma. I was so busy making sure there was food and snacks for everyone and helping Moma keep everything clean that I didn't really have much time to enjoy my own party. While everyone was wandering around talking and laughing I was busy in the house. I started to realize that having a party wasn't as much fun as it sounded.

Moma had parked her Chevrolet Impala in the yard in front of the living room. There was a power pole in the front yard, too. We watched Bobby rare back and sling his RC cola bottle toward the creek. At least, I think that was what he was trying to do. The RC bottle hit the wood power pole and ricocheted sideways into  the windshield, causing it to shatter, then bounce towards the living room window. It barely missed.

Bobby started apologizing over and over again. Moma and I were worried about how Daddy would take it. We sat on the carport talking about the accident and wondering what he would say. When he came home Moma told him about the boy and the RC bottle. She said she was surprised because he didn't get upset about it. He said it could have been worse. He seemed to enjoy the party. 

They got the windshield fixed. The funny thing is, the RC bottle didn't even break. I wouldn't want to get hit over the head with one. They're tough.

Teenage parties are not going to turn out well. It doesn't matter how well you think you have things planned. Some idiot is going to do something to show everybody else he is the biggest idiot and something's going to get broke, or set on fire, or blown up. That's probably why I didn't want to have any more parties.

Well, Moma did talk me into having a pajama party one time . . . .

*Love on the Run, January 2011


AS ALWAYS PIO

Go Pam Go

I was fifteen years old when I learned to drive. Moma said I needed to learn to drive a stick shift before I learned to drive an automatic so she taught me how to drive her car. She had a 1959 Impala. When I got my learner's license she would let me drive on straight-aways so that I could get the feel of the car. Moma chided me for being a lead foot and tried to get me to keep it between the lines. We had a few close calls. When I had to stop for red lights on hills she jumped over next to me to keep the car from rolling back more than once. She accused me of making her hair turn grey.

What can I say? I was a wild child. I was driving a float! The Impala had wings and it was white. It was huge. I couldn't see well when I backed up and driving forward wasn't much better. But I loved driving. I would beg people to let me drive but nobody ever trusted me. I can't say I blame them.

I remember my cousins, Randy and Debbie, were at my house once and Moma said I could drive the Impala out to my grandmother's house which was two houses down. Randy lived in the house between my grandparents and me. We were all very close when we were young. I don't remember if we were supposed to bring a bowl or something to Beulah's house for Moma or why Moma agreed to let me take the car. I just remember that she told me to go out there and come right back. Debbie and Randy were going to ride to Beulah's with me.

We pulled out of the driveway and started to my grandmother Beulah's house. By the time we got to the drive way someone said something about taking the car down the road. Somebody else agreed with the idea. As the driver I made a split second decision to drive on down the road a piece. We were only going to go a little further and turn around. The trouble was, I began to be scared that I'd pull into somebody's driveway and not be able to back out fast enough and someone might hit us on one of the hills. Dug Gap is a very hilly road with lots of dips and curves. Some people use the road like a drag strip.

I kept driving further and further trying to find some place to turn around. I was sweating it because I knew we were going to be in trouble. Instead of a five minute trip I was headed to the end of Dug Gap. I got about two miles down the road before I finally turned around in somebody's drive way. Mailboxes were across the road from the drive way. I backed so close to the mailboxes that the slanted antenna bent straight up and snapped. Ah, busted. I was in deep crap now.

Any joy I may have felt in our little joyride was gone. Poof! I didn't know what was going to happen to Debbie and Randy but I had a pretty good idea what was going to happen to me. It wasn't a pretty picture. We headed towards home and drove to our grandmother's house. Maybe she could protect us.

I had to go home and tell Moma that I broke the antenna when I took the car. She was very mad at me for taking the car down the road without permission. She knew how mad Daddy would get. I don't know if he was more upset because I took the car or because I broke the antenna but Moma took the blame for me and told him she had let me take the car. She just didn't tell him she only meant to Beulah's house. I always hated putting Moma in that position.

My mother earned every one of those grey hairs. She earned half of them the day she tried to teach me how to pass. I had been riding a cars bumper when she told me that I should pass them. We were going north on Highway 41 up the steep grade near the Carmichael's.

I got up even with an old truck and started up that grade. I kept trying to get around them but couldn't get up enough speed. I was focused on passing the truck so hard that I didn't let up on the gas. Moma started getting so excited that she started yelling Go Pam Go, over and over again. I thought she was cheering me on. Moma was frantically banging on the dash yelling Go Pam Go when I realized she wasn't yelling Go Pam Go. She was yelling No! Pam! No!

I looked up and a semi truck had crested the hill and was barreling down directly towards us. The driver in the old truck wasn't giving an inch and I was about to kill us. My God! I let off the gas and fell in behind the vehicle. After Moma collected her nerves and new grey hairs she gave me a good lecture and told me she'd let my daddy teach me how to drive from now on.

Daddy drove a big green boxy Ford truck with a green plywood homemade camper on back. He decided to teach me the right way to pass somebody when we were going camping one time. We were on windy curvy roads and I didn't really want to practice there. He kept insisting until I pulled up alongside a vehicle. Daddy told me to speed up and pass them, then pull in front of them.

I did exactly what Daddy said but I didn't check my mirrors to be sure I was far enough ahead of them. I cut into their lane and nearly ran over them. Daddy got mad and started yelling at me about cutting people off. I had no idea about watching my mirrors and I couldn't even see out of those big ass truck mirrors. That's the day I decided I'd never pass anything unless they were really, really slow. Better that than me plowing into somebody.

AS ALWAYS

PIO

Say Cheese

Do you remember when the Polaroid Land Camera came out sometime in the'60's? It may seem primitive now, but it was the cutting edge of the photographic age. Those individual pictures were the first steps in photography which has led us to where we are today.

I really wanted one of those cameras. I dropped hints around the house hoping that Moma and Daddy would get me a camera for my birthday. I think I was turning 15 that year.

To say my daddy is tight would be an understatement. He never buys anything until he's checked out all the similar equipment and compared prices and found the best deal. We lived in Dalton and, back then, there weren't lots of stores like there are now to compete for sales. Daddy and Moma decided to see if they could get a better deal and save a few bucks. They drove 30 miles to Chattanooga.

The Land Camera was really hot since it could develop pictures in sixty seconds and was being advertised nationwide for sale for $19.95. Everybody wanted one.

I rushed out to the car to meet Moma and Daddy when they came back home from Chattanooga. I was excited to see if they had gotten the camera.

"We looked at a lot of cameras but we didn't buy you one. Your daddy said they cost too much, but we did get you a book that tells you all about the camera." Moma said as she handed me a little brochure telling all about the Land Camera. She told me she was really sorry they hadn't gotten me a camera.

I looked down at the little book, then I looked at Moma. I thought she was joking but I soon realized that she wasn't. There was no camera. They really hadn't bought one and all I was getting was a crumby book about the camera. "Gee. thanks Mom." I couldn't believe it.

What a birthday. Oh, well, nobody could say they spoiled me now, could they? Needless to say, I was disappointed. I still had a glimmer of hope that they would whip out a camera and yell, "Surprise!" but that didn't happened.

Thankfully though, I had a good friend who knew I had been wanting a camera. She had a part-time job and she was old enough to drive. She came to visit me on my birthday and she brought me a Polaroid Land Camera. That was the nicest gift she ever gave me because I hadn't been expecting anything from her. It was extra nice since I thought all I was going to get was a book about a camera for my birthday. Thanks Susan. That was my Polaroid moment.

PIO

Lake Winnie

Picture courtesy of Paul Drabek at Negative-G www.Negative-G.com

. . . or why mothers eat their young.

Like grains of sand in an hour glass, these are the days of our lives.

For joy, for joy! Long before Disney World, and even long before Six Flags Over Georgia, way back in the beginning of the TV era when I was young . . . long, long ago there was only one main attraction for all the amusement ride lovers in our area and that place still stands today. That place is Lake Winnepesaukah. The place has been here for eighty-five years and it is far better to spend the day there and ride all the rides you want to, than to drive all the way to Atlanta and stand in the lines for hours waiting to ride only a few rides. I hate waiting in lines.

Lake Winnie is the place that a lot of people got their first kiss as they rode the boat chute through the Tunnel of Love. It was reputed to have snakes sleeping in the rafters which sometimes fell into the boats of the helpless victims below. That story always had to be related aloud to some young person who was taking his first ride on the boat chute. The spooky tunnel is at the beginning of the ride.

We had some good times up there. I remember one time when we were young that my cousins Randy and Debbie and I rode to Chattanooga in our great uncle Cletus' white Cadillac. He drove below the speed limit because he believed the sign that said "Keep off the median" meant to drive below the speed limit. We all argued with him that it didn't mean to drive that slow but he wouldn't listen. Old people. Sheesh!

We had a family reunion up there that day. They rented a pavillion and the table was covered with food from one end to the other. Naturally the kids all took off to ride the rides after we ate. We lined up to ride a ride that goes across the lake. Two people to a gondola allowed you to ride high above the lake and you can look down on the people below you riding paddle boats and see all around the park. It was really high. And the water down below looked really dark and uninviting.

Debbie and I were in line behind her brothers, Steve and Eddie, but we could still talk to them. As we started across the water it became obvious that they were starting to panic. Steve was afraid of the height and Eddie was afraid of falling in the water. They kept talking about jumping off because the ride turns around at the other side and rides you back across the lake before letting you off the ride. The turn around is next to electrical wires and equipment working the ride. There are signs posted all over the place with "Warning", and "Danger".

Debbie and I tried to talk them out of jumping but they were determined not to ride back across the lake. We saw them jump. They cleared the wires and hit the ground running. We were stunned. What dummies.

By the time we got off the ride security, in the amusement park, was looking for the two boys who bailed out across the lake. Debbie and I denied knowing them. The rest of us wandered off and tried to distance ourselves from the search. We all eventually got together again and found out that Steve and Eddie had been dodging security and thought they had ditched them. Whew, that was some adventure. You wouldn't believe that years later Eddie joined the Navy and Steve joined the Air Force.

I also remember Debbie and Randy and I were playing when Moma told me it was time to leave. I wanted to stay a little longer and tried to get her to let me ride back home with somebody else. She said "No" but Debbie and Randy and I decided to run away and she started chasing me. We started running around the bumper car shed and would dart in the opposite direction when we saw her coming. This went on for a while and we were laughing and having a good time until Moma tricked me and jumped out and grabbed me when we ran the wrong way.

Moma was shaking with rage, mad enough to kill me. She had me by the hair and began shaking me by the hair of the head. I was tiptoeing and trying to get away. She was furious as she got close to me and said, "I ought to whip you right here and now but I won't, I won't . . ." and then she suddenly leaned toward me and bit me hard on the cheek. She drug me off and told me I better not talk back to her. How could I? She might bite me again. Sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone so I did. It was time to go home.

She was mad because people were watching me and my cousins running away from her and not minding her. She said one old man was watching us and laughing and that really made her mad. Oh well, I guess I learned a lesson there, about minding your mother, especially if she bites.

AS ALWAYS

PIO

Daddy Speaks Out

My family has lived in the Dug Gap community for over 70 years. My father grew up on the family farm. Years later, my grandparents deeded an acre apiece to my father and his sister. They both built houses in the '50's. My uncle also got an acre of ground to build his house on in the '80's. My aunt and uncle moved away but my father has always lived there. Daddy knows a lot about the community.

One time  my mother was driving home from town down Dug Gap Road when a limb broke out of a big tree growing on the side of the road, smashing her windshield on the car. She asked the people who owned the house if they had homeowners insurance to cover the broken windshield.  The homeowners  claimed that it was on the right-of-way and it was the county's responsibility. They contacted the county but they said that they didn't own the right of way. Daddy and Moma went to the courthouse to check the records and find out if the county owned the right-of-way. The county didn't own the right-of-way so they weren't able to get them to fix Moma's car.

Fast forward a few years later when the county was widening the road down Dug Gap. They were taking about a foot or so of everyone's property on each side of the road and paving it. Daddy said they were going to have to pay him if they wanted to pave beside the road because it was illegal  to take people's property without paying compensation.

When they got to his property, he went outside to tell them that they couldn't widen the road at his property unless they paid him for it. The road crew called their supervisors and they came to talk to Daddy. They got the commissioners to come down and tell him that they owned the right-of-way. He told them that he knew for a fact that the county didn't own the right-of-way and he wasn't going to allow them to pave the shoulder of the road unless they paid for it. The commissioners said that they would bring proof to show Daddy that he was wrong. They left Daddy standing at the driveway to make sure nobody started paving while they were gone.

Everybody in the family went inside talking about the excitement and wondering what would happen next. It didn't take long to find out.

Instead of the commissioners coming back with proof that the county owned the right-of-way, a deputy sheriff came down the road and stopped in the road in front of the house. He told Daddy that he didn't have a right to stop the road crew from paving the road and he was wasting their valuable time. Daddy told him that the commissioners were coming back soon to tell him if they had the right-of-way to Dug Gap Road. The deputy told Daddy that if he didn't stop obstructing their job he would arrest him.

Daddy told the deputy that he was on his own property and the sheriff  couldn't arrest him because he wasn't breaking any laws. The deputy grabbed Daddy and yanked him into the road and said, "You're not on your property now, are you?", then  he punched him in the side near his kidneys with the end of his billy stick. It made Daddy double over in pain. Daddy had been suffering with prostate problems when the sheriff's deputy punched him. He had been under a doctor's care because of his prostate gland. Being jerked around by handcuffs and hit in the side didn't help.

The deputy  forced Daddy into the back of  the sheriff's car and took him to jail. One of our neighbor's saw Daddy get arrested and told the family that Daddy had been arrested.

I was pregnant at the time. When I went outside and saw that the commissioners had returned I went up to them and started yelling at them and telling them what a bunch of cowards they were to call the sheriff on my Daddy and that they were a bunch of crooks and liars. One of the commissioners said they thought Mr. Burchfield's "wife" was going to go in labor because I was so upset. The dumbass wasn't even listening when I was cussing them and telling them how sorry I thought they were for having my Daddy arrested. No wonder they wouldn't listen to my Daddy. Daddy's no dummy. He knows an awful lot about local law and things going on in the community. He was right about the law and the right-of-way..

Moma found out that Daddy had been arrested so she got off work and went to arrange Daddy's bail. She got PawPaw to go with her to help get him out of jail. The road crew worked hard to pave that strip of land and get out of there before Daddy got out of jail.

Daddy is not one to sit and let people walk all over him. He contacted a lawyer. Actually, he contacted a lot of lawyers. He found out that no lawyer in Dalton would take his case, even though he had proof that he was right about the right-of-way and the unlawful arrest. It took him a while until he was finally able to find someone to take his case.

In the meantime the road department came back down the road widening the bridges on Dug Gap Road. Moma was at home that day. She went outside and told the workers they didn't have the right to widen the bridge on our side of the road and that she and Daddy were in the process of sueing the county and if they paved the bridge on our side of the road she would just sue them, too. The road crew called their supervisor and he told them to leave that bridge alone. The bridge at my parents house still isn't paved today.

It took years before the case went to court. Both of my boys were big by the time the case went to court. Daddy won his case and was paid a settlement.

Another time Moma and Daddy befriended some neighbors who were old maids. Moma had asked them if she could have some of their pecans. After getting to know the ladies, Moma and Daddy felt sorry for them because they all seemed helpless. Their yard was overgrown and their bushes needed trimmed. Daddy went to one of the churchs at Dug Gap and told them that some old ladies who lived in the neighborhood needed some help to get their yard cleaned up. He asked the preacher if he would get some young people together to clean up the old ladies yard. He said that the preacher asked what church they went to. Daddy said he didn't know what church they went to but they needed help and he was asking for it. He promised to get back to him. Nobody from the church ever showed up to help. Moma and Daddy ended up taking their trailer up there and cut down three huge loads of limbs and brush. They hauled it all down to their house and burned it.

Years later, when the electric company wanted to put huge power poles down a small section of Dug Gap Road, everybody in the neighborhood wanted to stop them. People got together trying to get the electric company to use another less invasive route. Daddy and Moma went to meetings to discuss the gigantic metal power poles being proposed. Daddy and other members of the community went around talking to people about the power poles. He even asked one of the pastors from another church for their support in stopping the electric company from putting huge power poles through that part of Dug Gap. Instead of supporting him, they told the electric company that it would be okay with them if they wanted to put the poles on their church property.

When people in the neighborhood found out that the only ones to get any money from the electric company would be the actual people who owned the property that the poles would be placed on everyone lost interest. Never mind the fact that Dug Gap looks hideous with those monstrous metal power poles running through a short section of Dug Gap. It seems that the only way people care about anything is if money is involved.

Daddy has a huge 142 foot metal power pole in the front yard between his house and his neighbor's house. I've learned to ignore it but it is HUGE. And so unnecessary. They could have run the line from Highway 41 through the woods and by the Ryman Farm and subdivision. There are already electric lines that run across that section of Dug Gap Road from Highway 41. It would have been able to go directly to the Valley Point power station by that route along Highway 41. I think the commissioners and the electric company probably chose the route they did to make sure to put a huge ugly power pole in Daddy's front yard. But that's just my theory.

There are a lot of churches in the Dug Gap community. When the Muslim's bought some property in Dug Gap, the community banned together in opposition of a mosque. Daddy went to those meetings, too.

When Daddy was allowed to speak he told everyone in the meeting about asking one church for help in blocking the power lines through Dug Gap and how they hadn't helped. He also told about asking another church to help the elderly ladies in the community. Then he told about one church that had purchased land to build their church on and how they had desecrated a graveyard. He offered to talk to anyone after the meeting if they wanted more details.

The preacher from that church caught up with him after the meeting and told him that he had no right to say things like that about his church. He said they hadn't bulldozed any graves. Daddy told him that he was a liar. He told the preacher that he was going to town one day and saw that the church was bulldozing the land all around the graves. When he came back from town the dirt had been graded down and there wasn't a sign of the graves.

The preacher said, oh well, there weren't any bones and so they didn't desecrate any graves. The preacher also said that someone had told him it would be alright to level the graves. Daddy said he had probably been talking to Quinton Babb and he didn't even own the property so he had no right telling them that they could flatten the graves.

People had used the excuse that the mosque would bring in too much traffic down Dug Gap so Daddy told about all the churches that had been built over the years. One church had been built recently and was adjascent to the property owned by the Muslims. He said that, so far, the churches in the community hadn't done a thing to help him but, he felt, if he asked the Muslims for help they would probably be more accommodating than some people in the neighborhood. He also said that since they didn't meet like the churches in the community they probably wouldn't attract any more traffic than the other churches. Daddy said that he thought the Muslims had as much right to build their church in Dug Gap as all the other churches. The mosque was built but not everyone was happy. The property has been vandalized.

My father is one of those rare American's who believe in standing up for the things that he believes are right and he isn't afraid to stand up to local government or big business or community discord. He inspires me.




PIO

Silky the Flying Squirrel

When I was in high school a friend of mine raised three orphan grey squirrels. They were Romeo, Juliet and Ophelia. She loved to talk about their pet squirrels and tell about their antics living with her and her young husband in a small mobile home. I would go and visit them and enjoy these beautiful wild creatures up close and personal.

Someone at school had a flying squirrel that was becoming a nuisance and they offered the squirrel to Patricia. She would have liked to adopt the little flying squirrel but she was afraid it would upset her grey squirrels and cause problems. She asked me if I would like to have Silky. I was thrilled to adopt the cute little creature.

Patricia and Billy brought Silky to my house and let him loose to show me and my family how friendly the little squirrel was. They bribed him with pecans and walnuts. He would scamper all over them, crawling on their shirts and pants and perching on top of their heads. He would perch there for a few moments to examine his new environment and then suddenly go sailing across the room to land on the curtain rod and scurry across it like it was a tree limb. He was funny and friendly. He took to us immediately and Moma and Daddy were won over. They didn't mind having Silky in the house.

In the evenings Silky and I would retire to the bedroom with the door closed so he wouldn't wander about the house and keep everybody awake all night. Flying squirrels are nocturnal animals and he became progressively active at night. His bed was a cube shaped kleenex box I place on the curtain rod above my bed.

Every night he would sail across the bedroom over my bed and hit the closet door. Thump! Then you could hear him scurry across the wooden floor and sense him crawling over the bed and leaping up the curtains to ascend to his treetop only to jump into the abyss and smack into the closet door, or land somewhere else and scamper around. After a while I began to grow sick of the noise and loss of sleep. Locking him in the closet didn't help because he would slam into the door again and again trying to get out.

Moma and Daddy were having carpet put in for the first time and having the ceilings sprayed with foam to make it look modern. The house became a maze of displaced furniture that was being constantly moved out of rooms so the ceilings could be sprayed. All of this activity made Silky nervous and he was able to hide so it wasn't easy to keep track of him. The house was finally straightened out and everything settled back to normal. Moma found nuts that Silky had hidden above widows and the glass door. He was very good at saving his nuts for later.

Moma and Daddy were both working at night during that time. Moma would always stand in the bathroom in front of the sink getting ready for work. I had to spend the night next door at my grandparents so I left the house before Moma went to work. I walked to their house. I would have to walk home in the morning to get ready for school. I stayed with relatives whenever Moma and Daddy were both working third shift so I was used to doing this.

The next morning I walked through the field from my grandparent's house in the early morning chill and went into a quiet, lonely house. I ate my milk and cereal and went to the bathroom to finish getting ready for school. The lid on the toilet was raised and I thought I saw an olive green kleenex like the ones Moma used floating in the toilet. I reached out to flush the toilet and then looked down to see that it was Silky floating in the toilet! I was horrified. Silky was stiff and drenched. It looked like he had spit up in the water!

I could imagine the curious little squirrel flying into the toilet unaware of the danger. I imagined his struggle as he tried in vain to get a foot hold on the cold slick porceline. I began to cry with deep wracking sobs as I realized his fear and panic before he drowned . . . in toilet water! Augh!!! What a way to die.

I was sick with grief and guilt because I hadn't stayed to make sure the toilet lid had been closed. Daddy had warned us of the danger and yet we had still let Silky drown. I felt too upset to go to school that day. Moma came houe and got Silky out of the toilet. I didn't even have the guts to fish him out. Whenever I looked at him I wanted to throw up. Moma and Daddy let me mope around the house all day and cry over Silky.

The next day I went to school even though I still felt close to tears. My friends asked me why I hadn't been in school the day before. I told them that Silky, my flying squirrel, drowned in the toilet. Instead of the sympathy I expected from them I received laughter and then they would turn around to somebody else and tell them to ask me why I had been out of school. Everybody thought it was a big joke. That was my first experience at realizing that unless a tragedy touches you personally nobody cares.

One good thing did come of that. After Silky drowned Moma did quit buying the green kleenex out of courtesy to Silky. After all, at first, I did think he was a tissue. I guess I was the nut.

AS ALWAYS PIO