One of the stories I’m about to tell is a bit strange as I think about it now. At the time it seemed perfectly normal. I think I must have been about eight and my brother Stan was about ten. We lived in Shawnee and there was a big creek very near our property. Stan and I spent numerous hours there. It was more like Fantasy Island for us. We became whoever we wanted to be for the day. We created our own adventures; Huckleberry Finn would have loved hanging out with us.
Stan has always been my hero. I’ve written often of our dysfunctional family, yet he was always, and still is the Rock of Gibraltar to me. I shudder to think of how much more messed up I would have been were it not for him. Today I will share some of my memories “down at the creek.”
It was a typical hot summer day around mid-afternoon. We had a cat, which was probably a stray that hung around. Daddy was working up in the chicken coop or barn; I really can’t recall which it was, or why he was home. Perhaps it was on a Saturday or he was out of work. Stan and I heard a lot of “meowing” going on so we wandered through the tall grass until we found the source. There was mama cat and three little kittens. The kittens were very tiny and a couple of them were bleeding through their noses. That really frightened me and I began screaming and kept on screaming. I guess that really scared daddy and he came running over with a hammer in his hand. (I really hate telling this next part) He was so angry when he found out why I was screaming that he took his hammer and killed every one of the kittens. He walked away saying something like “now there’s you something to scream about.” Stan and I were scared stiff and horrified. (We had seen daddy’s temper in action too many times) My young eyes could not believe what they had just witnessed! (I was disturbed by the fact long afterward, had I not screamed the kittens would not have died).
Stan did his best to comfort me even though he was upset too, and by now I was trying desperately to control and stifle my sobbing. I didn’t want daddy to hear me and make him mad again. Stan came up with a plan. We scooped up the kittens and ran off to the creek. We dug a special hole for each of the kittens, buried them in the sand and put wildflowers and some weeds on top of each grave. We had a funeral for those kittens. I couldn’t tell you what we said at the ‘funeral’ if we even said anything at all.
The next day we ended up at the creek again, and I will never know what possessed us to do what we did after that. Perhaps it was curiosity or perhaps it was just being silly little kids. We visited the ‘graves’ we had prepared the day before and decided to dig them up and see what the kittens looked like. Remember this was in the dead of summer. I do remember a lot of flies, had we been older that would have been a clue to steer clear, but we were clueless! When we “unburied” those poor little kitties, it didn’t take us long to put them back in the ground. The stench was unbearable. We were learning some serious lessons, the hard way. We ran down to the water laughing and gagging to wash our hands. Then we cried and laughed and cried and laughed some more. We were still sad over the kittens but we were laughing too. I guess that’s what you do when you don’t know what else to do.
Another time when we were at the creek I got caught in the quicksand, I can remember standing in it up to my knees and enjoying the coolness of the sand creating a vacuum around my legs. I was half scared and half excited as I began sinking. When I realized I couldn’t get out and that the harder I tried the more stuck I became I began to panic. Stan was always so much smarter than I was. He immediately told me to be still and he grabbed a broken tree limb and told me to grab hold and hang on. He literally saved my life by pulling me out of that quicksand. I doubt we told our parents either. We didn’t want to be told we couldn’t play at the creek anymore.
I can’t explain the emotions running over me as I remember that long ago day. I guess bitter-sweet memories come closest. Daddy obviously had his own demons to deal with and he abused all of us in different ways. He mellowed out as he grew older and all of us kids forgave him at one point or another, as did mama. I never did until after he died, I was still a mess at that time. I still love him; he’s the only dad I had.
Kids and parent’s are sort of like marriage is supposed to be…for better or for worse.
Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. Col 3:13
jkgarr