Summer of 1955

49 0 0
                                    

Summer of 1955

By:  Martha L. Thurston

Summer of 1955 ©2013 by Martha L. Thurston, All Rights Reserved.

For my dad, whose endless childhood stories always inspired me to dream up some of my own.

~1~

If I had my opinion in the matter, I would have to say that the hottest summer we ever had was in the Summer of 1955. Before school had even let out in May, the temperature had already started to climb. I spent a lot of time at my uncle’s house helping him to plow and ready the garden for that summer. In return, he would give me a quarter and take me fishing.

Sometimes, that was the best time of my life just sitting on the bank of the lake with my uncle, our bare feet stretched out across the warm dirt. Life couldn’t get any better. Aunt Mae would always send us off with a couple of fried tater sandwiches, some pieces of fried fat back, and we would stop at the corner store for some RC colas.

When we got tired of fishing, Uncle Tom and I would find us a good shade tree and take us a nap. But we were always sure to get back home in time for dinner, knowing that Aunt Mae would have something good to eat for us when we go there.

I spent a lot of time at Aunt Mae and Uncle Tom’s house. Much more than my younger brothers and sister. But then again, I was a lot older and could help with the chores that needed to be done in the garden. I also liked to stay there because I didn’t have to worry about getting a switch across my bare legs whenever my siblings would do something stupid.

I always hated them switchin’s more than anything. I tried to avoid them, but they always seemed to come when you least expected it. Like the time my brother Kevin got into a fight and came home with a bloody nose.

“Charles Hagood, how many times have I told you, you look after your brother?” my dad, Robert, would say. “Look at him.” He would point at Kevin sitting in the corner, my mother Ruth standing over him, holding his head back and applying a cold, we washcloth to his bloody nose.

“It ain’t my fault he can’t fight,” I cringed the moment those words came flying out of my mouth knowing good and well what it meant.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, Charles. A hundred times, blood is thicker than water. You take up for your little brother.” Now his finger was no longer pointing at Kevin, but at me, and I knew what was coming next. “Go get me a switch, boy, and it had better be a good sturdy one. If it ain’t, I’ll go bring myself back a tree, and I’ll tan your hide with it!”

“I can’t help it if Kevin goes and starts fights with the older boys.” Lord, why can’t I keep my mouth shut!

“What did you say?” My dad stood over me, his eyes burning with an intensity I’d never seen before.

“I’ll go get that switch,” I said stepping around him. I caught a glimpse of Kevin smiling at me from ear to ear. I muttered under my breat as I walked past him to the door,  “I swear I think he does that on purpose just to see me get whipped.”

I walked around outside looking on each bush for an appropriate switch, checking each one. I had only come back once with an unacceptable switch and that was the last time. I’d gladly take a switch than a stick or belt any old day. At least the switch just stung for a short while. Those others left bruises that ached for days.

I found a limb about quarter inch in diameter and took out my pocket knife to cut it off. The knife was a birthday present from my uncle last year. It was a nice stainless steel with brass inlay. Nice compared to those down at the “5 and dime.” He said when he gave it to me that he was goig to teach me how to carve and whittle with it.

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: Aug 12, 2013 ⏰

Add this story to your Library to get notified about new parts!

Summer of 1955Where stories live. Discover now