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Piney Chapel – Cotton Patch

Recently, I had the privilege of revisiting several of the places where my childhood memories have taken me in the stories from the Cotton Patch. It was a rewarding visit, complete with the nostalgia that we experience when we realize that those times of the past are only memories. The joy of the experience was made greater by the presence of two of my sisters, who have shared in my memories, and my husband who has encouraged me to write about them.

The Piney Chapel community was the place where we moved in with the bedbugs and waged an all-out war to get them out of the crevices of our beaded ceiling walls and where our mother persistently treated us for scabies every time we scratched. It was there that my anger got the best of me and I hit a first grade classmate in the head with a piece of coal for following me and singing, “She’s My Curly Headed Baby”. Of all the events that I have recounted that had nothing to do with cotton, most of them occurred in this little corner of Limestone County, Alabama.

As we drove around looking for familiar sights, we were dismayed by the changes in and the loss of many buildings, but we were equally amazed at the unchanged condition of others. Sixty-four years ago, I was running around playing on the swing sets and climbing on the monkey bars of the school that still exists. A small area of the schoolyard was familiar, but the addition of many buildings has displaced the teacherage in which we lived. The house had been about halfway between the school and the church building, and, although we missed it the first time we drove by, the church building is still there. It is not so magnificent a place as I remembered it, but it gave me a thrill to see it. Best of all, diagonally across the street stood the house where the Broadways lived.

We could not believe how little this neighbor’s house had changed. The cellar, with its sloping tin door, was there, validating my memories of sliding down the cellar door and singing, “Come Out My Playmates, come out and play with me…and bring your dollies, three…climb up my apple tree..shout down my rain barrel….slide down my cellar door, and we’ll be jolly friends forevermore….”! Windows that opened out over the roof of the front porch reminded me of times Rebecca and I had played “dress-up” in that upstairs room.

We left Piney Chapel and went west of Athens to the very rural community of Oxford Elementary School and Pleasant Valley Church. On the way, we tried to find an old favorite spot for swimming and fishing. We almost despaired of finding it, but eventually, we got our thrill of knowing that we had located it. The “end” of the backwaters from the river and two streams through which we had driven before they put culverts across the road were foolproof evidences that it was “our” spot.

A few miles from the river we located the old homeplace of one of my dad’s aunts. Some of her children and grandchildren established homes on nearby farms, and we were able to recognize a few. One that I was most interested in was Ross Holland’s home that had sat among some big shade trees and had a porch that went around two or three sides of the house. The porch always intrigued me and I thought the house was handsome. Well, it has changed a great deal and if houses could shrink, I would say it has shrunk to about half of its original size!

I saw fields where I had picked cotton and the barn looked the same as I remembered it. There were cows in a pasture and the country store building across the street is still useful. Except for the house itself and the paved street, the place looks as if life has continued in the same way for sixty years.

Oxford school no longer exists, but the concrete bell tower that I watched being built is still standing, and the teachers’ home where we lived looks very much the same. It was here I had the great Halloween scare and in turn frightened my parents by hiding so successfully. It was here my father taught me in fifth and sixth grades. It was here we lived between an aunt and a great aunt whose houses appear so wonderfully unchanged.

Time is forever moving forward, never backward, and so our experiences come and are gone. We will never relive a moment of time, but our memories enable us to vicariously play pleasant scenes and emotions over again and again.

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Halloween Cotton Patch 14

I have decided to keep the articles in their original order. Even though Halloween is not in July! Sit for a spell in the cool and enjoy a story of long ago. -Reda

Whenever our rural Alabama schools celebrated a major holiday, it was always a special and joyous occasion for me. Not only did the holidays contribute to my joy, but the seasons themselves, each with their own unique beauties, were just as delightful..

The autumn season in which Halloween and Thanksgiving are celebrated was especially impressive to me, as it is today. The beautifully colored leaves stirred up a wonder in my soul, and the fresh, crisp air renewed the physical energy that had been sapped by the long, hot summer. An abundance of acorns lay everywhere inviting me to step on them in order to hear crunchy, crackling, delightful sounds. Gathering scaly bark hickory nuts, pecans, black walnuts, beechnuts and just plain old hickory nuts, gave excuses enough to take long, lazy walks in the woods, either alone or with other family members. Celebrating a holiday, however, was most often a public experience that centered around school functions.

Pilgrim costumes, complete with black top hats for the boys and big white collars and aprons for the girls, made the acting out of the first Thanksgiving feast an impressive extension of our reading and history lessons.

Halloween was announced, as it is today, with figures of ghosts, witches, bats, skeletons etc. hanging from wherever they could be hung. The teachers and parents of the community usually took advantage of this season to make money by staging a school carnival.

Very little money was spent on preparations for the carnival. A “fishing pond” containing cheap, but neat, trinkets allowed those who paid a fee to throw in their fishing lines to go “fishing”. People behind the scenes attached a prize to the line with a clothes pin and then gave a strong tug on the line as a cue for the fisherman to pull out his “fish”.

The “haunted house” was full of all sorts of things to create weird or icky feelings and sounds. A rubber glove filled with oatmeal, attached to the end of a stick, became a dead man’s hand to be shaken. An “airplane ride” for blindfolded customers jostled and shook them around on a board which was never more than six inches off the floor! (Such was the simplicity of it all ). Fortune-telling, cake walks, and other fun-filled activities rounded out the evenings of fun and fellowship with neighbors, both young and old.

We did not go “trick or treating” in those days, but people made a lot of strange noises in their attempts to create a scary atmosphere. One homemade instrument that produced a horrible sounding noise was made from stretching a cowhide over the open ends of a metal cylinder. After punching a hole in the middle of each stretched hide, a cord or heavy string was pulled back and forth through the holes in the hide. What an **awesome **sound it made! That sound was a major force that precipitated the events of the following story.

On this particular Halloween, we were living in the teacherage which was located between Oxford Elementary School and the country road below. The secret “rooms” had been set up at school, ready to thrill and perhaps frighten those who would pay to be thrilled and frightened. I was chosen to stay home with a young sibling that evening, but from the front porch and living room of our home, I could see all the lights at the carnival, and I could see silhouettes of the parked cars and of people going in and out of the building. In the beginning I felt pretty secure, yet as it became darker and darker and the noises got louder and louder, my secure feeling began to feel shakier and shakier.

I turned out all the lights in our house so that I could see into the darkness better, but eventually the din of noises (which included some cow hide contraptions) reached a level that was intolerable. I had had enough Halloween “fun”, so I took the baby to the car and locked the doors. We were not long in feeling safe enough to fall sound asleep.

When my family came home to an empty house, it was not long before neighbors joined in a desperate search for the two of us. Someone even peeked into the car and missed us, but eventually we were found, and my most memorable and frightful Halloween was over.

Unfounded fears are not limited to children, and the fact that they are unfounded does not make them any less real to the fearful individual. If a child’s unfounded fears are dealt with realistically, his mental perception will probably develop so that he is better able to distinguish between real and unreal fears as an adult.

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My Mom’s Squash Casserole

On Monday my husband came home from our favorite farmer’s house. He had a huge bag of kale and a bag of yellow squash, my favorites. The squash was so sweet we ate some raw. I needed a dish to take for a ladies’ meeting we have once a month, Women at the Well. So I made my mom’s squash casserole. The evening was a wonderful time of fellowship. There were a few leftovers and the casserole was so wonderful my daughter wanted the leftovers for breakfast! (Well maybe I was guilty of eating it for breakfast too!) So here is the recipe. I hope you like it.

Betty Melcher’s Squash Casserole Recipe 

2 cups cooked squash

2 eggs

1 small onion chopped

8 ounce shredded cheddar cheese

1/2 to 1 cup evaporated milk

1/2 stick margarine or butter, melted

10 -12 crushed saltines, divided

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

I usually buy 3 or 4 large squash for each recipe and I double the recipe. I slice and cook the squash for a few minutes in a little water, not much until it is barely tender. Drain squash. mix eggs, onions, cheese, milk, butter, and half of the crushed crackers. I mix just to blend in the mixer and pour into a 13 X9 casserole dish. ( A double recipe fits perfectly in the 13 X9 pan) Unless you want it to be thicker.  Sprinkle the rest of the crackers on top and bake 30 – 40 minutes until set at 350 degrees. This turns out perfect every time.
***I added a bit more squash for more texture and because I love squash! (1/2 to 1 cup)

 

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Bluebirds 2 – Cotton Patch

Whenever I see Father Bluebird sitting on top of a nesting box flapping his wings and “singing” in a low raspy voice, I know that there is a Mother bluebird out there watching and listening. The prospective father will go in and examine the proposed home and return to his singing and wing flapping on top of the box until the female comes onto the scene.

Lady Bluebird may go into the box to look around, or she may go into another box first. It seems as though Father Bluebird tries to sell his lady on a particular building site, and if one doesn’t suit her, he carries his amorous display to other boxes. Eventually, the finicky lady decides which one suits her special needs or tastes, and a new family is about to begin. (My husband jokes over the female being so particular in choosing her house, that she gives the male a hard time over details that only women understand. If the plumbing is not in perfect order, or if her kitchen doesn’t suit her fancy, she will have no part of it). She evidently knows what her contribution to this proposed venture is worth, and can well afford to make such reasonable demands! This choosing process can go on for days before any actual building begins.

This spring, we began observing bluebirds in March, and by March 19, a pair had indicated that they would nest in a new blue box by our pear tree. The box is in the same place that an older popular box had been. I am always thrilled when birds choose that spot because it can be easily seen from our kitchen window and from the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard. Without the aid of binoculars, we can watch and keep up with a series of events that was set in order at the creation. When God ordained that every living thing would produce after its own kind, the beautiful russet-breasted bluebird must have been there obediently taking its orders. That you and I today can enjoy the sound and sight of the eastern bluebird (as well as many other wondrous creatures) is a gift from God for which I am truly thankful.

By April 12, our nest had 5 little greenish-blue eggs in it, and we began watching for anything that might threaten the pair of birds in fulfilling their mission. By April 25, all of the babies had successfully hatched out, and the parents began their feverish work of feeding the hungry nestlings. As usual, I began digging around in my flower beds and in and around old rotting wood in search of big juicy grub worms. For some unknown reason, the “pickings” were slim this year, so I finally resorted to buying mealworms, which the birds love. I placed them in a shallow pan near the nest, and it was not long before the birds knew that when I “visited” their area they would find a good supply of food in the pan.

Bluebirds like a big open area in which to feed, and they prefer the grass to be short. They make use of low perches from which they can look for insects without the danger of being on the ground. 3 to 4-foot stakes driven into the ground make excellent perches, but of the three that I put up, our birds almost exclusively used the one which was placed about 8 feet in front of their nest.

On May 7th, the parents were hauling little white “diapers” out of the nest. According to the books, the parents begin hauling away white bags shortly after the babies are hatched, but we have not been able to observe this activity until a few days before the babies fly. A bag, which contains body waste, is collected immediately after a baby is fed, and then it is removed and deposited away from the nest… Even the birds, living in such humble abodes, are not exempt from housekeeping chores!

Our bluebird babies flew from the blue box on May 13 and 14. We do not know if they all survived, but we have hopes that they did. We heard the special call that parents make to their fledglings for several days, and then what we believe was a new pair visited the blue box, started a nest, and by May 21 when we left on an extended vacation there was 1 egg in the nest.

By the time we returned on June 30, the nest was empty, so we don’t know how many babies there were. We have boxes up at two of our rental houses, and one of them produced five babies even though the children had taken the scarcely-feathered birds out of the box and played with them! We wired the box shut and monitored it often. The little birds miraculously grew into fully feathered fledglings and flew to a new home as they were created to do, despite their early abuse.

Besides the possible 15 bluebirds launched this year, we had 5 black-capped chickadees get their start in one of our bluebird boxes. The parents dove at me each time I opened the box…but I got a great picture of the five little black caps with the white rings around them.

My space is gone, and you haven’t even heard about the Carolina wrens…However, they built on an old dirty shelf in a dark corner of the tool shed. Now, if they find our bluebird boxes in 1999… I’ll just have to write about our birds again next year.

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Bluebirds – Cotton Patch

Working in the cotton fields was very hot, dirty, hard labor, but one of its rewards was that of being close to nature. Little critters, such as grasshoppers, toads, lizards, June bugs, etc. were all there to be watched and studied. Even the “stinging worms,” which the cotton picker had to watch out for, could be interesting to inquiring young minds. Watching butterflies flitting about and bees buzzing in and out of flowers, wondering at busy ants carrying their heavy loads into their anthills, and observing the variety of flowering and nonflowering plants made the hard work less of a drudge. And birds were always around singing, waiting to be identified.

In Alabama, we had robins, blackbirds, Blue Jays, Orioles, various wrens, sparrows, and woodpeckers. We must have had cardinals, but having been taught a song about a redbird, I might have confused the title of the song for the name of the bird. Since my interest in birds has grown, I have become keenly aware of cardinals and I lure them to our feeders with sunflower seeds. My favorite of all birds to observe, however, is the eastern bluebird, which I don’t remember having seen as a child.

I enjoyed watching birds when I was in the cotton fields, but it was not until a few years ago, that bluebirds became so special to me. Due to a great fear that bluebirds were becoming extinct, a friend gave us plans for building a nesting box. We decided to join the efforts of bird lovers to help save the bluebird population. My husband has built many houses since that time, and we have been pleased to see several areas where landowners were influenced to install birdhouses on their fence posts along the highways. The joint effort has paid off with a decided increase in the number of eastern bluebirds. Now a great deal of my time in spring and summer is consumed with watching and helping my nests of bluebirds make it safely through to the fledgling stage and I have attempted to help even beyond that. Nature has a way of equipping bird parents with a strong instinct for protecting their young, however, and this has hindered my attempts to lure them into raising the babies near our home.

On one occasion when a nest was being vacated for a bigger and better home, I found a baby on the ground and realized that something had happened to it. As I picked it up, the parents angrily dove at me, but I took the baby into the house and worked with it for some time. My untrained eye could not determine how badly it was injured, but it was certain that it would not fly soon.

I had been placing grub worms in a special place for the parents to use for feeding the babies in the nest, so I placed the baby near the food source and retreated to a protected place to observe. To my delight, the parents used this opportunity to feed the ailing baby and continued to do so for a day or two. Eventually, the demand from the healthy birds called them away, or perhaps the natural instincts of the parents caused them to “abandon hope” for the bird’s survival. Whatever the reason for their abandonment, I was not ready to give up hope until I took it to a vet who told me that it could not possibly recover.

While the baby bird still had its strength, it would come two or three feet across the floor in response to my “bird talk”. I patted the floor with my hand as I talked to the baby bird, and it would come hopping toward me. This thrilled me greatly, but I would have been much more thrilled to have been able to see him fly into the woods to join his brothers and sisters.

My husband and I helped to launch our first family of bluebirds this year, and it was so exciting that I am digressing from my memories of the past to share our bluebirds with you.

First of all, there are three types of bluebirds, and they all exhibit many of the same characteristics. They are similar in body structure to a robin except they are much smaller, and their breast feathers vary in intensity of the same russet color as the robin.

The color of the mountain bluebird is a lighter, smoother blue than the other two. The western bluebird appears to be a more vivid blue color than the eastern bluebird, but they look very much alike. They feed on insects when available, but will also eat fruit from plants such as pokeweed, sumac, and dogwood.

Eastern bluebirds take readily to nesting boxes, and for this reason, people can get as acquainted with (and attached to) them as they wish. Excellent plans for boxes can be found in books at the library. It is important to pay strict attention to the features that protect them from predators and from nest stealers. One of the newest features is an extension placed around the opening which makes it harder for predators to reach the contents inside the box. A cylindrical baffle for snakes is also a new feature to us. ( I was particularly interested in this… I had once run barefoot from my back door to attack a big black snake that was climbing up to a nest full of baby birds!) The boxes don’t have to be fancy for the bird, but they don’t seem to mind if people want to paint them and pretty them up a little. Bill, my husband, has kept a journal for several years to record things of interest that occurred on specific dates. He has included our observations of the bluebirds, and it is amazing how nearly you can predict when you can expect of them with respect to time. In our home in West Virginia, we have seen them visiting nesting boxes as early as the middle of February, but the earliest that we have recorded actual nest building was March 27. Other recorded dates for building were March 28, 29, 30, and April first.

This year, we knew for sure that the couple was building on April first, after appearing to have chosen the blue box by the pear tree as early as March 19. The roof was hinged so that I was able to observe progress from the early stages of nest building through the flight of the babies from the nest. That nature has provided such a rapid, predictable progression of events is a testimony to me of a divine pattern that was laid out by our Creator at the beginning of time. I, for one, am grateful for the joys that I have been given by watching the eastern bluebird for many years!

Next time: a closer look at our 1998 bluebirds

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Lawrence’s Homemade Salsa

To say my husband likes salsa is an understatement. He has been known to eat a half gallon of salsa all by himself in one week. He can eat salsa on almost anything! Anyone who knows him knows his love for salsa and nachos. Chips are an excuse to eat more salsa. We have salsa making parties where the whole family gets involved chopping onions, tomatoes, peppers, and cilantro. It’s a happy day for the whole family when Lawrence decides to make salsa. Today I am going to share Lawrence’s salsa recipe that he developed from lots of salsa making!

Small Batch Salsa

4 cups chopped tomatoes

3/4 cup chopped onion

2 Tablespoons fresh jalapeno pepper

1/2 cup fresh cilantro

1/2 cup of lime juice

 

Big Batch of Salsa

4 quarts chopped tomatoes

4 cups chopped onions

1/4 cup chopped fresh jalapeno peppers

2 cups cilantro chopped

2 cups lime juice

Whichever batch you make you just chop all the veggies and mix in a bowl. Then dig in. Or wait a bit It only gets better and better.

By the way, did you notice my amazing bowl? A gift from my dear friend Betty!

 

 

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The Unforgettable Lie – Cotton Patch

When habitual liars are questioned as to the validity of their stories, they sometimes act surprised that they are not believed. Whether they are so caught up in their own fantasies that they don’t know what is real, or whether they do it in order to feign innocence, one may never be able to determine. Then there are other individuals who, when caught in infrequent lying, are so obvious that they don’t try to fake innocence. They can be so pricked in their consciences that they will avoid future lying at all costs.

These are not the only two scenarios, however, that involve lying. Some people may tell occasional lies to avoid hurting another’s feelings or to avoid telling hurtful facts about someone, and then there is the strong natural tendency to protect oneself. None of these may be morally correct behaviors, and if one would take time there might be an acceptable, yet satisfactory, way of avoiding telling a lie in each given circumstance.

The incident that I’m about to relate from my childhood does not fit into any of the above categories, nor does it attempt to suggest that all of my lying has been of this particular nature. (Ask me no questions about that, and I will tell you no lies).

When a child perceives what is happening, or what is being told to him, it may be very far from the truth, but to him it is reality. If that child then relates those perceptions to others, is he lying, or could we give it another more innocent name?

My sisters played a major role in this story, but they are more innocent than I gave them credit for until recently. As I related this story to them, just a year or so ago, I learned the whole truth (I think), and it put all the burden back on my shoulders!

We three girls were older than our two brothers, the youngest of which was a baby at the time of these memories. An older brother had died in infancy before I was born, so whenever this youngest son became ill, our parents’ emotions were so evident that the whole family felt the fear of losing another child. I can remember two incidences in which my childish emotions perceived that there was a danger of death. Once while toddling or crawling around outdoors, the baby ate a mushroom that was growing in the yard, and Mother was quite certain that it was not an edible variety. She was afraid that it contained a deadly poison! I remember walking quite a distance with a sister to a neighbor’s house to telephone the doctor. I don’t recall what happened or what was done for the baby, but it turned out not to be serious.

On another occasion, however, the baby became very sick with a respiratory condition. I seem to recall a croupy cough, but whatever the primary illness, it was a fearful time for my parents and for us children. So when a man came calling at our home with a big, black bag (I think), full of knives (I think), the time was right for suspicions and imaginations. We children were too “polite” to get into the middle of the scene, but we did our share of peeping around corners and listening. Dad treated his visitor as cordially as he could under the circumstances, but he was very concerned with his sick boy, so he sent the man on his way.

The air was filled with tension and knowing something was wrong, I questioned my sisters who (I think) told me that the man had come there to kill us all. According to them, Dad played on the man’s sympathy by telling him how sick our little brother was and suggested that he come back at a later time. So the man obliged by gathering up his tools of the trade and left.

A few years later when I related this story to my fourth-grade class, I became painfully aware of looks of disbelief on the faces of my teacher and classmates. It was not until then that I knew the story I had believed to be true was a big lie!

Now, my sisters declare that I misunderstood what they told me about the man who came hoping to make a little money by sharpening our knives and scissors!

When dealing with “perceived” lying in young children, it would be wise to investigate before condemning them. Even adults can be caught up in misconceptions so that they believe what is actually false. Being slow to judge or condemn another, whether young or old, is always the better way.

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Sun Tea and One Time Meetings

Making Sun Tea is just fun!

My first experience with sun tea was in college while I was on Campaigns Northwest, 1979. We stopped in Ontario, Oregon just over the eastern Oregon border for the night and church the next morning. As was our custom we stayed all night with host families from the church of Christ. I stayed with a family in Vale, Oregon on their ranch. The house had many windows facing out over the land and on the deck railing sat a gallon jar of sun tea. They were a sweet family. I enjoyed seeing their land and seeing them work the cattle, and just getting to know them a bit. This was just a one night stop yet they hosted a stranger for the night and treated her like family.  So never underestimate the impact of one time meetings. Memories of those meetings may well follow you through your life and to eternity.

I am in the sunny south and I must tell you it is iced tea drinking time! Mid 90’s today.  It is very simple to make and may seem funny for me to give instructions. Regardless,  I will share how I make sun tea.

To make a gallon of sun tea you will need:

1-gallon glass jar with lid

1-gallon cold water

2-3 quart size or 6-8 regular tea bags

Fill your gallon glass jar with cold pure water. Add 2-3 quart size tea bags (depending on how strong you like your tea) We like 3  the best. Place the lid on the jar and set it in the sun to brew. Depending on your season, temperature, and the direction of the sun it may take 1-5 hours. Mine was ready in an hour or so. However, I live in the sunny south and it is summer! After your tea is ready you may sweeten it with honey,  sugar or any sweetener of your choice.

 

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Grandma’s Kitchen Hints

Easy Clean Up for Dropped Eggs

Dropped an egg? What happens when you drop an egg on the floor? You have a slimy mess to clean up. An easy way to clean up a broken egg is to sprinkle it liberally with salt around the edges. It seems to congeal it and then it will wipe up easily without smearing all over the floor.

Buttermilk

Most people do not keep buttermilk on hand. I know this may come as a shock but a lot of people do not drink buttermilk or eat cornbread with buttermilk. What do you do if you have no buttermilk?  Or you do not want to buy a carton of buttermilk for one recipe. Sour one cup of milk with 1 tablespoon of vinegar or lemon juice! It works well. I have used this for years. However, I happen to love baking with real buttermilk. The best recipes use buttermilk!

Self-Rising Flour Substitute

A recipe calls for self-rising flour and you have none? What do you do? Run to the store? No! You can make self-rising flour and continue on with your recipe.

1 cup flour

1 and 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon of salt

 

These are the ones I use frequently. More to come…….

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Cotton Patch – She’s My Curly Headed Baby

When a student’s father is the school principal, it can be either an advantage or a disadvantage, depending on circumstances. My father was my principal for most of my public school years, and it generally gave me a feeling of security, but there were a few times when I wished that he didn’t have to know about my less-than-perfect behavior. The following incident happened when I was in the first or second grade and my two sisters were in upper elementary or Junior High, which were all in the same school complex.

My hair was blond, very straight and shingled in the back. If I ever had a curl it certainly was not natural. There was a time when my sisters decided to either wave or curl my hair, and since it was before setting gels and hairspray, a mixture of sugar and water was used to do the “holding” job! Do I need to tell you what happened when they tried to comb through it? Anyway, all you need to know before my intended story is that my hair was unquestionably straight.

Recess at school was often unorganized and unsupervised. Children could play on whatever equipment was around, or there were balls and long jump ropes available for group activities. Sometimes, the girls and boys segregated themselves and did their own thing, and sometimes they would play together. On this particular day, we girls were trying to play by ourselves. We started out just walking around, talking, and we ended up in an old shed in back of the school building which we liked to make into a playhouse. The shed was partially open, but even in the walls that it did have there were numerous ‘peepholes’, or in this case, ‘holler-holes’.

As soon as we girls got together and began to organize our activities, one little boy decided it would be fun to follow me around singing “She’s My Curly-headed Baby”. The only other part of the song that I remember is, “She’s from sunny Tennessee.”

Well, whether the boy liked me or not, my hair was certainly not curly and I was not from Tennessee. The message didn’t ring true, and I was very irritated at the whole scene. My friends began to prompt me to pick up a rock and throw it at the pest, but it was not until he persisted in following us through the halls, around the playground, and even stuck his face in the crevices of our playhouse, singing all the while. Enough is enough, so I picked up a black piece of coal and let it go in the young boy’s direction. To my immediate horror, blood began to gush from his forehead, and the teacher had to know…then the principal had to know…and even my sisters learned about it!

I was thoroughly ashamed of myself and fearful. At first, the fear was for the injured boy, but when one of my sisters discussed the incident with me, my fear turned toward myself. She warned me that there might be a police investigation into the incident after school. Well, I was scared enough to go home and hide in a closet, but no policeman ever came, and I don’t even recall my teacher nor my principal being particularly harsh with me. Perhaps, it was my good record, or maybe they just understood human nature in little boys and girls… For whatever reason they did not punish me, I am grateful. I firmly believe that my punishment was sufficiently severe when I saw the blood gush from that forehead, knowing that **I **had caused it!

Fear is a powerful force that can be used for either good or evil. Fear of punishment could prevent wrongdoing, or it could cause one to lie and commit other wrongs in order to avoid being found out. Fear of hurting someone could be used to prevent abusive behavior, but taken to the extreme, it could increase the jeopardy of a threatening situation.

My sister, as many siblings have done through the years, used the threat of a police officer to create fear designed to prevent the repetition of a bad deed. In spite of this incident (or because of it), I managed to develop a rather healthy regard for law-enforcement agents.

I believe the security of having parents that deal justly and with understanding, when a child’s behavior is unacceptable, helps the child develop a desire to do well.