Life Start of a Little Person

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Just a whisp of time in a small boy's life, filled with wonder!

Life Start of a Little Person

Imagine a place where everything is so large, surely it must go on forever and ever, skies are blue and the dirt covers everything that is not green. Fields as far as the eyes can see with no end in sight. Tall mountains to climb and paths to follow to places unknown and filled with adventures. Water running in creeks just out of sight but loud enough you know they must be there. A path so wide you could lay in the middle and still not be able to reach the sides with the beginning and ends disappearing over the horizons in both directions. Paths that are so small they may not even exist except in a small boy's mind. Mountains with steep cliffs to climb, valleys to separate them and trees of all sizes and shapes everywhere, each with its own adventures and perils to discover. Fields of green to play in and run until you cannot run anymore and still not be any closer to the edge that when you started. Boundaries you cannot name but know well from experiences to come or the warnings you receive from the big people that surround you but you rarely see or notice until you get close to one of those boundaries. People of all sizes, some to play with, others to be wary of as you discover a world full of surprises and wonder. It doesn't matter if you don't know the names or places when your whole world consists of nothing more than discovery.

The first thing I remember is a giant open field on a sunny day somewhere out in the country. I am running as fast as I can trying to get ….no where. Nothing is chasing me, no one is around and I remember a feeling of happiness and freedom even though I didn't know what that meant. All I knew was it felt good to run so I ran and ran some more. The sun felt good on my sweaty brow and it seemed like I could run forever, so I did. That first memory has remained with me my whole life and even though the other memories are fleeting or non-existent anymore I will treasure running across that sunny field for the rest of my life. This is a part of my life, at least a part I can remember at times. I hope I can remember enough to pass on what I feel has been my life and what has shaped the person I chose to become, or at least what I have tried to be remembered for, if I am remembered at all. I started my life living with my grand parents in the Oklahoma countryside. I did no know I was missing a mother and father at the time. That realization would come all to soon in my near future. I was not alone, I had aunts and uncles about my age to play with and cousins aplenty to meet over the years. Living in the country had many advantages that I got to enjoy on a daily basis. I had thousands of adventures and many were just barely out of site of the family home, all three rooms of it. I never really knew that living with that many people in such a limited space was a hardship, in fact I thought it was great. Sleeping on a wooden floor next to the stove was a true delight because you stayed warm on the cold nights while the ones in the bed had to fight for covers or freeze. I never heard shouting unless we were playing or in trouble and the difference of the two yells became glaringly apparent early in my life but still very clear in my mind to this day. One of my first triumphs was behind that little house we called home. I was called over to the kitchen area by my Grandmother, whose name was Polly, so I put my fantasy on hold and ran to where she was standing. She handed me a bucket and pointed to the back and said fill this and bring it back to me. This was a new adventure for me so I grabbed the bucket and flew out the back door. It was about when I fell into the back yard I realized I didn't know how to get water, much less from where. Being a boy of character I was not about to let a little thing like ignorance stand in my way. I decided my first task was to find a source of water. This part did not scare me because I have been to the creek before and I knew it was way to the rear of the house somewhere. About that time I saw a strange contraption I had pasted a million times before but never really paid attention to. I had seen grandpa, his name was Sam, work it before and yes, I had seen water dripping from it. Alright, this isn't so hard, I had already found the water source. The well, as I later found it was called was right outside the back door of the house. It had a long piece of wood attached to what I would later find out was a chicken house. Two wooden legs at the other end made a structure to hold a pulley that held the chain attached to a metal tube with a round piece of wire. I wasn't concerned with it or its function, I just knew that the tube went into the ground and came back with water in it. I knew this because I had watched my grandfather do it many times and I always wondered what he was doing but I was to afraid to ask. I walked over to the frame with the tube attached and set the bucket where it was easily accessible. Then I took the tube down from the hook it was on and lowered it into the round hole below it. I never really noticed how long the chain holding the tube really was until that first time I tried to use it. It really was quite long and it seemed to take forever to reach the bottom but finally the tube quit falling and the chain went slack so I could assume it had reached the water. Now I started to pull the chain back up to get my prize, the water. After pulling the chain for a life time I finally saw the tube and I quickly yanked the last couple of feet of chain to complete my first task triumphantly drawing the water for my grandmother. Now I realized what the little round wire loop at the top of the tube was for, it must be how you get the water from the tube and into the bucket so you could take the water into the house where grandma was waiting for it, or so I thought. As I maneuvered the tube so the bottom end would be inside the bucket I proudly pulled the wire ring to release the water into the bucket. I pulled the ring and nothing happened, a few drops of water was all I got. This can't be right, I did everything just like I saw grandpa do but when he did it water poured out and easily filled the bucket. He did it faster than I did so that must be it, I was going too slow. Now I know what I did wrong so I lowered the tube back into the hole and this time when it reached the bottom I was ready. I started yanking the chain as fast my little hands could move and slowly but surely the tube returned to the top and this time I knew I had done it right so the water must be there. With great anticipation I maneuvered the tube over the bucket and pulled the wire ring and nothing happened. A few more drops of water but otherwise the results was the same. A slightly damp bucket bottom with room for a whole lot more water. I did not know it at the time but even as a boy I was too proud or stupid to ask for help or even ask if maybe I was doing something wrong. So back to the little round hole in the ground with the empty tube in my hands. Again and again I lowered the tube into the well and again and again it would reward my efforts with a few drops of water. I had finally covered the bottom of the bucket with water when my grandfather walked by. He looked at me covered in dirt and sweat and then he peeked into the bucket. Without a word he took the tube from my shaking hands and dropped it into to the well. When it reached the bottom he brought it back to the surface with a couple good jerks and filled the bucket to overflowing. He then picked up the bucket with one hand and carried it into the house where grandma emptied it into the pots she was cooking and a water pitcher. Then she sat the empty bucket by the back door. Slowly I retrieved the bucket and returned to the well. I will not give up nor will I be beaten by a giant water bucket with a non-existent hole in the bottom. Just as I was ready to drop the dreaded tube back into the well that was all the way to China, my grandmother told me she didn't need anymore water and I could go play. Drawing water from the well may not seem like much to most people but for the rest of my life, a well was a thing of beauty to be feared and respected. I never was able to fill the bucket completely but that did not stop me from filling it until someone said enough. Half full was my greatest achievement in my meeting with the water well. The well taught me respect and above all, it taught me when water is needed you had better be on the other side of the pasture playing quietly. Living in the country with no plumbing or electricity gave me the great- est gift of all, I got to learn to appreciate what we all to often take for granted. Going to the bathroom outside was not only a necessity, it was an adventure that could easily fill many hours of a small boys life when there was no one to play with. A creek was a adventure waiting to happen and a mountain as impassible as the largest ocean. One adventure with my uncle took me to a place that nearly ended my young life before it began. We had just eaten soup for lunch and I thought it was really quite good. Young as I was everything was new to me and the mushroom soup was delicious. I hoped for more but there were so many mouths to feed that seconds was a rare event if it ever really happened at all. Doesn't matter, I was full and ready to play. A new adventure awaited me at every turn. Just making it out the front door was enough to start a new quest filled with the wonders seen only through a young boy's eyes. My uncle was with me, funny he was my uncle even though we were almost the same age. But this was not important enough for me to worry about yet or to even question, it just was and that was good enough for me. The parsonage was a house that was connected to home somehow and it was on the other side of the church building. It wasn't that far but to my young eyes it could have been a thousand miles away. Every trip was a journey that took me to far away lands and mysteries that begged to be discovered. We make the trip wondering what we would find on this journey and what would keep us from being under foot while everyone else did the daily work and chores country life calls living. We were investigating new vegetation when we came upon what we thought were mushrooms. Still remembering how good the soup was we quickly decided this was a discovery best to be kept secret and shared with no one until the spoils of our discovery could not be taken. We decided it was only right that we should eat all the mushrooms ourselves since we were the discoverers and to share could mean not getting any. We quickly consumed our spoils and though they were not as good as the soup, discovering them made them taste all the better. This is where it gets kind of fuzzy because I only remember not feeling very well and heading back to the house to tell grandma I was sick and needed medicine because whenever anyone got sick, grandma could make hem feel better, she was the great healer in my life. I only remember walking down the path back to the house when the memories stopped and the next thing I do remember is I was playing in a different place with no idea how I got there or where I had been. I was told much later that I was found passed out on the path to the parsonage part way home. I would not have been found but my uncle made it to the house before he passed out and they knew I was playing with him so they came to look for me. Later after getting my stomach pumped they told me I was happily playing with a truck they gave me at the hospital when I woke up some time later. I didn't know it was a truck or what it was suppose to do but telling me it was a toy was all I needed to be happy. That is until I was taught not to eat anything I didn't get permission to eat first. Another lesson I thought I would never forget but soon did anyway. The next adventure I remember that has an ending I may never remember was again at the parsonage playing with the others. We found a large hole whose edges were so vast we could not quite see what the bottom looked like. So we decided someone should look over the edge and tell everyone else what was down there. Naturally I was the one who volunteered to look but I couldn't get close enough to the edge to see. We decided the other kids would hold my feet and lower me to the edge to see what was down there. Once again I have no memory until I realized I was running down the path crying heading toward home. The other kids caught up with me and easily convinced me I would rather play than go back home. I never did find out what was at the bottom of that hole and no one ever bothered to tell me. I don't use names often because at the time I didn't know any. I did know that if someone said white boy they were usually talking about me, Later I found out that my name was Mickey and if I didn't want to be left out I had better come running when I heard my name. My grandparents were Cherokee Indians. I didn't know what that meant but I did notice sometimes they would talk funny and I had no idea what was being said. My grandmother seen me watching them talk and told me they were speaking Cherokee. I didn't understand so she said it was just words that sounded differently. Then as a n example she told me my indian name she had given me. I never could say it or knew what she meant so I guess one of us just gave up after awhile. Years later I was told my indian name meant butterfly and I was very upset so I went to my grandma and asked her why she would give me such a name. She smiled and told me when she watched me play in the fields I would run and laugh and she could not remember seeing anyone so happy just to be running in a field enjoying life. She said she noticed as I played by myself she saw the shape of a butterfly on my forehead between my eyes and that is why she gave me that name. My shame turned to pride and from that moment on I have proudly bore the Cherokee name of butterfly because it was given to me by someone I loved that cared enough about me to watch me and notice that I was a happy child with a questionable future.

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combatrider commented on Life Start of a Little Person

03-01-2015

No one knows but me so not to read is to never know, but it is ok, your story will do.

Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

combatrider’s Poems (50)

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Title Comments
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Life Start of a Little Person 1
You Looking Yet? 0
"I Knew That Place" 0
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A Way to Tell 1
What Can I Say? 1
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Abuse 1
Only the Lonely 1
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An Ode to Those 0
What Was the Work I Started? 1
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As it Seems 1
Relativity 1
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Truth of a Nature 1
...maybe..... 2
Who was .......... 1
As if 2
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Whether Changes 3
Make it Right 1
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He was Me 1
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RACE 2
Wasn't Me 2
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