Shadow Hits
As we age, reaching certain ages, (different for everyone) we begin to recount our lives. Some, like my ex-husband, try to reach back and grasp what they believe they have lost, or grown away from, thus, the dreaded mid-life crisis. That has not yet happened to me, though now that my daughter is on her own and happy with her life, I find myself thinking about grandchildren. My daughter's view on that is, "Well, Mom, I want to begin with a dog or something else small. That way, if I can't keep it alive, I know not to have children." (I hope she's joking) Anyway, all this talk has brought me full circle to my own childhood.
Lately, I have been remembering much from my childhood and the recent presidential election has brought on so much controversy I am reminded of the type of freedom that many people, not even my daughter, will know.
I was born about 5 years after my father was discharged from the Army after WWII. My first and most formative years were spent on a small farm at the edge of a small town filled with wonderful people. My life has brought me back to this small town and I live less than a mile from the same farm house I grew up in. I have many great memories of playing in and around the house and expansive yard with its manicured lawn and flower garden. I want to share one with you...
Shadow Hits
My mind is spinning with desperation. My legs hammer – muscles burning; my four-year-old hands form tiny fists as I pump them in rhythm with my short legs. Run! Run! Faster! Faster! I gotta get out of the way! Quickly, I snag a look over my shoulder. Is it coming? Will it hit me?
Whew. Not this time, and for a split second, I allow my burning muscles to relax. Big mistake.
Oh, my gosh, here it comes again! Quick! Move out of the way! It’s going to get me, I know it is! Oh no, it got me!
The hit threw me to the ground, scraping my face. I try to breathe slowly to stop the clattering beat of my heart and to avoid sucking in dirt that has puffed up around me in response to my fall.
Slowly rotating my eyes, I try to see as much of the huge gravel yard as possible without moving my head. The enemies are here, they are in constant motion; they never stop. I’m sure they must think I’m dead because they keep marching past me as if I’m not here. I know it won’t last forever, I will be hit again if I continue to lie here. I must get up, slowly, stealthy, and make my way across the wide expanse of yard to the safety of the lawn. I’ve been hit twice so far but I’m not really hurt. I have a lot of ground to cover, though, before I’m truly safe.
This summer day is especially hot; the air above the ground ripples with heat. It’s much hotter today than yesterday, when I traveled this yard. I wasn’t hit at all yesterday, but today is too hot to be out here; the heat slows me down. I think that is why I’ve been hit twice already, and wow, look at how far I have yet to go. I’m thirsty but there will be no water until I’m safely across the wide smoldering yard.
Dad’s tractor is out in the field making snoring noises, as it plows the hard earth. I wonder when he’s coming home. If he came home and saw what was happening to me, he would brave the enemy, like he did in the War, and rush over to help me across the yard, I’m sure of it. Still not moving for fear of being hit again, I close my eyes and wish I could run faster. I should have stayed on the other side of the yard, closer to the house.
Oh, well, too late now, I have to get over there. I may as well get up and get it over with – still, I don’t move. Not even a finger. Then, I hear it. Oh, no! I look up and sure enough, an airplane and it's headed right for me! I can’t possibly run faster than an airplane!
Before I know it, I’ve jumped up and am flinging myself across the yard, helter-skelter, trying to avoid being hit by the airplane along with its army of followers. I’m almost there, I imagine the cold water quenching my thirst. Just the thought of water keeps me going. I’m quick; I jot this way and that way, avoiding the hits. Pride swells in my head – just before the airplane hits me.
I’m knocked to the ground only a few feet from safety; my knees scrape and bleed against the small gravel atop the hard earth. I’m down! I won’t make it. DADDY! MAMA! I’m being hit over and over as the plane disappears from sight, leaving me alone and injured. I’ve sucked in dirt this time and have to choke and cough it out, but I hear my dad’s tractor and I know he is coming to my rescue, at last.
I’m bruised and bleeding but I will hang on until my dad drives up in his tractor to rescue me. I can hear it now, the tractor roars with power as he turns it into the yard. He must have seen the airplane hit me and he knows I’m hurt.
He jumps down off of the powerful tractor and trots up to me.
"Tootsie, what are you doing?"
"Oh, daddy! An airplane came and it hit me."
"Are you sure?" Then, before scooping me up and flinging me over his shoulder, he glanced at the sky. "There are lots of clouds."
"Yes, daddy, the clouds hit me, too, after the plane did. I’m all cut up and my knee is torn, see!" I try to life my knee to show him the bloody swollen injury.
"Don’t worry, Tootsie; someday you’ll run faster than the cloud shadows."
That wonderful man, my rescuer, passed away 3 years ago at the age of 81. I don't remember him as being old or in a nursing home. I will never forget his mischievous smile, the freedom my family enjoyed and the happiness it brought us.
No one stood on street corners hassling others because they did or didn't believe in abortion - it was none of their business. No one was mean to me because I went to church every Sunday with my family. At school, we openly said the Pledge of Allegiance every morning before classes started. No one came to our community and tried to change us to fit their country of origin. Instead, they came desperate to fit in and become American.
I hope our new president, Barack Obama, remembers his childhood, too, and I pray that American freedom is never remembered as a "shadow hit."
(It's well worth it to click on the Pledge of Allegiance link above and listen to Red Skelton's explanation of what it means to him)
Later - and happy freedom to all.
Pinxter
Lately, I have been remembering much from my childhood and the recent presidential election has brought on so much controversy I am reminded of the type of freedom that many people, not even my daughter, will know.
I was born about 5 years after my father was discharged from the Army after WWII. My first and most formative years were spent on a small farm at the edge of a small town filled with wonderful people. My life has brought me back to this small town and I live less than a mile from the same farm house I grew up in. I have many great memories of playing in and around the house and expansive yard with its manicured lawn and flower garden. I want to share one with you...
Shadow Hits
My mind is spinning with desperation. My legs hammer – muscles burning; my four-year-old hands form tiny fists as I pump them in rhythm with my short legs. Run! Run! Faster! Faster! I gotta get out of the way! Quickly, I snag a look over my shoulder. Is it coming? Will it hit me?
Whew. Not this time, and for a split second, I allow my burning muscles to relax. Big mistake.
Oh, my gosh, here it comes again! Quick! Move out of the way! It’s going to get me, I know it is! Oh no, it got me!
The hit threw me to the ground, scraping my face. I try to breathe slowly to stop the clattering beat of my heart and to avoid sucking in dirt that has puffed up around me in response to my fall.
Slowly rotating my eyes, I try to see as much of the huge gravel yard as possible without moving my head. The enemies are here, they are in constant motion; they never stop. I’m sure they must think I’m dead because they keep marching past me as if I’m not here. I know it won’t last forever, I will be hit again if I continue to lie here. I must get up, slowly, stealthy, and make my way across the wide expanse of yard to the safety of the lawn. I’ve been hit twice so far but I’m not really hurt. I have a lot of ground to cover, though, before I’m truly safe.
This summer day is especially hot; the air above the ground ripples with heat. It’s much hotter today than yesterday, when I traveled this yard. I wasn’t hit at all yesterday, but today is too hot to be out here; the heat slows me down. I think that is why I’ve been hit twice already, and wow, look at how far I have yet to go. I’m thirsty but there will be no water until I’m safely across the wide smoldering yard.
Dad’s tractor is out in the field making snoring noises, as it plows the hard earth. I wonder when he’s coming home. If he came home and saw what was happening to me, he would brave the enemy, like he did in the War, and rush over to help me across the yard, I’m sure of it. Still not moving for fear of being hit again, I close my eyes and wish I could run faster. I should have stayed on the other side of the yard, closer to the house.
Oh, well, too late now, I have to get over there. I may as well get up and get it over with – still, I don’t move. Not even a finger. Then, I hear it. Oh, no! I look up and sure enough, an airplane and it's headed right for me! I can’t possibly run faster than an airplane!
Before I know it, I’ve jumped up and am flinging myself across the yard, helter-skelter, trying to avoid being hit by the airplane along with its army of followers. I’m almost there, I imagine the cold water quenching my thirst. Just the thought of water keeps me going. I’m quick; I jot this way and that way, avoiding the hits. Pride swells in my head – just before the airplane hits me.
I’m knocked to the ground only a few feet from safety; my knees scrape and bleed against the small gravel atop the hard earth. I’m down! I won’t make it. DADDY! MAMA! I’m being hit over and over as the plane disappears from sight, leaving me alone and injured. I’ve sucked in dirt this time and have to choke and cough it out, but I hear my dad’s tractor and I know he is coming to my rescue, at last.
I’m bruised and bleeding but I will hang on until my dad drives up in his tractor to rescue me. I can hear it now, the tractor roars with power as he turns it into the yard. He must have seen the airplane hit me and he knows I’m hurt.
He jumps down off of the powerful tractor and trots up to me.
"Tootsie, what are you doing?"
"Oh, daddy! An airplane came and it hit me."
"Are you sure?" Then, before scooping me up and flinging me over his shoulder, he glanced at the sky. "There are lots of clouds."
"Yes, daddy, the clouds hit me, too, after the plane did. I’m all cut up and my knee is torn, see!" I try to life my knee to show him the bloody swollen injury.
"Don’t worry, Tootsie; someday you’ll run faster than the cloud shadows."
That wonderful man, my rescuer, passed away 3 years ago at the age of 81. I don't remember him as being old or in a nursing home. I will never forget his mischievous smile, the freedom my family enjoyed and the happiness it brought us.
No one stood on street corners hassling others because they did or didn't believe in abortion - it was none of their business. No one was mean to me because I went to church every Sunday with my family. At school, we openly said the Pledge of Allegiance every morning before classes started. No one came to our community and tried to change us to fit their country of origin. Instead, they came desperate to fit in and become American.
I hope our new president, Barack Obama, remembers his childhood, too, and I pray that American freedom is never remembered as a "shadow hit."
(It's well worth it to click on the Pledge of Allegiance link above and listen to Red Skelton's explanation of what it means to him)
Later - and happy freedom to all.
Pinxter
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