“You did a good job, Sis, picking out the pictures for Daddy’s slide show. He’d be proud of you. I’m so glad you’re wearing that blue dress! Blue was his favorite color!”
“Thanks, Mama. I picked it out because I know blue was his favorite. I love that one picture that we got blown up to sit on the easel by his head. It’s my favorite; it shows his laugh lines, his dimple and his smiling eyes. I think you took that picture of him when you two went to Yellowstone a few years back. Remember how he always had that big smile and his eyes always looked like he was up to some mischief! Are you about ready to go? I told everybody we’d get there about 1:30.”
“Yes, just need to get my earrings on. Oh, how could I ever forget that smile? I remember the first time I ever saw it. I was just a slip of a girl, barely 15 years old when I first saw that smile, and when I saw those brown eyes smiling back at me, I knew I’d marry him someday. I couldn’t see nothing but happiness in those eyes, but I learned pretty quick that those eyes carried a barrel full of hurt, bad memories and pain. Is my slip showing? I haven’t worn a slip in a month of Sundays, and I can’t remember if this is the one that always peeps out a little or not. I ain’t changing it. I’ll just tuck it up.”
“No, Mama. Your slip is fine. Come over here and let me fix your zipper. Just needs to be pulled up a little.
What do you mean, Mama? Daddy was the most joyful man I ever knew. He lit up the room wherever he was. I didn’t ever see any hurt or unhappiness in him, even with all the hardships he had to go through. And everyone who knew him absolutely loved him to death. I know how hard he always had to work to take care of us, yet our house was always full of laughing and fun and love. Seems like any hurt he had he got over before I came along, because I can’t imagine seeing him the way you’re describing.
I’m so relieved we’re having the reception at the church after so we won’t have a mess here this evening after everybody leaves. I think we are both going to be worn out.”
“Oh, Lord, me too.
Honey, there was so much you never saw with your daddy. I saw it the first time when we ran into his real mama, about a year after we married. The only reason she gave him away when he was just a baby was because she couldn’t take care of him, but I think she loved him. I don’t think he believed it, though. He loved Maw Riley that raised him, but he never got over his own mama giving him away. We saw her that day from a distance, but he just ducked into the feed store and waited until she was gone before he would leave. He didn’t talk to me for the rest of that day and kept going off to walk and be by himself for the next few days after. We never told you children about how he cried when he got his draft notice in ’43. Your brother, Joey was just a new baby and Daddy had no idea where he’d have to go or how long he’d be gone or what he would have to do. He cried every single night after Joey was asleep until the day he got on that bus to leave. But to my family and to our neighbors, he acted like he was excited to be going to fight for his country. He was scared to death, but they never knew it. They threw him a big going away party before he left, and he just kept smiling with those brown eyes just a’shining, and telling everyone to look after Joey and me while he was gone.”
“Mama, you’re going to wear those flat shoes, aren’t you? Joey and I don’t want to have you tripping and falling over in the cemetery!
Daddy never really talked much around me about his time in the service. All I know is that he did his duty. Oh, I remember him talking about some of the sights he got to see: Big Ben in London, the streets of Paris, and the Statue of Liberty in New York; things he’d never have gotten to see otherwise, but that’s about all he ever said about it to us kids.”
“I’m going to put those flat shoes in my bag and switch into them after we leave the church and head to the cemetery.
Your daddy couldn’t have told you kids about the horrible things he saw. There were things that’d make the devil cry, it was so bad. I can’t even talk about it all these years later and I know he didn’t even tell me all of the worst of it. Did you put some Kleenex in your purse? He woke up with nightmares the rest of his days, all the way up until he got so sick, but he wouldn’t talk about it. He looked like a different man when he first got home. It took us a spell to get used to each other again. Other folks never saw anything but that handsome dimple and those smiling eyes, but behind our bedroom door, he would sometimes curl up in a ball and just stay that way for hours on end, sometimes sobbing like a baby, sometimes punching the pillow like a prizefighter. I learned to hold my tongue and let him get on the other side of whatever bedevilment he was fighting.”
“Mama, you look really pretty. Claudia fixed your hair just perfect. Do you need some more hairspray?
How come none of us kids ever knew this about Daddy? Why did y’all keep this all pent up and not share any of that with your own children?”
“Lord, I have enough hairspray on my head to stop a bus.
Baby girl, your daddy was a proud man. He grew up feeling shamed because he didn’t have a real mama and daddy. He felt shamed because he didn’t get to finish school. He got so many hurts from people looking down on him, and he had no tolerance for anyone looking down on any of us for any reason. And he didn’t want you kids to ever look down on him for any reason. He saw and did things during the war that he was not proud of and that he never wanted you kids to know about. All he ever wanted in life was for you kids to be taken good care of, to feel proud of who you are, and to find your place in this world. He had to work through a lot of demons to give you children what he thought you needed.
He lived a hard life, but a good life. He just didn’t want you kids to be burdened with the hard parts. He knew you would all have your own hardships to deal with, so he sure didn’t want to burden you with his. And he knew that his first job was to take care of all of us, to get us to a better place than he’d been. I think he did that, don’t you? Why don’t you go on out and start the car. Get the air going so my makeup doesn’t melt.”
“Of course, Mama. I’ll be right outside.”
Author Bio – Sheila Arnold was born and raised in rural West Tennessee into a hard working tenant farming family. A retired educator, she earned degrees from Union University in Jackson, TN and from the University of Memphis. She now lives in Jackson, TN with her husband, Bobby and their dog, Louie. She is the mother of two and grandmother to six. She is an avid supporter of local artists and an advocate for improving the livability of her community and the literacy and educational opportunities for locals.
