Mr. Paschall Understood Those Atwood Boys

Ah, Thanksgiving is here. What a special time! The meal is carefully laid out. Family is gathered around the table. Memories entwine themselves in the aroma of homemade dressing, honey baked ham, and Aunt May White’s exquisite sweet potato casserole.

Surely, our cup runneth over….

Being thankful for the many blessings showered upon us is the order of the day. And, at some point during the meal, or shortly thereafter, we start around the room, counting our blessings one by one.

If y’all don’t mind, I will go first. I am blessed NOT to be the oldest brother. Leon would lean his ear against the wall in the hall between the bedroom and the kitchen. And just stand there. After a while he would motion me over, stick my ear to the wall and whisper, “L-i-s-t-e-n!”

I’d strain with all my might for an inordinately long time, “Leon, I don’t hear anything.”

“Yeah, I know,” he was still whispering like something big was going on, “it has been that way all day!”

Leon would chase Mr. Archie Moore’s cows into the middle of the pond, then swim out with them and attempt to ride one back to dry land. I don’t know if you have ever tried to ride a half-drowning cow, but they are not exactly amendable to the idea.

He got called up into the space ship. At first, I thought it was just an excuse he made up because he had stayed out all night. But then, he got to wearing tinfoil on his head with an antenna attached to one side. He’d sit out by the woodpile at night and “commune” with something or somebody.

You would think him to be half nuts. Unless you grew up with him. He was the smartest of the Colbert boys. By far! But, as Daddy would say on many occasions, “Son, I don’t doubt your circuits are OK, I just don’t know what terminal you are plugged in to.”

I was blessed NOT to be in our 1951 Chevrolet when Leon, with Jackie Burns and six girls aboard, rolled that car over three times down the huge embankment built up for the new highway to Gleason. He was 15 years old. And the road was not even paved yet. It wasn’t open to traffic. He had to pull around the fluorescent orange covered barricades, two dump trucks and a road grader to get out there.

I was blessed the fire did NOT burn the whole town down. And I don’t think I started it. Yogi had the lighter. We were in that dry field down by the big ditch, practicing hitting the small roller that would ignite the thing. Somehow, we got to throwing the burning lighter at each other.

The field went up in flames quicker than a lightning bolt flashing across the sky. They managed to save Aunt Jessie’s house, but it took some doing. Daddy turned to me with his soot covered face as the last hotspots were being dashed, “Son, what happened?”

“Well Dad, you know Leon….”

I was blessed to come away from the confrontation down in Atwood with only a cracked rib and a swollen eyeball socket. I knew better than to get on the back of Rollin Trull’s big Harley-Davidson. He wanted to see a girl, so we cruised the short distance over to Atwood. The girl, as it turned out, had a boyfriend who (rightly so) resented our invasion.

Mr. Paschall, one of our favorite teachers, had warned us about “those Atwood boys” many times. When they surrounded the motorcycle, I quickly explained I was the innocent bystander that didn’t know, or care a thing about, any girl in town. It was all for nought.

Mr. Paschall’s warning flashed across my mind just as I got hit. Right in the middle of the fight Rollin grabbed his bike and made a startling get-a-way. As the Atwood boys’ attention momentarily turned to the roaring engine, flying gravel, and fading taillight, I broke and ran for home.

I passed Rollin and his big Harley before he got halfway across Jarrell Switch Bottom!

I was blessed that I did NOT marry the girl from Lexington. There wasn’t nothing bad wrong with her. But, bless her heart, she did have a tendency to talk about herself. After a year and a half, it dawned on me, it wasn’t always a soliloquy about her, it was just talking ad infinitum. She had no pause button….

I was blessed to find Northwest Florida early in life. I don’t hunt, fish, or own a boat. I cannot stand the beach—too much sand! Sunsets are OK, if you don’t get too close to the water. You would think I could find no cause to stay…. But the people along the coast don’t know about Leon, the big fire back of Aunt Jessie’s house, those Atwood boys, or some talking head from Lexington.

They think I am normal. And they have treated me like kinfolks from the very beginning.

So, as we pay homage to this wonderful Thanksgiving season, let’s make sure to count every single blessing…especially those that deal with letting sleeping dogs lie….

Respectfully,
Kes
kesley45@aol.com