Nostalgia

Story #1

It was one of those bright, cool, fall afternoons. I remember the very dry west Texas air allowed for a warm pleasant afternoons followed by a very cool evenings. This afternoon my buddies and I were hanging out in the parking lot of the truck stop. The very large lot allowed us to almost circle up our cars and we would sit on hoods, trunks and truckbeds. We watched the traffic on US180 which was several cars an hour, mostly local and we talked about important things…cars, horse power, transmissions and girls.

Across the highway was a very large cotton field and this time of year it was solid white with cotton. Now you have to understand our relationship with cotton. First it was everywhere. It was the primary crop and every available patch of red dirt in Fisher county was planted. What it represented to a teenage boy was work. We were hired to help ready the fields, hoe weeds and pull bowls. Some of us worked at the gin in the fall. All for the dollar an hour we were paid … certainly not the love of the crop.

So on this particular day when we saw a station wagon stop across the road and a family of five get out, it piqued our interest. We watched as they pointed and talked and finally pulled out the family camera. They grouped up in different combinations to have their picture made with this field of cotton. After a couple of them darted into the field and “stole” a souvenir, they were gone.

Now since they had arrived none of us had spoken…we had just watched. We all had the same question in our mind and finally someone said it out loud. “Who in the world would want their picture with a field of cotton?”

Fast forward some thirty years … I am on a business trip to a manufacturing plant in Jonesboro Arkansas. On the drive thru the delta land heading over to Monet I stop at a small gas station and am filling my tank when I notice a pickup sitting in the side lot. Parked head in with the tailgate down, there is a teen sitting in a folding chair in the bed. His two buddies are in their own chairs at the end of the truck. All three are holding a soft drink and the scene reminds me of my own buddies. Some I have not seen in a long time.

It is then I notice that they are all staring quietly at something on the other side of the road. My eyes follow theirs and I see…a family in a van who are posing in front of a rice field. I recognize immediately what is going on and the question on their minds. “Who in the world would want their picture with a field of rice.”

A rush of emotions hit me then and even now, as I tell this story. There are times that are so simple yet they represent a large and important part of our lives.

“Nostalgia – a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.”

Story #2

I moved to Roby the summer of 61. I had a “53 Mercury” with YOGI across the back in 5” gold letters. Since it was summer I had only met a few people when football “two a days” started I and met the guys. To all my new friends and new coaches I was Yogi. When school started and Ronald Eugene was listed on the roles I was asked, by the teachers which I preferred I answered neither. So there was some confusion early on in what the teachers called me.

Mrs Hughs called me Eugene (my least favorite of my names) and refused to call me Yogi.

Now her class, English, immediately followed lunch and sometimes, for sophomore guys, lunch was a problem. The class of 63, a year older were individually good guys but as a group could be hard to deal with. They would block the door getting back into the building and it would break into a shoving match…lots of testosterone. By the time we sat down in English we were hot and sweaty and cranked up.

One day as Jerry Neighbors and I were retelling how tough we had been during that days bout…Mrs Hughes said… ”Eugene do you or Jerry have anything you would like to share with the class?” Without any thought I said “YesMam Jerry says that pablum is baby food and I think it is medicine.” To which Jerry adds a “Yeah…that”.

The room goes dead quite and Mrs Hughs is stone-faced for what seems like a long time. Then in the very corner of one side of her mouth I saw it. If you were not watching you would have missed it and even watching it was hard to see. The corner of her mouth moved…but she caught it. We both knew it was the start of a smile. And she knew that I saw it. And I knew that she and I would be friends.

From that point on I was Yogi. On the role, in the annual, on my diploma. And from that point on Floy Jim Hughes became my favorite teacher of all time. Today 60 years later when I write or hear a double negative used on television I think of her. When I use a computer I wonder if she would view spell-check as cheating. And I wonder how many “special” students she had over the years. She sure made me feel special.