KNOWING FROM WHENCE WE CAME

          When I wa a child, I picked blueberries and got 6 cents a pint. It took me most of the day to get three or four pints picked because I usually spent my time under the bushes, eating them. I suppose Mr. Davidson, the owner of the farm, knew what I was up to, just looking at my blue face. But he kept me on since I was there with my mother who was a much more productive employee than me. You didn't get your money upfront; instead you were given tickets to turn in for cash when you were ready to get paid. Hey--what can I say--it was a living! 
     I had other summer jobs. One year I worked for Stokes Canning Factory, drying tomato seeds. Not one-by-one, of course. There was a platform behind the factory where some old guys rinsed them in huge trash cans. Then they put them in a cloth bag through the spin cycle of an old ringer washing machine. When that was done, they handed the bags to me, and my job was to spread them out on screens and label them as to what variety of tomatoes they were. (Confession: one time I mixed up some Big Boy tomatoes with some other kind and never mentioned it to anyone. So if any of you have gardens and plant Big Boys, they may not be pure. Sorry!)
     One year--when I was about 12--I became an entrepreneur. I opened a snow cone businees out in front of our house. My dad made me a stand out of plywood and I painted it white. We bought a big block of ice from Mr. Garwood's Feed Store further up Main Street and I got an ice scraper from the five and dime. I had three or four different flavors of syrup and I think I charged 10cents a cone. I did okay, but at my dad's suggestion, I moved my business uptown in front of the Community Center where there was more action, so to speak.  
     Things were going well until one of the bigger kids in town set up a stand right near mine. We both had the same flavors so people had to decide whose snow cones they were going to buy. Then I got an idea: I went up the street to the soda fountain and asked Mr.Brown for some vanilla syrup, which neither of us had. He was reluctant at first, but then gave me some. Business picked up a bit until my competitor also got an idea--to put some pressure on me to sell him my business. I relinquished for a price that I don't remember now, but he was bigger and so I figured it was wise to give in.
     I suppose I'm sharing these little excerpts from my early life because I turn 76 at the end of this month and have decided to earnestly pursue writing an autobiography of sorts in which the above stories will be included. Mostly I'm thinking of it for the sake of my family and/or anyone else who may be interested. It is not meant for egoic purposes, but I have realized how much I have wished to know more about my parents' lives--a history long gone. They simply didn't share very much, and my sister and I know very little about our heritage. She knows more than I do, but not that much more. 
     The point is that I think we all need to be aware of how important sharing our stories is with family and friends or anyone else for that matter. I don't think we should be reluctant about doing so. And it is equally important for us to listen to the stories of others. It's not that it will change the world in some major way, but it enriches the world for all of us to have a deeper sense of what it means to be part of the human family.
   

 

I don't remember where I was, but I'm sure it was fun