Master

  When I was a kid, there was a tradition that adult men were called "Mister", and boys were called "Master".  I never liked that designation.  My name was "Walter".  I didn't like being called "Master Walter".  It just seemed kind of stupid to me.  I would be introduced in formal settings with my parents as "Master".  That word also had other connotations to me as being the one in charge of things, and I certainly wasn't in charge of anything.  

 As time went on, I cringed at being called by that word.  Either introduce me by my first name or not at all.  So, one day, my father and I were in Georgetown, SC.  He was down there to preach in a church one Sunday, and I tagged along.  I was about 12.  That Saturday, he took me to a barber shop to get a haircut.  When we walked into the shop, the barber immediately knew we weren't his regular customers.  My father introduced me as his son Walter.  The barber said, "Have a seat, Mister Walter."  That was the first time anyone had called me "Mister".  I was so excited, that I strutted up to the barber chair.  I was no longer a master.  The barber also used a straight razor on my face, even though I had nothing there except peach fuzz.  That was a little scary, since nobody had done that before either.  One wrong move, and there would be blood.  I held still basking in the happiness that I was a "Mister".  

 After my father finished his preaching, we headed back to Columbia.  On that trip back, he told me the facts of life.  I already knew about the birds and the bees before his lecture in the car.  After all, I was now a Mister.  I let him go through the story, though.  That's what polite misters do.

Basketball

  Since I seemed to have a knack for basketball, as exhibited at Trenholm Park, my father thought it would be a good idea to put a basketball goal in our backyard.  He got a sheet of plywood and nailed it to a tree for a backboard.  He also got a basketball goal and net and attached it to the plywood.  The tree was at the end of our dirt driveway near our backdoor.

 I invited some friends over to play.  It was fun at first, even though there was a major problem.  The basketball wouldn't go through the net.  It would just get caught up at the bottom and not go through.  To remedy this problem, my mother gave us an old mop to poke the ball out of the net.  Because of this problem, we couldn't play a game.  Anytime that someone got a goal, someone would have to get the mop to get the ball out of the net.  

 Another problem was the plywood.  It got wet in the rain and started to peel apart.  It got to the point, where my father had to take the backboard down which just left the goal nailed to the tree.  Because the net wasn't working right, he took it down, so we just had a hoop.  I gave up on basketball, but the hoop stayed up.  Eventually, the birds and squirrels used it as a perch, so it was put to good use by them.  

 I could have been another Pistol Pete, if the plywood hadn't come off.

Middle

  When I was in seminary, I took a course in choir directing.  I had to have a music class, and this one seemed like it would be pretty easy.  It was sort of.  

 The first thing we learned was how many beats to a measure.  I knew that already, having done handbells and church choir.  We had to learn that, so we would know how to move our directing arm to the downbeat and to the music.  It was pretty basic.  We formed a semicircle in the classroom, and we all directed a piece played on the piano.  Some students got confused with the beats, but I was pretty good. When I was younger, I would stand in front of a mirror in my bedroom and "conduct" the classical music I heard on my stereo.  This class wasn't much different.

 The next thing we learned was how to find middle C on a piano.  We needed to know this in order to get our choirs in tune.  We then learned where the other notes were on the piano to correspond to the treble clef.  I had never taken piano classes growing up, but I could play a little guitar.  (And no, it wasn't a ukelele).  Once I learned where these notes were on a piano, I could play a song.  It wasn't required of us to play the piano like a professional, thankfully.

 So, I could take one sheet of music and use one finger to play the piano.  It usually takes me about thirty minutes to figure it out.  There is a reason why most choir directors have someone else playing the piano for their choirs.  It is a lot easier to direct than to do both.  

Trenholm

  There was a park in Forest Acres, SC called Trenholm Park.  It had a baseball field and an indoor basketball court.  At one time, they also had a swimming pool.  It was the place to go on a Saturday, but most of all they had a summer camp for the kids in the area.  

 I went one week, when I was about 13.  I had my growth spurt around that time, so I was taller than most of the other kids there.  We played volleyball inside.  My team wanted me at the net to spike the ball to the other side.  The net was short to accommodate most of the kids there.  It was easy for me to do my duty.  It got to be so bad for the opposing side, that one of the camp counselors forbade me to spike it anymore.  Apparently, some kids were getting hit in the head by the ball.  It wasn't my fault.  They should have gotten out of the way.  

 Another thing I liked to do there was play basketball.  Because I was the tallest kid, everybody wanted me to be on their team.  My assignment was to block shots.  I was good at that, even though the referee would call fouls on me.  I think they just didn't want me to play.  I practiced a lot of basketball.  I could shoot free throws really well, mostly underhanded.  My father had taught me how to do that.  The best thing I could do with a basketball was to shoot from the corner.  They didn't have a three-point shot back then, but I would have been great if they had that.  I could get it in eight out of ten times.  I was also really good, when we played H-O-R-S-E on the court.  One of my faults though was a lay-up.  I would be running down the court so fast that I put too much umph on the ball, and it would bounce off of the backboard.  

 They also had a trampoline.  I had never been on one before, but I loved going up and down.  I had to be careful not to hit the ceiling, but I learned tricks while bouncing.  It was a lot of fun.

 During this same time in my life, I was getting picked last to do any sports in school.  It was refreshing to be wanted to play sports at summer camp.  I was the team's "ringer".  Most of the kids were from other schools than mine.  They didn't know me, and I didn't know them.  Having fun was better than having hate.    

Scouts

  I was in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts.  Our Cub Scout troop met at Eastminster Presbyterian Church in Columbia. We had a champion archer come one day, and we were all amazed by his ability to get bullseyes.  He taught us a little about the bow and arrow.  I tried to shoot one, but all I got was a burn on my arm.  We also participated in the soapbox derby by making cars out of wood that could be fast.  I didn't win.  We learned later that the boy who won had cheated by putting metal in the frame to make the car go faster.  We did have some cool uniforms.

 I moved onto Boy Scouts at St. Martin's in the Fields Episcopal Church in Forest Acres.  It was sort of across the street from my junior high school.  We didn't do much there except to have fun.  One night, we wanted to get a band together.  I told them I could play the harmonica.  I had a harmonica at home, but my idea of playing it was to breathe in and out, while my mouth was on it.  I had no concept of playing notes on it.  We played the song "Flowers on the Wall" which was popular at that time.  I sat in a chair near a wall to "play" my harmonica.  I hyperventilated and passed out.  They revived me and had me breathe into a paper bag.  The other scouts thought it was funny.  I didn't share in the humor, but that was the last time I used a harmonica.

 After that humiliation, I moved to Boy Scouts at First Baptist Church in Columbia.  This troop was hardcore scouting.  We went camping and tried to achieve badges.  I went from Tenderfoot to Second Class in just a couple of weeks.  I learned how to build a fire and to shoot a gun.  The gun was a .22 rifle.  We went out to the lake to camp.  Each scout had to shoot at a tree.  I missed every time.  I learned that guns were not right for me.  Our scout leader wanted every kid to earn as many badges as possible.  We were all on a fast track.  The First Class badge was much harder to get.  One of the challenges was to do a five-mile hike.  I decided that scouting wasn't right for me, despite more cool uniforms.  

 Thankfully, I was starting to get involved in Speech tournaments in 10th grade, so I used that as an excuse to get out of scouting.  It was probably for the best.  

War

  One of our favorite games to play with kids in the neighborhood was War.  I think our parents wanted us to play it, because it meant we had to go outside.  Our yards had a lot of trees and some hills and bushes, so we could hide behind them and pretend to shoot at the enemy.  There was actually no physical enemy, because we didn't have enough kids to have two teams, so we just used our imaginations.

 We used sticks for rifles, at first.  We learned to crawl on our bellies to avoid getting "shot" by the enemy.  Our wars were with the British, the Union army, or the Germans.  We were very good to sneak up on the enemy and defeat them.  We never lost a battle.  As time went on, our parents provided toy guns for us.  After all, the sticks would break.  I had a long musket that was wood and fired caps.  Another kid had a western style rifle that fired caps.  We all had six-shooter pistols.  Our concept of History wasn't important, as to what guns were used when.  We just had fun pretending.

 When the other kids weren't around, I would play with my plastic army men outside in the backyard.  They were from World War II.  I had Americans and Germans to play with.  Sometimes, I also had firecrackers to use as bombs and matches to use as flamethrowers. The Americans won most of the time, but they might sustain some casualties.  

 I also had a full-size G. I. Joe to play with.  He could be a regular Army man or a Marine.  It depended on the uniform of the day.  I could play with him inside the house, since he was only one guy.  I never thought to use him with the small plastic Army men as a giant versus the others.  That might have been cool.  One day, Joe's arm broke off.  He was jumping off of the bed and landed wrong.  That was the end of him.

 We also had toy guy with a parachute.  You could throw him up in the air, and he would float down into enemy territory.  That was fun, until he got caught in a tree, and we had to climb up to get him down.  A few times, we would pack his parachute wrong, and it wouldn't open.  He would plummet to his death.  Some of our war games were a little sadistic, but we had fun.  

Birds

  My mother and I used to love feeding the birds and squirrels in our backyard.  It would usually be in the afternoon, when I would get home from school.  We had a variety of birds that would come by:  robins, bluejays, blackbirds, sparrows, doves, and cardinals.  My mother was partial to the cardinals.  Red was her favorite color.

 Many of the birds had jobs relating to our yard.  A robin would be in the front yard to watch for our newspaper delivery every morning.  When the paperboy would throw it in our yard, the robin would go over to it and sit next to it, while he waited for us to get it.  I wondered if the robin could read, because he sure looked at it intently.  The bluejays would sit near our backdoor and wait for us to throw the bread.  They would then call all of the other birds to the food.  The squirrel would sit on our basketball goal and watch out for predators. If he saw something, he would alert the birds to fly up into the trees.  He would also wait until the birds were through before he ate.  

 We also had a water bowl for the birds and squirrels.  One odd thing had to do with the blackbirds.  Each one would get a piece of bread and form a line to the bowl.  They would then dunk the bread into the water before eating it.  None of the other birds did that.  

 When Winter came, most of the birds would fly south for the warmer climate.  The squirrels and a few birds would stay in the yard.  As Spring arrived, our yard was the only one in the neighborhood for the birds to come back.  It was as though there was a sign on the roof of our house saying, "Eat Here!".  The parents probably told their children about our house.  Our yard was inundated once again.  

 One bird fell in love with itself in the outside mirror of my mother's car.  It would sit on the door looking at itself for hours.  Occasionally, the bird would peck at the mirror to say hello to the "other bird".  When my mother would leave, the bird would fly away but then come back to the car, when she got back.  He wasn't the brightest bird in the group, but he meant well.