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.  

Handbells

  I started my handbell "career" at First Baptist Church, when I was in junior high.  They had a Junior Handbell Choir.  I wanted to be in it, because I loved music and could show off that I wasn't a failure in life, as I had been told in school by my classmates and teachers.  

 The director asked me if I knew how to read music.  I didn't, so he gave me the highest sounding bells in the choir.  They didn't appear much in the songs, but I was ready to play them.  The director showed me the lines on the clef where my notes were to be played, and there were usually four beats to a measure, so I could keep up with the other ringers.

 The problem with handbells is that if you miss ringing a note, everybody knows you missed it.  I had a problem with that, because some music was faster than others, and I couldn't count that fast.  The director decided that it might be better for me to play the lowest bells.  They were played less than the highest bells.  He was very patient with me.  At least, he portrayed patience.  I imagine that he screamed a lot away from us.  I could barely lift the low bells, which I think was his plan.  I might have played them once or twice during the song. My biceps hurt from the heavy lifting.  

 One thing to know about playing handbells is that it helps if you can play the piano.  I never learned to play the piano, but years later in seminary, I took a hymn conducting course, and I learned where middle C was.  Now, if you give me a sheet of music and about 30 minutes, I might be able to pick out the notes with one finger, and I can now sort of read music.  Something to put on my resume.

Carolighting

  In 1966, the state of South Carolina wanted to celebrate Christmas by the lighting of the state's Christmas tree on the grounds of the State House in Columbia in December.  They invited choirs from all over the state to participate one Sunday night in Columbia for an event called Carolighting.  The choirs were all supposed to sing the Hallelujah Chorus by Handel at the end of the program.

 I was in the Junior Choir at First Baptist.  Our director wanted us to have as many singers as possible, so we joined the Adult Choir for the presentation.  I had never seen the kind of music we were going to sing.  It came in a book.  There were a lot of notes on each page, and the words were scattered throughout every page.  Sopranos would sing one section and Altos the next.  The Tenors and Basses had their sections, too.  I was a tenor, since my voice hadn't changed.  You had to keep your eyes moving the whole time, because the parts jumped around a lot. 

 When it came time for the Carolighting, it was outside.  We stood on the steps of the State House along with other choirs.  It was very cold.  Almost every choir wore their robes from their churches.  Thanks to all of the choirs squeezed onto the steps, our body warmth kept us from freezing to death.  The program lasted an hour, and we had to stand the entire time.  I couldn't feel my feet.  

 After the finale, we got to our cars and headed back to church to get warm.  It was only a few blocks, but it seemed like an eternity.  I got warm enough to head back home with my parents.  

 The Carolighting has continued each year, and the choir participation has gotten smaller.  They can barely cover a fourth of the steps, where we had a massive crowd on the steps.  I did the first five years of the Carolighting.  First as a choir member and then doing handbells with Kilbourne Park Baptist Church.  Thankfully, we didn't have to learn the Hallelujah Chorus on handbells.

Snow

  I think the most snow I have ever been in at one time was about two feet as a Sophomore at Anderson College.  We had heard it was going to snow one weekend, but we had no idea it was going to be so much.  This was back before professional meteorology and models on TV.  The weathermen knew it was going to be cold and wet, and they knew it would probably snow.  That was about all they knew.

 When I woke up the next morning and looked out of my dorm window, I saw a lot of white snow on the ground.  Because it was on a weekend, the school didn't have to worry about cancelling classes yet.  I got dressed and went outside to see other students marveling at what they saw.  Our campus was kind of hilly, so some students wanted to sled.  They got into the cafeteria and "stole" some trays.  They worked pretty well, although there was very little steering.  Other students got cardboard to slide down the hills.  The cardboard would get wet and fall apart after one or two runs.  I wanted to walk around the neighborhood, and I found I needed to stay on the road or sidewalk to keep from getting caught in the drifts.

 When Monday came around, the college decided to cancel classes, because the off-campus students couldn't get there, unless they had a dog sled or skis.  There were people in the neighborhood who tried to get out in their cars and would get stuck.  That's where we came in.  The drivers couldn't tell where the roads were in connection with the ditches.  Our job was to get them out of the ditches.  One student had a truck, and we would tie a rope to the car, and he would pull it out of the ditch.  We would push the cars to help.  Some kids wanted to charge money for this service.  Some drivers wanted to pay us for our work.  If they insisted, we took their money.  Otherwise, we didn't.  

 The last snow on the ground melted ten days after the event.  We had since gone back to class.  It was a lot of fun.

Pizza

  My friend Jimmy and I were in Atlanta on a Saturday night in 1973.  We decided to go to a Pizza Hut for supper.  It was near the hippie community in Atlanta downtown.  As we were getting out of his car, we saw a girl approaching us.  She was probably no more than 20 years old.  She had long hair that probably hadn't been washed in a while.  She was also wearing a long, white cotton dress that went down to her feet.  She was barefoot.

 Just by looking at her, you could tell she was stoned out of her mind.  She was also very pregnant.  She walked up to my friend and said, "What about the baby?"  My friend told her that he didn't know.  Then, she walked up to me.  She had tears in her eyes and said to me, "What about the baby?"  I told her that I didn't know, either.  I was afraid that she was looking for the father, and I didn't want it.  I saw a man across the parking lot getting out of his car.  I told her to go ask him.  We hurried inside.  

 I saw her go over to him to ask about the baby.  I felt sorry for her, but there was nothing I could do.  This was before you could call 911 to get help for her.  I also hope she got the answer she was looking for.  Oddly, a little over a year later, I was in that same hippie community getting stoned out of my mind.  I didn't see any babies, but I did float along the sidewalk one night.  

Mauldin

  When I was in the youth group at Kilbourne Park Baptist Church, I was in the handbell choir.  Our director was also the director of the Church Music Department for the South Carolina Baptist Convention.  He was proud of our handbell choir and wanted to show us off at a handbell convention at the First Baptist Church of Mauldin, SC near Greenville.  

 We stayed overnight at a motel outside of town.  As boys will be boys, some of us stayed up all night playing games, so we didn't get any sleep.  The girls in our group did get some sleep.  The next day was going to be a concert by several handbell choirs from around the state.  They brought in one of the premier writers of handbell music in the country to direct one of his pieces.  We had practiced his song back home for several weeks to make sure it was right.

 I played the deep bass bells.  They were pretty heavy, but the good news was I didn't have as many notes to play as the higher pitched bells.  I knew when to come in on the count. During the rehearsal for the concert, the writer of his piece decided to put a rest, where one of my notes was.  I didn't have a pencil to change the music, so I thought I would just remember it.

 There were about 12 handbell choirs in the church's gymnasium for the concert.  We were placed toward the back.  It was time for the playing of this man's piece.  Everything went flawlessly until we got to the changed rest.  I saw my note and played it with gusto.  There was a gasp from the other choirs.  I realized my mistake and quickly muted my bell.  I suppose the audience thought I had a solo, but I had committed the unpardonable sin in handbells.  The director glared at me.  I turned all the colors of red in my face.  

 After the concert was over, our director came over to me and just stared at me.  We packed up our bells and headed for his car.  He wouldn't speak to me.  We drove back to Columbia in silence.  I had embarrassed him in front of the famous composer.  My punishment was being kicked out of the handbell choir.  I blamed myself on not getting any sleep from the night before.  Even so, I thought my brief solo was dramatic.  Nobody else shared my belief.  Oh well.

Detergent

  As I have said previously, being a kid required science experiments to try out. I was a curious boy.  I never took chemistry, but I tried a chemistry experiment.  

 What would a combination of vinegar and dishwashing detergent taste like?  It sounds gross, and I have to admit it was, but a drink is a drink.  The first time I drank it, I threw up outside.  When you heard that your mother was going to wash your mouth out with soap, it was kind of like that.  I was foaming at the mouth from the detergent.  

 As time went on, I began to like the taste.  It was nasty, but I could tolerate it.  I would only drink this concoction on Saturday mornings, as I prepared for the sound of the noon siren.  There was no chugging of my drink.  Just a little sip or three.  My mother started to wonder why her vinegar and detergent seemed to be lessening.  She caught me taking some one morning, and I felt the paddle.  

 That was the end of my mixed drinks, at least until college.  Some would say that my drink made me clean inside.  It did.