I have heard a number of adults – including some that were well along in years – recall some kindness that someone had shown to them when they were a young child.
They could recall everything about the event as if it were only yesterday. I too can recall a number of such instances of kindness from my own childhood.
One such instance that occurred would not come to bear fruit until a number of years later and they had no idea that they were doing anything for me.
I come from a time when people actually visited each other and would sit on the porch and talk. I was a bit different than the other children who would be playing in the yard. I would sit quietly nearby and listen to them talk of older days about logging, railroads and numerous other events during prior generations.
My mother was friends with a neighbor – Fannie Eller – who lived across the ridge from us. When my mother went to visit her, she took me with her as I was a small child. Mother would tell me not to ask for anything to eat – but if it was offered, that it was okay to take it. They usually sat at the dining room table and talked.
There was always a plate of “cathead” biscuits and a jar of homemade jelly, grape, apple, or strawberry jam. I would sit there quietly and look at them, and Mrs. Eller – without missing a word of their conversation – would get up, split a biscuit open and put a gob of jelly in it and hand it to me. In later years, Tim Eller – who lived nearby as a child – would go to Mrs. Eller’s home for a biscuit.
“Pink” Collins operated the Atoah Grocery at the intersection of Atoah Road and Snowbird Road when I was a child. I would go there with my father and I was actually a little nervous, for Mr. Collins was a huge man. I would hide behind my dad. Mr. Collins sensed I was afraid of him and he would have none of that.
He told me to come up to the counter. I wouldn’t budge, so my dad pushed me to the counter. Mr. Collins reached out to pat me on the head and his hand was so large that it covered the top of my head. He told me to hold out my hands and I nervously did so, which he filled with penny candy. I was no longer afraid of him, as I got candy every time I went there.
A similar event occurred on the rolling store, which was a traveling grocery store in a truck that made its rounds throughout Graham County. Mother would give me a nickel to spend which at the time would buy either a candy bar, a box of Cracker Jacks, an ice cream, or five pieces of penny candy. When I chose the penny candy, Mr. Odom didn’t count out five pieces but reached his huge hand in and got enough candy to fill both my hands.
All of these things probably seemed like a small thing to those adults who were so kind.
They didn’t seem like a small thing to me then and still don’t today.
Marshall McClung is the historical columnist for The Graham Star.