The Life and Times of Little David Stone

By Dave Stone

Little David Stone was full of vinegar. He didn't know he was full of vinegar, and he didn't try to be full of vinegar, but he just kind of was. Things happened as he made his way through the elementary school years. He had simple little experiences with spiders and bullies, and horses and playgrounds in the early times, but the adventures broadened and got a little crazier over the ensuing years. Tales of nightmares and cemeteries, classmates and fistfights, firecrackers and cherry bombs, and of course an occasional tale of some budding female, and all of the troubles that she might bring. This edition of The Life and Times of Little David Stone is the entire publication, the big enchilada, the whole nine yards. So light up your Kindle and join in the fun, of the crazy and meandering adventures of Little David Stone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave Stone
• Release date: Mar 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301692170

Dave Stone

Dave Stone is Senior Pastor of Southeast Christian Church in Louisville, Kentucky, where he preaches Truth to more than 21,000 people each weekend. He and his wife, Beth, have three children: Savannah, Sadie, and Sam, and a son-in-law, Patrick. Dave believes the most practical way to spread the gospel is through moms and dads who model a genuine faith for their children.

Book preview

The Early Years

I don’t remember life at the age of three. Oh, maybe a little bit I do, like my beautiful mother scratching my back as she laid me down for a nap. Mostly everything was a blank, but finally at the age of four, life did begin to take a little shape. My sister was always there for me. One year older, Susan led the way. She seemed to know a lot about everything. She taught me how to color, how to ride a tricycle, how to play with the neighbor kids, and so much more. I also had a few friends. Melvin Lake, also one year older, was a neighbor. He taught me how to wrestle on the front lawn. He always won because he was so much bigger than I was, but it was still fun and I liked to try. I also had a friend who was a girl. Her name was Vickie, and she lived down to the corner and across the street. She always had a runny nose, but I didn’t care. She was nice and fun to play with, just like Melvin and Susan were. So this was my entire world, my mom (Frances), and my dad (Glade), Sister Sue, and a couple of friends down the road. My boundaries just didn’t seem to stretch any further than that, but later four other brothers would come on the scene: Michael, then Larry, and then the twins: Karl and Kent.

I guess there were a few things that happened at the age of three. I was told that when I was three years old I had Tonsillitis and I had it pretty bad. One summer day, as the story goes, I fainted dead away in the grain fields around our house while I was playing with the family dog. They say that the only reason they found me was because our old dog stuck right by my side. They could see his tail wagging above the top of the grain, otherwise who knows what might have happened.

Then they told me that if I was a good boy, when I went to get my tonsils out, I could have all the popsicles that I wanted. But after the operation when they offered me one I refused completely because my throat hurt so badly. I guess they all got a big chuckle out of that one, but I didn’t think it was very funny.

The stories I will tell you are old but true. They all happened to me as I traveled through elementary school, and maybe just a little before. My grandkids think that the stories are fun, and I hope you will too. All lives have stories to share, and I’m sure that yours will too. Maybe you, also, will be able to share them someday.

The Ditch

My family went to church every Sunday morning, and I didn’t particularly like it. I was shy, I always have been, and I was hesitant to go mix it up with a bunch of imposing kids every week. It was a regular practice of mine to pretend I was sick so I could stay home, but my mother had become wise to this trick, and after a few successful attempts it didn’t seem to work so well anymore. This particular Sunday morning I had risen early, with the intended goal of playing outside in the warmth of the sun before the dreaded hour would arrive when we would have to drive off in the car to the fearful Sunday meetings. I was really having a good time out there when suddenly I heard voices. I looked up to see two older girls coming down the street. They were in their Sunday best but that wasn’t what concerned me. I suddenly realized that I was wearing nothing more than my underpants and a friendly little smile. I fell to my knees and rolled into the ditch, the ditch that ran in front of our yard.

Ouch! There were rocks in the ditch and I had skinned a knee. I might have cussed but I hadn’t learned how yet.

I stayed low, listening for the girls, but I couldn’t hear a thing. Minutes went by. How long would I have to wait? The sun burned down on my back, blood trickled down from my knee, and my bum-hugger underwear seemed to be skimpier than I had ever before realized. I waited, but I heard nothing but silence. Surely by now they must have walked on by, so I raised my head and peeked out. Two heads turned and both girls stared right at me, because you see, they were directly in front of me, right in the middle of the road. One of them giggled, the other pointed a finger, and then my fear disappeared. Who did these big-girls think they were, acting so high and mighty about all of this? I grabbed two rocks and jumped from the ditch in all of my glory. The girls stared at me and I glared at them. I wound up and flung a rock at them with my little four year old arm. It hit the road and then skipped and bounced right into one girl’s ankle. She screamed and howled and hopped around as if it had really hurt her. I was surprised that it could have. Her friend screamed out something that I couldn’t understand, and then I took off. Across the front lawn I went, around the house to the side door, and then I rushed inside, closing the door tightly behind me. I ran into my bedroom and dove under the covers where I somehow turned into a rock. I didn’t’ move, I didn’t dare to, and I didn’t dare make a noise. I was sure the girl would find her way into my bedroom and thump me like a melon, but she never did. I never heard a knock on the door and my parents never talked to me about the two girls that entire day. I just figured I’d gotten lucky and they didn’t know.

I had somehow gotten away from these two bigger girls, and I had also learned one little lesson. Never again would I go out to play in only my bum-huggers. I realized I needed a little something more than that.

I went to church with my family that day and never complained about anything. The kids at church seemed a lot less scary than the girls on the road did, and I was certainly glad about that.

The Apple

One fine day I was munching on an apple. I chipped away at it until only the core was left. I looked for a garbage can, but we didn’t have one in our bathroom, so I walked over to the toilet and dropped it in. I watched it inquisitively as it slowly settled into the bottom of the bowl. It looked skimpy and discolored, quite unimportant really, so I reached up and pulled down on the handle. Kawhoosh, the water swirled and drained and then began to fill up again. I looked back into the toilet and the apple was gone, so I went on my merry way and never gave it a second thought, until the next day that is. That’s when our backyard became filled with neighbor men, and all of the men had shovels. I watched them dig and was amazed at the power they showed as their huge feet pushed the blades of their shovels deep down into the earth. As they talked, I got the idea that they were wondering what had happened to our toilet, and why it was all clogged up, and that made me nervous. I remembered the apple core and where I had put it. Had it caused a problem? Should I tell my dad? I gazed at him. He was working hard – digging away and talking to the neighbors when one of them suddenly said, Here it is, this seems to be the problem. He held up his shovel, and right in the middle of it, midst the muck and the mire, was the core of the apple, and it looked much bigger that it had at the bottom of the toilet bowl—much, much bigger! I ducked my head.

But then mom brought out sandwiches and punch, and fed all of the neighbors. They laughed and they talked and seemed as happy as a bunch of sparrows. No one ever asked me about the apple core or if I’d had anything to do with it, and I always wondered why, but even at the age of four I was wise enough not to say anything, and I knew that I never would.

Coloring

I loved to color, and I was really good at it—at least I thought that I was. One rainy day we were lying on the floor of our living room, coloring away.

Vickie is a good colorer, Susan said.

I am too, Melvin answered.

No you’re not, Susan said as she stared at Melvin. You don’t stay in the lines.

I looked at Melvin. He seemed stunned, but I was too. What was Susan talking about? Staying in the lines? What did that mean?

Show him, Susan said to Vickie. She held her work up and displayed it proudly for all to see, showing us with a finger how carefully she had stayed within the bounds of the picture’s lines, and suddenly a whole new concept developed in my mind, and I was sure it had developed in the mind of Melvin as well. Up to this point I had only worried about colors, the names of each one and which ones to use. Nobody had said anything to me about my coloring today, simply because I was just the little brother, but they didn’t need to. I had learned my lesson and would work on staying in the lines from now on, because now I knew. I was a bit embarrassed about my lack of knowledge, but no one had said anything to me about lines before, so I wasn’t about to say anything to any of them. And besides that I’d already learned all of my colors, and that was the most important part, wasn’t it?

The Stairway

One summer day I was sitting in front of the television watching the Howdy Doody Show, complete with Buffalo Bob, Flub-a-dub, and Phineas T. Buster. I loved that show. Gradually, over the drone of the television, I could hear something in the next room. Someone was crying, but who could it be? My sister was outside playing in the yard, and my dad was out there too, working. Had a neighbor kid found their way in here? I went to check. I entered the kitchen and, like a small little statue, stood in place, listening. I listened carefully, and there it was again. Someone was crying, but now I was nervous, I hardly dared to move and I hardly dared to look—who could it be? I moved slowly and peeked around the corner towards the outside door. What I saw there completely shocked me. On the floor sat my mother. At the bottom of a three step staircase, she had obviously stumbled down to the landing and hurt herself. Her legs were curled up beneath her and she faced away from me to the wall. She was weeping quietly.

I needed to get help. Dad would know what to do, but then mom cried again, and this time it wasn’t just a mild sigh and a gentle whimper, but she began to sob out loud. This scared me. She must really be hurt. She sobbed once more and I backed off a few steps. The front door—that was it! I slipped away and went back into the living room. Rats! The door was locked and I had no idea how to unlock it.

In the next room my mother sobbed again, and now I felt completely desperate. My little mind whirred, and then I had an idea. I went down the hallway and into the bathroom. I stood on the rim of the bathtub and stared out the little window. I could see my dad out there and Susan too. I stood on my tiptoes and pushed hard on the frame of the window. Creak! Slowly it moved until finally I could feel the warmth of summer pouring in.

Dad! I shouted. There was no answer.

Susan! I screamed. I heard nothing.

I gathered my determination and tried again, Daaaaad! I gave it everything I had, and then I listened.

David? My father’s face appeared in the window above me.

Dad, it’s mom, I squealed, and then I spewed out some kind of jumbled discourse that I was uncertain even made sense to me, but dad, somehow, seemed to understand. He went to the door and came inside. He helped my mother to her feet. He raised her up and took her into the living room where he sat her in a chair. Though she tried to explain, he wouldn’t let her talk. He told her that whatever had happened really didn’t matter that much. He went into the other room and came back with her favorite thing. It was a hot water bottle and it was filled to the brim. He gave it to her and she smiled as she placed it on one of her ankles.

Things were pretty quiet after that. Dad fixed up a little lunch and brought it into the living room. We all had a little picnic in there.

After lunch I slipped outside to play. I wasn’t sure why, but I still felt a little nervous about all of this, although I was really glad my mom was okay.

The Porch

Spiders were meant to be avoided. I knew that somehow, even though no one had ever explained it to me, but it was only obvious; they were just so…scary! Melvin and I had found a big one. It lived in a bush behind my house. It was large and brown and had hair growing out