Sixteen Vs, Book Three, The Adolescent Years

By Victor Cox

This segment of Victor’s life at a new location starts off in pain. But, hardly before the pain is gone, his life lessons turn deadly as he narrowly escapes being stomped to death and killed with a gun. Things settle down a bit as he goes through several learning lessons that make a lasting impression on him. Then, he is wrapped up in heartbreak, shame, and guilt as circumstances out of his control force him to quit school, something he vowed not to do. He finishes this segment of life talking about family before surviving a couple more life-threatening situations. Most everyone can remember their first car, but rarely have issues like his.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Victor Cox
• Release date: Oct 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301340408

Victor Cox

Victor Cox is an aspiring writer. After growing up in northern Louisiana, he was drafted into Military service and chose the Air Force as a career. Married at the time, his son was born when he was in Vietnam. His son was eight months old the first day Victor saw him in person. Victor and his family moved to many stateside locations in the Air Force, including one tour in Germany. Victor retired from the Air Force after twenty eight years of service. His military service encompassed being an aircraft maintainer, a flying Crew Chief, aircraft maintenance instructor, and manager. He is a retired Chief Master Sergeant (E9). After completing a tour in Vietnam, he pursued his educational opportunities. After such a precarious start in High School, he earned three Associate of Science Degrees and a Bachelor of Science Degree. He graduated valedictorian from Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. He regrets telling people he was the only one in his family to graduate High School and go to college. He has one son and three grandsons. He presently resides in Powderly, Texas.

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SIXTEEN Vs

Book Three: The Adolescent Years

By Victor Cox

Copyright 2013 Victor Cox

Smashwords Edition

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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This is a work of nonfiction. However, some names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents, though true, have been changed for privacy purposes. Where applicable, fictitious names are used. If the circumstances match the reader’s, it is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Book cover: The Cotton Field, Copyright Victor Cox

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 69. The D. R. House Place

Chapter 70. The Broken Toe

Chapter 71. Going to the Store

Chapter 72. Jerking a Box

Chapter 73. Camping Fun

Chapter 74. My First Shotgun

Chapter 75. Want a Chaw?

Chapter 76. Going Deer Hunting

Chapter 77. The Pistol

Chapter 78. The Miracle Bees

Chapter 79. Want a Smoke?

Chapter 80. My FFA Garden

Chapter 81. Evening Adventures

A. The Fight

B. Fireflies and Armadillos

Chapter 82. The Snake Incident

Chapter 83. The Sugar-Coated Snake

Chapter 84. I Quit School

Chapter 85. Basic Camping

Chapter 86. Relatives

A. Visiting People?

B. The Reunion

Chapter 87. The Rattlesnake

Chapter 88. Days Bough Swamp

Chapter 89. Getting Lost

Chapter 90. Colonel Deville

Chapter 91. My First Cars

About the Author

Connect with the Author

Other Books by Victor Cox

Introduction

Sixteen Vs, Book Three, The Adolescent Years is a continuation of Victor’s memoir legacy series. This book continues the fascinating stories of Victor growing up from the middle of the pack of fourteen siblings. Many exciting memories were made at this location. Just like the other places he lived, another sibling quits school. Victor is determined to change that trend. He vows not to quit school no matter what the circumstances. Read as he becomes a victim of unusual life events? Will he keep his vow, or do the right thing? Compare what you would do.

Adventures at this location start off leaving a bloody trail from a mishap. Then, shortly afterward turn deadly from a practical joke. Maybe you tried smoking or chewing tobacco. Did your learning experience compare with Victor’s? Spend an enchanting evening with Victor and friends catching fireflies and see what that leads to. Ever got stung by a honey bee? How about several thousand? That memory will surprise you. Living at Snake Ridge certainly lives up to it’s name, as Victor has a couple near-death episodes with them. He is lucky to survive those encounters.

Ever been lost? At night? In a rain storm? It can be frightening. What could be worse? Read what is worse. Stumble around with Victor to see how that memory turns out. Have you ever done something you were especially proud about? Check out something like that for Victor. This book ends talking about cars. How did you learn to drive, if you are old enough? Did you own a car? Was it your parents or someone else’s? You probably remember every car you owned, like Victor. Compare with Victor to see if you had these kind of problems. Likely, you didn’t.

Chapter 69. The DR House Place

We always called this house the DR house because Dennis Green Orr, Sr. owned the house and lived across the cotton field from us. Although the designation should really be the D. O. house, that just never sounded right. So, we just put an R, for the sound of his last name, instead of the letter. The community was called Snake Ridge, La. There was never a sign or anything marking the community, everyone just knew where it was. Just like Goldmine a few miles from Snake Ridge. However, now, some maps actually have Goldmine on them, but not Snake Ridge. I guess the names were significant in their history, but I never heard the stories. I can imagine how Snake Ridge got it’s name, however. Seems there were lots of snakes around, but I don’t know if that had anything to do with the name.

I had just turned fifteen years old when we moved here in the early summer of 1963 and just turned eighteen by the time we left in the summer of 1966. I finished the eighth and ninth grades here and started my second tenth. We went to Mangham school again. I have many memories of this place and had many adventures while living here.

It seemed like every place we moved to resulted in someone dropping out of school. It was the same here. Again, I watched the despair Mama went through as, yet, another child quit school. This time it was Vera. It bothered me a little that maybe circumstances would result in me having to quit school as well. I guessed only time would tell. More on this later.

D. G. Orr, 1967

D. Orr, who we always called DR, lived about a third mile northeast of our house across the cotton field and a little behind our house. DR drove the school bus and had about ten acres of peach trees, about eighty acres of crop land, with about ten more acres of pasture land. Daddy share-cropped with DR. Daddy and, us, essentially, did all the farming. We worked the cotton and corn fields and, mostly, only I helped DR with his peaches. DR bought the cotton and corn seed and Daddy, and us, planted and worked it until harvest. When the crops were ready, we pulled the corn and put it in corn cribs and picked the cotton and took it to the gin. DR loaned money to Daddy throughout the year for our living expenses. When the cotton was sold, he split the money, holding out Daddy’s expenses. Usually, there was little money left over for Daddy. I might get a new pair of pants or maybe some shoes in the fall after the money split. The girls may get a new dress or something. I’m sure there was never enough money, but it was a living.

Verlon (Man), Vickie, Venton (Don), Vera, Vada, Victor at DR house place, @ 1963

Daddy wasn’t required to work the peach trees, although he did help on occasion. Mostly, DR worked it with me helping him since his son, Dennis Green Orr, Jr, didn’t help much. Dennis was a few years younger than me and was quite capable of helping work the peach trees. He actually helped every so often, but it was rare. I don’t know why DR didn’t make him work. When I asked him about Dennis, he usually said he was too lazy. I quit asking after I learned more about Dennis. Although we later got to be good friends, he never worked much, and never steady, while we lived there.

I liked DR. He was a good man. He hardly every got mad about anything. He cussed very little and always seemed like a kind and generous man to me. His wife, Mrs. Annie, liked me more than Dennis, I think. Mrs. Orr was always very kind to me. She thought I was funny. Somehow, she was always laughing about something I did, or said. She was always working in and out of the house and seemed like I made her happy when I was around.

Mrs. Orr had what was called Milk leg. She was sort of short and somewhat overweight. She kept a bandage around her left leg between her knee and ankle that was about six inches wide. There was a bad sore on her leg that never seemed to heal, no matter what she did. I don’t know if she ever went to the doctor, I guess she did sometime. I was familiar with Milk leg since Mama talked about it many times. Her mother, my Grandma Vennie Lee (Nugent), had it also.

DR died in August 1983 of colon cancer and Mrs. Orr died the very next month of a heart attack. However, that was twenty years after we moved there. I heard later that Mrs. Orr probably had TB (tuberculosis), or diabetes, which was why her leg never healed.

Mr. and Mrs. Orr had several kids. Betty Lou, the oldest, was what we called a nurse. Actually, I think she just worked in some capacity at a hospital or doctor's office. I don’t think she was a Registered Nurse. She died young—a car accident, I think. She was only twenty-five to thirty years old. I still remember her. It really hurt the whole family—theirs and ours.

Their next child was Odell, a girl. That was an odd name to me, especially for a girl. The Agriculture and Future Farmers of America (FFA) teacher was named Odell, a man. I don’t know, maybe they wanted a boy, or no doubt, it was an old family name. Odell was blond headed, a little tall to me, and skinny. She was a pretty, and pleasant girl. She was a few years older than me. She was more business oriented, practical, and quick to laugh. We got along good and were always picking at each other about something. I liked her like an older sister I wished I had. She wasn’t grouchy like my real sisters.

Next in line was Dennis. He was a couple years younger than me and looked a lot like DR. Since he was their only boy, I know DR expected a lot from him. By the time we moved there, I think Dennis had become a big disappointment for DR. Dennis was about twelve or thirteen years old and already smoked. I was shocked! He didn’t smoke in their house, but they all knew he smoked. He didn’t hide it either, but Mrs. Orr didn’t allow him to smoke in the house. No one else smoked.

Dennis seemed like a spoiled kid to me. Being the only boy, he probably was. I could tell DR was disappointed in him. He was fairly lazy, smoked, didn’t try in school, and had no interest in learning about anything around the house. I was completely opposite. I guess that’s why DR liked me. I felt bad for Dennis and DR. Dennis wasn’t a bad kid, he just didn’t like any kind of work.

Dennis Orr, Jr. Eight grade, Polly Orr, Sixth grade, 1967

Their youngest child was Polly, a girl. She was a couple years younger than Dennis. Blond and skinny like all the other kids. Polly was a free spirit. She seemed always happy and laughed a lot. She was mischievous and would try anything. She was more tom-boyish than Odell and liked to wear pants. She was pretty and always wore bright colored dresses, when she wore one. I think Polly liked me and wanted to hang around me when I went there. That was annoying sometimes when Dennis and I wanted to do something.

I guess they had problems like us, but never seemed to argue much about anything. Sometimes the girls jumped on Dennis about something and, usually, he just got out of the house. Many times, visiting me.

Our house sat about 100 yards off the gravel road that ran in front of the house. The hand-operated water pump was about halfway to the road and to the left a little from the house. It had a few trees around it. There was a pump table about waist high on the water outlet side of the pump. One of my, and Vera’s, chores was to pump the water for the house—like at our other houses—in addition to me getting wood for the fireplace and stove. Off the road about thirty yards, in front of the house to the right was a garage-like storage building without a front door. DR put his tractor under it sometimes. It had old wooden boards and a rusty tin top. Vines and grass grew on both sides. Even though Daddy could use it, he never did.

There was a fence about twenty feet in front of the house porch. The fence went completely across the front of the house with an opening in the middle without a gate. There was grass and vines on the fence, but we kept the vegetation in control just batting bees off the flowers. There were a few trees along the fence on the left side of the house going from front to back. The right side, front to back, had a couple small trees and a large Mulberry tree. It’s branches hung over part of the house. We picked the mulberries and ate them when they were ripe.

The cotton patch was beyond the fence on the left side and behind the house. On the right side of the house beyond the fence was the woods. They extended about a three quarter mile behind the house to the right of the cotton patch. Down the gravel road going right, about 150 yards from the house was a wooden bridge that went over a small creek. Up the road to the left, about a half mile was the road/driveway going to DR’s house. Across the road from our house was another cotton patch about fifteen acres in size with woods on three sides around it. Behind the house before the cotton patch was a corn crib and the toilet.

This house seemed big enough for us. Velton (Boy) was back home again, temporarily, and was separated already from Thelma, his first wife.

All the kids at home, except Boy and Vickie, went to Mangham School. Vera and I would continue in the eight grade when we went back. We thought this would be a good time for us to help each other, but expected we would be in different homerooms. Mangham had the High School and Elementary school together at that time. We were DR’s first and last people on the bus other than his own kids.

I found the Mangham teachers were behind Columbia, where we moved from. I was in school over one month before I started learning something we had not already covered at Columbia. That was a good start. My educational transition was easy, but I had to make all new friends again. That wasn’t a problem for me, but it didn't seem as easy for Vera.

Vera, Eight grade, 1963, Columbia, La.

Almost immediately when Vera and I got out of the seventh grade, she had to go stay with our Grandma Ida Cox, Daddy’s mother. She was sick. Daddy’s family talked it over and somehow determined that Vera should go stay with Grandma Cox and take care of her. There was a Cox family (Daddy’s siblings) discussion about families should take care of their own. Somehow, that turned into Vera being chosen as the person to stay with Grandma Cox. I don’t know the circumstances, nor the politics, involved for any of Daddy’s other family members to stay with Grandma Cox, but Vera was chosen. I guess they figured Vera was fixing to quit school anyway and she would be the likely person to stay with her. However, she didn't want to quit school at the time. But, she knew about cleaning a house and could cook some too. So, Vera went to stay with Grandma Cox for almost four months during the summer. She was a little late starting at Columbia in the eighth. Things went well through out that year, then suddenly, we moved. I thought she might continue school at Mangham, but she only went a short time before Grandma Cox got sick again and Vera had to go stay with her a second time. With the problems she was having making new friends, I knew she was unhappy. Her second stay with Grandma Cox ended her going back to school and she eventually quit. Personally, I was very disappointed and could only imagine how Mama felt. It wasn’t long afterward, she met, and started going with, her first husband, Kelly Chapman, the father of all her children.

I was very disappointed that she quit school. I tried to talk her into coming back, but I couldn’t under the circumstances. I argued on her behalf, but someone needed to stay with Grandma Cox. It was obvious that since Vera stayed before, she would have to again. This time she stayed about six months. I felt it was unfair, but what could I do about it? That was something Daddy and his family decided on. Up to that point, I had watched Buster (Vernon), Snookem (Vester Lee), Vennie, Boy, Velma, and now, Vera quit school.

That made me all the more determined to stay in school. Just thinking about the fact that everyone of Mama and Daddy’s kids, from Vergil down to Vera now, had quit school, made me mad. I wanted to change that trend. I told everyone I wasn’t going to quit. I was mad that the other kids—just as smart as me—had quit so early. I hoped circumstances would not arise to make me have to quit also.

One day, during the summer between eighth and ninth grade, the large and sprawling Mulberry tree beside our house produced a bumper crop of berries. We saw the tree was loaded. The birds saw it, also. We kept a pretty good vigil on the berries to keep the birds away. I think overall, we probably knocked off about as many berries keeping the birds out of the tree as they would’ve eaten. But, the birds didn’t get very many. We had someone watching the tree almost full time during daylight hours for about two weeks while they ripened. All the work was worth it later. They were very good berries.

One day while I was on watch, I spotted a chicken snake in the tree. I’m not sure if it was getting the berries as much as it wanted to get the birds. Either way, we didn’t want the snake in the tree. I told everyone else, and they all came running out of the house. Now what? We all got sticks and rocks to throw above the snake trying to scare it down. That seemed to only make it stay where it was. It didn’t switch branches or go up or down. Eventually, I climbed the tree and used a stick to knock it down.

Boy grabbed the snake’s tail and slung it like a whip and popped most of it’s head off. That was way cool and stupid, I thought. We were amazed and thought Boy was quite brave. The snake was about six feet long and black. Now, we were looking for another snake anywhere to see that trick again. As it turned out, eventually, we found another snake in the same Mulberry tree and the same result happened. We never found another snake there, but certainly had lively discussions at home and school about the incident. It was almost as much fun watching the dogs sling the snakes as watching Boy pop their heads off.

I don’t know why, but this was the first house I can remember that we didn’t have a big garden or truck patch. Later, I had a garden for FFA (Future Farmers of America) purposes, but that was all. Mama didn’t have one around the house like she usually did. We still had the wood stove and fire place so my primary chores didn’t change. We also didn’t have any farm animals except chickens. To my disappointment, however, that still didn’t keep me from fooling with farm animals. DR had hogs, cows, and chickens that I had to help him with from time to time.

I got in the Mangham Band here. It was a new program added that year. Mr. Pryor was the director. He was a short and sort-of fat man. Sort-of balding. He had more patience than any man I’d ever met. He was a good man and when he got mad, his eyes bulged out. This was accentuated by his thick glasses and flushed redness of his neck. I liked the man and could tell he really liked music. I can still remember the first day when we went to the band room to get instruments. Most of the kids had their own or their parents were getting them one.

It was interesting starting a new program. Mr. Pryor had no one that had played in band before unless they were like me and moved there. Most of the people were completely new to band. I knew how to play and march, but had no horn. Just like at Columbia, Mr. Pryor had another cornet donated to the school that he let me use. It pleased, and impressed, him to hear me play several scales and even a song without music I’d memorized from Columbia. I could tell we would be good friends. He used me a lot when we started actually trying to teach the kids to play. We started out with sixth graders just like at Columbia. I saw and heard the awful struggles and sounds the kids made and couldn’t believe I must have sounded the same when I started.

He used me to play a note for everyone so they could hear what it was supposed to sound like. Mr. Pryor could play several instruments and every now and then, he took an instrument and played it for someone so they could hear and see the proper method for playing it. The band program was new and the first group of players were dedicated to learn. It was surprising how quickly the new kids picked up the basics of music and we actually started playing simple songs and chords in a relatively short time. Occasionally, Mr. Pryor had me play a song completely through so everyone could believe that they could actually learn to play it, but I was no where near as good at Hugh Youngblood at Comumbia.

I quickly got several admirers, however. One was Frank Chip Etier. He marveled at me playing. One day he told me he wanted to be just like me someday. That was the first time anyone ever said they wanted to be like me. That changed me inside a little and now, for the first time, I had to start making proper choices when he was around. That really didn’t change the way I was as a person, because I always tried to be kind and fair to everyone. It was just odd to have someone always looking at you and following you around watching whatever you did. It reminded me of Louise's kids. Chip did, eventually, get in band. He did actually play the cornet like me. He did, eventually, learn to play, better than me, I think, for his age. We remained friends for the rest of my school days and even played duets together every so often. Wayne Smart, another good friend, admired me also.

It wasn’t long before, I started a Dixie-Land Jazz get-together. Several of us band members played during the lunch period. Usually, we had a pretty good crowd inside and outside the band room at the lunch period listening to us. I liked to play the baritone also and played it many times during our Jazz get togethers. Paul Gandy played baritone too. We both liked playing Midnight in Moscow which featured us playing the baritone. We really enjoyed playing that song, even though it wasn't Dixie-Land. Eventually, I learned to play every brass instrument we had in band. The trombone was another instrument I liked to play, but it was a valve trombone. I couldn’t play the slide trombone. The bass, or tuba, was fun to play also.

During a school concert once, I played every brass instrument we had plus a peppy Spanish duet, named The Vaqueros,with Chip. When I graduated, the band gave me a little round gold-plated medal about one inch size with a chain. It had Band on one side and my name on the other. I gave it to Mama. She was about as proud of it as I was. She kept it for several years, but eventually gave it back to me. Her and the whole family came to hear the band play a couple times before I graduated. Everyone said they liked it.

Another new thing at the DR house was a stove. We got our first butane stove here. What a blessing to me for not having to get wood for our wood stove. No doubt it was a blessing for Mama since she didn’t have to mess with trying to control the heat with wood. The butane stove was a lot of trial and error for a while, but she quickly learned that cooking was a lot easier with butane. Velma and Vera helped her sometimes, as they were familiar with gas stoves from school Home Economics classes. We got the stove after we were there a while and it was a big deal for everyone. Especially me! It was great not having to cut, split, and bring in stove wood every day.

The stove was tricky to light the burners seemed like to me. Mama turned the burners on and, even though the pilot light was on, she moved her hand up and down over the burner until it came on. I guess the suction of her raising her hand drew the butane through the ports of the burner and helped it come on. It was odd that Velma and Vera didn’t have to do that. They just turned the burner on and a couple seconds later, the burner lit. I guess Mama didn’t trust it. Eventually, after several months, she finally trusted it and just turned it on.

I was glad we got a stove. We had finally moved into the twentieth century. I didn’t know anyone at school that still used a wood stove like us. Vennie was married to James Oliveaux (Big Annie) and she still used a wood stove. We had a big butane tank on the right side of the house that always smelled when you ran by it. It took an afternoon to run the copper line to the stove. We liked helping dig the trench for the line under the house. We all thought it was amazing that you could burn air that smelled bad, and you couldn’t see it. We were all pleased with the stove and probably me more than anyone. It cut out one of my biggest chores.

It was at this house that Vada remembers when Boy (Velton) and I scared her and Vickie. They were bringing in some water from the hand pump in a medium size number three wash tub. No doubt, to wash our feet. It was dark outside already and Boy and I knew they went to pump the water. We ran outside after they left and got ready. There was an opening in the hedge bushes in front of the house that everyone went through. There was no gate, just an opening in the single row of bushes forming a hedgerow. Boy got a piece of rubber hose and I got a long skinny stick and we waited behind the hedgerow bushes on the house side for their return. As they came through the opening of the hedgerow, we stuck the hose and stick on the ground at their feet while hissing like a snake. They screamed and dropped the tub handles spilling the water and took off for the house. By the time they bounced up the steps, they realized what happened. They told Mama on us and, to escape a whipping, we volunteered to pump the water and bring it in. Mama warned us not to do it again. It was really funny at the time.

Chapter 70. The Broken Toe

Just like any other place we moved to, I quickly got out and about to find what was happening. It was the late summer of 1963. I recently turned fifteen and was going to the ninth grade. Coming from Hebert, Louisiana where we played softball in the summer, I wanted to find out if anyone around Snake Ridge played ball. Dennis Orr knew where the ball game was. It was up the gravel road about one mile at a black man’s house. A few of his kids played ball and many white and other blacks showed up to play.

There was a cow pasture across the road from the black man’s house that we played in. There were a few cows in the pasture, but they always ran off when we took the field. Of course, they always left many of their calling cards. The dried cow piles we picked up and threw out of our playing area. The wet ones, we just told everyone where they were. It never failed that several of us always stepped in them. Dennis knew they played there because he often watched them play. He rarely played and, if he did, not very long. He didn’t have any problem watching everyone else play while he sat in the shade of a tree near the outfielders.

I quickly learned from Dennis where and when the game was played. So, the first Sunday afternoon, we went to the game. There were enough people to field two teams with several spare people. I was one of the spare people. They didn’t know me and didn’t want to take a chance on an unknown kid. They were serious players and both sides always thought they would win. I understood and said I was a fair player. They still didn’t want to take a chance on me, so I watched them play from the shade with Dennis.

The outfielders of both teams were poor according to my standards. I watched both sides drop balls and miss grounders. I was aggravated watching them mess up, knowing I was a better player. Near the end of the first game, I knew what the batters could do on each side and tried to direct the outfielders about what to watch for. When they ignored me, they quickly discovered I was right when the batter did what I said. Several times they wanted to know how I knew that? I told them that’s the way that person batted every time so far.

As the first game ended, I guess a few guys were bothered by me constantly correcting them and yelling at them when they missed easy balls. One of the team captains came to me and asked if I thought I could do any better. I told him I knew I could do better than what I saw in the first game. I continued to tell him the easy errors they made and didn’t learn from the batters. The captain seemed convinced and said he would try me the next game.

After about thirty minutes, when everyone went to the black man’s house for some water, they all took the field again. The captain told me, go to right field.

I told him, center or left is where you need me. Most batters hit there.

He said, go to right field or the shade tree. You pick.

OK.

I went to right field and mostly hung around center backing that position up. The center field player wasn’t as good as me and several times he missed grounders that I got and saved several runs because I got the ball. I caught a couple flies that the center field guy misjudged before the captain realized I wasn’t in right field much. He jumped on me to stay in right field. I did, only to watch us start losing runs. There were only a few hits to right which I quickly got and threw in. I quit backing up center to watch him miss several more easy hits.

When we went in to bat, I watched where the people played and hit the ball where they weren’t near. I got on base every time. About the fifth inning when we came in, the center guy told the captain to put me there because he was tired. He did and I quickly made a difference in the game when I caught every ball in the air and stopped all grounders. When we came back in to bat, most of the team members were praising me. The captain didn’t say anything and told a few others I was lucky. The last inning was fast. I got two outs and several grounders before we lost. That was all we played that day. As everyone was leaving, the captain asked, you plan on coming back next Sunday?

Yes, but the other captain wants me to play on his team. I don’t like to lose and you don’t play the people in the best places to win.

What do you mean?

I told him some things I’d change if I were him, and why. He said I could play on his team again if I wanted to and he agreed with my suggestions. I told him I’d see him next Sunday, and left.

The next Sunday I arrived to find the captains arguing about who would play me. Since the captain that I played for first took the first chance on me, he won. I started out in center this time and noticed the captain had switched the players around as I suggested. We played good and when we went in to bat, the captain asked, what do you think?

We played good and we're going to win.

I remembered the batters and switched back and forth from center to left and right as they batted. I stopped the grounders and caught all the flies that came my way. We were pulling ahead in runs and everyone played good. We were praising each other for good plays and the game was fun for all of us. Two of the old black man’s kids were on our side and he yelled encouragement and laughed at us.

We finished the first game several runs ahead. The other captain started arguing again about me playing on his team, but my captain wouldn’t let me switch. We beat them again the second game and everyone felt good about how we played.

The next Sunday, the old man suggested we select new team members because our team won both games last Sunday and would probably win again this time if we didn’t change up players. Plus, it’d make the teams more equal and result in better playing for all. So, the captains agreed and the teams were split up and many people changed positions on the field. I played for the other captain and in left field this time. The teams were more even now and both sides played hard. There was no run-away scores and no one knew who’d win until the last out. It was good playing and we all had a good time. The first Sunday we switched around we split the two games.

As I played a few more Sundays, Daddy came and watched a couple times. He sat on the porch with the old black man and a few other black men as we played. Dennis always watched from under the tree. A couple times Dennis didn’t come to watch. I tried to get him to play, but he didn’t want to.

One Sunday I rode my bicycle to the game and neither Dennis, nor Daddy, came. I was in center field again and a new big black kid showed up for the second game. I’d never seen him before but knew if he hit the ball good, it would go far. The other kids knew him and told me to back up. I did some, but discovered when he hit the ball, it wasn’t enough. I ran hard for the ball as it went over my head. As I watched the ball and ran backwards, I stepped in a wet cow pile and slipped down. I got back up and got the ball and threw it in. I wiped what I could off my foot on the grass. We finally got the other outs and went in to bat.

The big guy couldn’t play as well as he could hit. So, we got a few runs before taking the field again. We had two outs when the big guy came up to bat again. I knew his power and backed up more this time. I didn’t want him to knock the ball over my head again. In a couple pitches, he hit the ball hard. It was toward right field sort-of in between me and the right field guy. It was high and arcing down to hit the ground about the same distance I was, but to my left. I ran hard toward it and so did the right field guy. I was watching the ball and running hard. It looked like it would be very close if I got to it before it hit the ground. As the ball curved downward I knew I had to go wide open to get to it in time.

Only about twenty feet now, I was thinking I was going to get there in time if I kept running wide open. This was going to be close. I was much closer than the right field guy. Only ten feet now, and the ball looked as big as a basketball. I couldn’t hear anything with the wind rushing past my ears. Out the side of my eye, I saw the guy running past first base. I started stretching out my arms to catch the ball. Only five feet now. I saw the stitches on the ball and I was getting so excited I could hardly stand it. This was going to be very close.

Then, I felt about half of my left foot drop into a hole. I couldn’t look down at the time. Suddenly, a sharp pain coursed up my leg as my toe hit the other side of the hole. I felt some sharp stabs of pain in my big toe just before the sharp pain of my toe hitting the other side of the hole. The ball was just about in my hands. I started falling down. I pushed hard with my right foot to