The Days of Thy Youth

By Donald J. Richardson

Bernard Frank is a member of an under represented population, someone who is not equipped to take advantage of the traditional way education has been presented in the United States. This does not mean he is unintelligent nor that he lacks insight. Living with his mother during the Great Depression, Bernard is forced to deal with the "others," as he calls them, and finds his best connection with a dog. As a golf caddy, Bernard witnesses an impressive golfer who could become world renowned. Bernard's story is not earth shaking, but it is one that ought to be told. Bernard possesses a great sense of dignity and self-worth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467045148

Donald J. Richardson

Although he has long been eligible to retire, Donald J. Richardson continues to (try to) teach English Composition at Phoenix College in Arizona. He defines his life through his teaching, his singing, his volunteering, and his grandchildren.

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The Days of Thy Youth

Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth.

Ecclesiastes, 11:9.

Donald J. Richardson

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© 2012 by Donald J. Richardson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 09/29/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4516-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4515-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4514-8 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011917766

Printed in the United States of America

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Afterward

Other books by Donald J. Richardson

Dust in the Wind, 2001

Rails to Light, 2005

Song of Fools, 2006

Words of Truth, 2007

The Meditation of My Heart, 2008

The Days of Darkness, 2009

The Dying of the Light, 2010

Between the Darkness and the Light, 2011

For all the Bernards

Chapter One

My name is Bernard Frank. Bernard P. Frank. I don’t know what the P. means. I think it’s for an uncle or somebody gone. Like Phineas or something like that. People call me lots of things, like Ben, Bennie, Bernard, Bernie, or even by my last name Frank. I don’t like that as sometimes they make something of it that isn’t right. Like frankfurter which is a German word for hot dog. So naturally they called me Hot Dog. In fact, that was the most common name in school, I guess. Hot Dog. Wasn’t nothing I could do about it. There was too many of them. So I kept my mouth shut, and after a while it didn’t seem to mean the same as it did before. Hot Dog became my name. Not cause I was fast or anything like that. I ain’t. I’m pretty slow, come to it. But after a while I knew they didn’t mean anything bad, so I guess I became Hot Dog just like they said.

At the course I’m Bernie. Bernie the caddie. That’s a good name and I like it when the boss calls me Bernie. Or even Hot Dog. He knows I’m a good caddie, one of the best he says. Maybe that’s true. I hardly ever lose a ball. The other caddies they watch the ball as the club hits it, and sometimes they can’t find it. I can almost always because after I see the way the ball’s going I know where it’s going to end up. I can’t say how I know this, but I just know where to look. And I don’t have to watch it land or anything like that either. The hitter will be looking all over for the ball where he thinks it ought to be, but mostly I go right to it and holler, Over here. Sometimes they shake their heads and wonder how I do it. I wonder myself, but it’s just the way I am.

I’m a good caddie. Andy, the boss, says so, and I know it’s right. I get good tips which I give to my mother. What do I need money for anyway? Somebody buys me a bottle of pop once in a while, I drink it. If they don’t, no pop. The money goes home.

I wasn’t good at school. I knew that all along, but my mother made me go. She said the trunt officer’d come and make me if I didn’t go. So I went. But it was like being a no-good stray dog what everybody wants to kick. Everybody wanted to kick me.

In school the teachers always wiped my nose. I guess I didn’t care at first, but after a while that didn’t seem right to me. Didn’t anybody else’s nose ever need wiping? This one time, Miss Prissypants or whatever her name was grabbed me and swiped at my nose; I didn’t like it. I said, Hey, I’m saving that.

She said, You’re saving snot?

Well, it’s mine, ain’t it?

It isn’t any more, she said, walking away. Still after that she left me alone, so from then on I used my sleeve. Sleeve was all yellow now. Only the right one. I’m left-handed and I might have needed the left arm or sleeve for something else.

Being left-handed caused me a lot of trouble. Teachers always tried to make us lefties use our right hands. Couldn’t write that way. I tried, but the letters were all squiggly and wrong. So switch the pencil to the left hand again. Every time get caught. Some times get smacked on my left hand so it stings hard. Some teachers weren’t as bad as that; they’d just switch the pencil to the right hand. Once they turned their back, I moved it back to my left hand.

Lots of time I didn’t do anything in school. I just sat there and let it go on by. Sometimes I watched it, and other times I didn’t. The others were reading or working on papers, sharpening pencils, or erasing holes in their papers. Not me.

At the front of the room were two flags. I liked the California Republic flag best. That’s what it said on the flag: California Republic. Lots of people were democrats, I know, but it said Republic. At the top of the flag was a star, just one. Maybe it was supposed to be like a star in the sky. Didn’t look like it, though. Stars in the sky were just bits of light I could see when it was dark. My favorite part of the flag was the bear. He was walking on all fours, and maybe he was meant to be the state of California. I didn’t know how.

The other flag was of the United States. It was taller than the California flag. Every morning we had to salute the flag and say the Pledge. It starts, I pledge allegiance to the flag. What that means I don’t know, but we all said it. And we didn’t need words for it either. All the others knew it. I think I do, but I can’t say it by myself. In the morning when we said it, I went right along with them, but by myself it won’t come out.

Sometimes we sang in the morning, too. Oh, beautiful for spacious skies or My country ‘tis of thee. These were good songs, and I liked singing them. Another song we were supposed to sing is Oh, say can you see. But that song I didn’t like as much. I don’t know why; just seemed harder to me is all.

There were decorations and pictures all around the room. Some of them were presidents. I knew President Washington and President Lincoln. Oh, and President Roosevelt, too. President Washington and President Lincoln never looked happy. Maybe they didn’t have a good lunch or something, but I didn’t think they ever smiled. President Roosevelt did. He had a real long cigarette he held and I could see his teeth in the picture. He smiled like he had a good breakfast.

At the back of the room was a wall with I guess a bulletin board. It had a lot of papers and announcements on it with thumb tacks. Sometimes the teachers put up pictures some of the others had made. Never any of mine. I couldn’t draw or even color very well. I’d take them home to my mother who always said, That’s all right. You just do the best you can, Bernard. So I tried to.

In class we had these ik tests all the time. They were supposed to measure how smart we were. What they measured was how dumb I was. I couldn’t do well on those tests. Seemed like the tests were smarter than I was. Never did figure out how to do well on those tests. Fill in the blanks or choose the letter of the alphabet and go on to the next one.

I tried different ways, but none of them worked for me. Ik tests were for the others, the ones who wore clean clothes that had been ironed.

My mother had used to iron my clothes. She put that old crying iron or whatever it’s called onto the stove to heat and then used it to smooth out the wrinkles. One time she burned herself on that crying iron and it made her so mad she thrown it out the window. Lucky for us the window was open or we’d a had fresh air all the time instead of just when the window was up. Anyway after that she didn’t iron clothes. People want ironed clothes, they can go to the laundry, she said. She still did the washing.

The others always wore ironed, clean clothes and they made fun of me. Called me Bernie and I could tell they were making fun of me by the way they said it. I never was good at words; probably that’s why I didn’t do good on those ik tests, but I can listen to what a person says and not understand what he’s saying, but I still know what he’s getting at. I guess it’s the way the voice sounds. I also watch faces. Faces tell a lot that the person behind them don’t realize he’s saying. People who lie to me do it with a smile, maybe thinking I’m too dumb to know what they’re doing, but I know. They might just as well wear a sign that says, I’m lying, cause I can tell.

Anyway they called me Bernie, making fun of me. When I didn’t say anything back, they tried other names: Frankie, Frankfurter, and then Hot Dog. At first when they said that, I knew they didn’t like me. But later on, maybe after they got used to having me around, they said it differently, like it might have been John or Mary or some regular name and that’s when I got to like the name. Especially I liked it when at the course the boss called me Hot Dog. Then it meant something good.

The boss never made fun of me. Oh, I know I’m not smart like the others, and the boss knows it, too, but he never says anything bad. He’s one of my friends, even though he’s older. And some of the players, they call me Hot Dog, too, almost as if they like me. The others—I can tell when they don’t like me. Those are the ones who make fun of me just using words. Mash their balls into the mud is what I do when I get the chance.

At school I tried not to let on I cared. Dumb or not, I still have feelings.