The First Kiss: A Boy’S Path to Manhood

By Ernest F. Payne

The book follows WB, a young genius, as he moves through his life and becomes a man. He has lost both parents, and thus he became homeless. He strikes out on his own using tools his parents have taught him. He lives alone in a tree his first winter. He follows different people he meets, and they mutually impact each others lives. He has personal obstacles to overcome such as being only twelve years old and having albinism. The characters are both interesting and realistic; they really bring the story to life, compelling the reader to discover the outcome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490826493

Ernest F. Payne

Mr. Payne is the son of a West Virginia coal miner. He is a retired computer engineer and cattle rancher. He resides in Urbana, Ohio, with his wife of fifty years. He has three children.

Book preview

The First Kiss

A Boy’s Path to Manhood

ERNEST F. PAYNE

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Copyright © 2014 Ernest F. Payne.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™ All rights reserved.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-2648-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-2650-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-2649-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014902944

WestBow Press rev. date: 5/8/2014

Contents

Chapter One The First Day

Chapter Two Death And Revenge

Chapter Three Knuble

Chapter Four Actions And Reactions

Chapter Five Knuble Face To Face

Chapter Six The Grave

Chapter Seven Back To Bob

Chapter Eight Running

Chapter Nine Log Cabin

Chapter Ten A Companion

Chapter Eleven The Truck Stop

Chapter Twelve A New Job

Chapter Thirteen Subservient

Chapter Fourteen A Family

Chapter Fifteen Oh, My Family

Chapter Sixteen Hagen It Is A Small World

Chapter Seventeen Lillian

Chapter Eighteen Heading Southwest

Chapter Nineteen Second Winter

Chapter Twenty Preschool

Chapter Twenty One Homesick

Chapter Twenty Two Deciphering Ciphering

Chapter Twenty Three Start Deciphering

Chapter Twenty Four Suit’s Replacement

Chapter Twenty Five Smith And Freedom

Chapter Twenty Six I Have A Name

Chapter Twenty Seven Home Coming

Chapter Twenty Eight Fetching Mom

Chapter Twenty Nine Back To Coaling

Chapter Thirty The Ride Back

Chapter Thirty One Test Of Faith

Epilog

I dedicate this book to my father and mother; a coal miner and coal miner’s wife.

A very special thanks to Christine Macy for the guidance she gave me in writing this book.

I offer many thanks to my brother Lee Payne for his valuable assistance in this endeavor.

So Peter opened his mouth and said: Truly I understand that God shows no partiality… (Act 10:34) ESV

CHAPTER ONE

The First Day

Fall 1935

T omorrow will be my first day in the twelfth grade. A new grade always made me nervous and unsettled, but this grade will be different. I am about to enter the land of giants; a twelve-year-old is small in stature and maturity. I have skipped a grade every year beginning with the first grade. As a result, my new classmates were always older and bigger than me. In the lower grades, it was not a concern, but at the upper grades, the disparity grew. Bullying occurred in some fashion in every grade; it was usually verbal, or sometimes crowding or pushing me around. However, in the twelfth grade, I am entering the embodiment of bullying. They were five boys that tormented every student they could, and as I later discovered the teachers. Avoiding them was how I managed through the lower grades but now we would be in the same room. I am twelve, and I am afraid of what was co ming.

The Five consisted of the big three and a little two; that is how I describe them. The little two were hangers-on; riding on the coattails of the power the others. The big-three’s power lay in their size, and that they were sons of prominent men in Coal Town, as I call it. The curious thing about them was they were straight-A students, I never understood that because they had no comprehension of the basics of education; you know the old saying, they couldn’t add their way out of a paper bag.

My promotions were the responsibility of my mother’s diligence and the method she reared me. When I was four, she began teaching me to read. Every day we practiced a new word, and the meaning of the word. She skipped the classic alphabet path and went to her methods, which was memorization. When I entered the first grade, my vocabulary consisted of at least 350 words. I could read a newspaper. The first day of class, I asked the teacher, Why are we studying letters instead of words?

She answered, We need the letters to make words.

I already know words; I don’t need to know the letters, I countered with confidence.

She handed me a reader and said, Show me please.

To her amazement, I did; she wrote a note and said, Give this to your mother, please.

When I got home, I handed the note to mom. Mom, the teacher gave me this.

WB, the first day, and I get a note from the teacher; what have you done?

The note wanted my mom to come to school for a conference. I moved up two grades; my promotion to the third grade occurred only because I passed several tests.

My mom and dad were of French origin. Well, that is not exactly true; they spoke French, but I do not know their country of origin. They immigrated to America and moved to this coal-mining town near the time of my birth. It was, as though the past did not exist. From their actions when the subject might come up, they steered clear of it. I sensed something bad had happened. The past was past, and they wanted nothing to do with it. My dad was a coal miner, a curious trade for an immigrant with his intellect. They both spoke English, but my mother’s accent made it difficult to understand her conversation. As I grew older, I became her interpreter. When she needed to speak to someone, I would accompany her. She would speak; I would repeat what she said. It was curious, but my mother’s personality overshadowed her needing a representative; anyway, it seemed that was the reality. They discouraged me learning French, so I obeyed. I did know accidental French. They spoke French when I was excluded from the discussion. I picked-up enough of the language to get-around-in it. It was their private communication, their intimate talk. I did not listen then. I am the only child, and she wanted something more for me.

Morning came too soon. In the past, I rode the bus to school. Everyone walked to the hard road at the bridge over a wide creek that flowed beside the town. Most roads in our town were dirt with gravel overlay. We called paved roads hard roads. We would board the bus at the bridge and ride to school. Today I would walk to avoid the five. At school, there was no way to get away from them. Each grade stayed in the same room with the same teacher for every class. The five would be a heavy presence, more on me than the others would. I could not hide from them because I am white; my skin is very white as well as my hair. One had to look close to see my eyelashes and eyebrows. The only color was my red eyes. Some said I put a hex on them by staring them down, what foolishness. My hair was long and had large curls. This protected my neck from sunburn, and it naturally curled; my mom wanted it long. Being very white made me a target; I just felt it in my gut because my gut was in a knot.

Mom fixed oatmeal for my breakfast. Dad had already left for work. I dumped the oatmeal into my queasy stomach and headed out the door. I walked toward the bus stop, walking on the dirt streets. I crossed a small wooden bridge, passed over a stream near the mine Superintendent’s house, before entering a large grassy area with a well-worn path. There were shorter ways to reach the bridge at the road, by passing through the rail yards, but it was required everyone cross at the railroad crossing. The rail yards were busy with moving hopper cars filled with mined coal. At the railroad crossing, I turned right or south. Others were walking on to the bus stop, as I made my way over the rail beds toward the school. Sometimes I walked on the rails as a tightrope walker would do, or I would stutter step on the rail ties.

Arriving at school, I hung out in the hallway near our classroom waiting for the big five to show. When they entered the room, I waited a few minutes and walked in. I saw where they sat and headed across the room as far away as possible. When they saw me, they hooted, Hey, the freak is here. Freak was a name used more than occasionally, so it was something I learned to pretend to ignore. Some folks just did not understand. When one looked skinny and was reserved, one learns it is best to ignore most things, especially unwinnable battles.

The teacher came, and they hooted her, though they did not call her freak. Our books were at our desks. Thanks to my mom, I previously had read each book over the summer; a task I duplicated every year. Miss Brugh went through the syllabi for each course that took all of the hour. She then provided a recess when the bell rang.

Without any forethought, I headed for the restroom. So did the five. They blocked me from leaving and forced everyone else exit. The largest one held me, arms behind my back and my stomach fully visible. The others, in turn, punched me four times in the stomach and once in the face; I counted each blow so I would know when it would be over; it is simple math, five by five is twenty-five. I tried to clinch my stomach to lessen the impact; I watched the fist of each assailant, which allowed me to move my head in such a way that the punch, would land on my forehead and not my nose. The former did not help, but the latter resulted in some yelps of pain when the first fist hit my forehead, and I did not get the full twenty-five punches. I read somewhere the forehead is the hardest bone in one’s body. I hoped for some broken hand bones. At the conclusion of the ceremony of punches, my body summarily dropped to the floor and curled fetal. The biggest one walked away, returned and kicked me in the chest and then without a word walked away. The bell rang. Recess was finished; so was I.

I lay on the floor for a while without moving; I took some real shots in the stomach. I almost cried. I should have known; I should have watched them. Looking back, I think it was strange that no one came looking for me. Now I needed to get home. I needed to get up and survey the damage, so I rolled onto my hands and knees and then forced my body up quickly. I did not feel as bad as I thought I would. My stomach was not sore; it hurt inside. As I looked in the mirror, I knew a black eye was coming, but the redness above my left eye meant they missed more than connected. I walked out the bathroom door, turned away from the classroom and made for the exit. I pushed out through the door and headed for home. As I walked, my stomach started to pain; it made me hunch up at the waist; I walked decidedly bent forward. When I arrived home, I explained what had happened. Mom surveyed the damage and put me to bed. We will wait for your father to come home. She spoke as though it were a minor scuffle.

I was asleep when he arrived. He awoke me and checked me over. He said, We will talk tomorrow. I rolled over, but I did not go back to sleep. What my father actually said was, let me think about the proper response to this. I rose before dinner and tried to have a normal evening in spite of what lay ahead. He did not say it, but I thought my father looked at this as part of growing up and learning how to live with people. They were aware of my lack of standing with my peers, and they let me work through it my way.

When he arrived home the next day, I was up; mom had kept me home. I rose before breakfast. My injuries were a tender midsection, and I could not see well out of my left eye; there was an accompanying knot above the shiner. We ate dinner and did not speak any of the altercation or beating. While mom cleaned up the kitchen that was usually my chore, dad said, Let’s sit on the back porch and chat.

He started with, You know if you don’t do something, you will have to put up with this the rest of the school year; maybe even as long as you live here. Those boys will always be around. I could go to the principle, but you still would have to face them. I hear they fear no one.

What should I do?

Well son, you need an equalizer. You also need to understand bullies that are what those five are. In a group, they are fearless. They get their power from the leader, the strongest one. Alone, they are not as brave; even the strongest one who gets his power from his followers. I am going to give you something to give you the upper hand. Tomorrow, go in late; say lunchtime when everyone is outside. Use this and walk up to the biggest one and hit him with it; hit him as many times as you can. Run if he starts after you; don’t let him hit you again. If you fight back, the bully will back down; once they see you will stand against bullies, they will move to a weaker target. He handed me a wool sock and inside was a rather large sweet potato.

He explained, Use it as a club. It will give you an advantage, and when they see you will fight back, they will cease to trouble you.

I took the sock and swung it around as he said. I hit the banister, which had a raincoat draped over. It really popped. Okay, I am ready. Tomorrow I will go back to school.

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During the night, I visualized myself hitting every one of the five at the same time, one after the other falling by my blows. I wanted all of them at once. In my mind, I swung the sock time after time. It was a restless night as I troubled over the assault. I left for school at the normal time and took the same path I did the first day. When I got to a certain point going via the tracks, I crossed over the creek. There was no bridge, so I stepped stone to stone. I looked for a rock the size of the sweet potato. I exchanged the rock and sweet potato. I put the sweet potato into my pocket. It was not what my dad instructed, but I did not think the potato would hold up against the five.

In the hallway going towards my room, I saw the five enter. I wanted them in their seats when I went in. I held a sock in my right hand, nothing else. My left eye looked as though I could not see in that eye because of the swelling, but I could see with the right one. To get to my seat, I turned left and walked to the back of the room, and crossed behind the other students. I arrived at my seat without any difficulties

The room had erupted into a melee; everyone was crowding toward the five. Miss Brugh was in a dither, wanting to do something, but there was nothing to do except wait. Finally, the principle came in and minutes later a doctor. The doctor decided immediately they needed hospital attention. Soon ambulances came and carried them off. Someone escorted me to the principal’s office as an ambulance arrived.

My mom showed up, but she did not speak to me. She was not angry with me; she was watching and waiting.

Mr. Fox started to interrogate me, Why did do this to those children? he demanded.

I replied, I didn’t do anything to those boys.

Mr. Fox was the school principal and one of the boys was his son. Miss Brugh, what did you see?

WB, why are you untruthful? I saw you strike those boys with that sock you had; don’t deny it.

I stuck to my story; I didn’t do it. Mr. Fox asked to have one boy come in. Jerry, were you beside my son when he was attacked?

Yes sir.

What did you see?

I saw WB come into the room and as he walked past James, WB struck James with a sock and James fell to the floor. He then proceeded to do the same to the other four boys.

Did WB say anything to James?

He said, Whiteboy say how you like those apples James.

The school principal’s son, James Fox, was the biggest one and the leader of the Five. Then it was Tim Pencil the 2nd son of Walter Pencil, who happened to be the School Superintendent, and David Carpenter, oldest son of Mike Carpenter, Mine Superintendent. Brothers Owen and Jerry Wright followed them.

Mr. Fox asked for the sock, and I handed him my sock and potato.

Why do you deny it when you have a weapon in your hand? This is what you used? It couldn’t have been so; you did too much damage.

I remained silent, but Miss Brugh defended me. Stop harassing this boy; those ruffians got what they deserved. Look at this boy’s face; your son did that to him the first day. Wait for the state police; they can question him.

My mom finally weighed in, WB what have you done? she exclaimed in an overwrought voice. She had held her silence until now.

WB is my name. It comes from Whiteboy. Aunt Jay, my mother’s best friend and a midwife, delivered me. Supposedly, she exclaimed, Oh, It’s a white boy. Therefore, the name has stuck. Actually, I do not know my real name. No one ever used it around me. No one ever called me by Taylor, my last name, as other boys were.

I didn’t do what they say mom; even though everyone says I did it.

Miss Brugh had come to the principals’ office right away to protect me. After all, it was Mr. Fox’s son, James Fox unconscious on the classroom floor. Soon Walter Pencil the School Superintendent and father of Tim Pencil arrived but Mine Superintendent Mike Carpenter, father of David Carpenter did not show up. The school board would decide my fate. They grudgingly set me free. I went home with my mom.

Whiteboy say they not fair to WB.

Mom said, What did you say WB?

I didn’t say anything.

You didn’t say anything about your being treated unfairly?

No, I haven’t said anything since we left the office.

Dad came home. He had heard most of the story before he arrived. He said, That was a lot of work for a sweet potato.

I guess I am stronger than I thought. I muttered, automatically a pretense by implication. It was my sin of choice.

He followed with, You did good standing up for yourself. That is what you should always do. I don’t understand the denial of hitting the boys; you act as though you don’t remember the action or incident. Do you have an answer for that?

Honestly dad, I don’t remember doing it; I went over and over it in my mind all night long; what I was going to do. I guess I did it without thinking.

Well, we will let it rest for now. Go to bed.

It was early, but I obeyed and went to bed. I hurt in places and had too much excitement for one day. Shortly, there were voices outside. Mom came in and said, You have company, come into the living room.

It was Mr. Victor, Mrs. Randall, Miss Jacobs and Miss Brugh. Mr. Victor asked, How are you feeling. We are so sorry about what has happened to you.

I am sore from the punches, but otherwise I am fine, I responded.

Miss Brugh continued, We want to thank you for what you did.

I questioned, Thank me? That was not what I expected to hear.

Yes, those boys have pushed the teachers including me around for years. They demanded good grades without working for them. Their parents were too powerful, and we just couldn’t stand up to them. I hope you understand. I guess we were just cowards. Mrs. Randall spoke with intensity.

Confessing to a child was something unspeakable, to me anyway. Well, it staggered me. I answered, Well yes, I understand. I was afraid of them before I arrived at school. They had a reputation as you know.

Miss Brugh continued, You are very intelligent, and we are going to take care of you and your schooling. Anyway, we are going to push to have you graduated as of now. Most of the teachers say you know more about our subjects than we do. We are all in agreement on the graduation, and we will be at the board meeting to have our say in the matter.

In the class, I possessed an irritating way of pointing out that, what a teacher presented in class did not always square with what the content of the book. Occasionally, I also added that I did not think either the book or teacher was right. Then I would offer what I thought was the correct notion. It irked the teachers and the other students; sometimes I would talk for ten minutes on a subject. Ironically, I vowed to myself I would keep my mouth shut during class throughout this final year. I never made it through the first day of class, but I did keep my vow.

Wow, all I can do is say thank you. She had called me intelligent, but I am not really that way. It is just that I read a lot, and I can recall what I read.

Miss Brugh stated, In addition, I have a present for you. You must have left this in your desk, or someone placed it there.

She handed me the creek rock. I took it.

What is this?

It is the rock you had this morning in your sock; I saw you with it.

Are you sure?

Yes; very much so.

Why don’t I remember these things I am supposed to have done?

I don’t know WB; I just don’t know.

She hugged me hard and left.

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They scheduled the board meeting for Friday evening. Dad called a family prayer meeting. We gathered around the kitchen table, held hands and dad asked God’s blessings on us and for His will to be complete at the meeting.

Mom said, WB, I want you to admit striking those boys; don’t deny it; I want Whiteboy to keep his mouth shut; period. Is that understood?

Yes ma’am.

Mom and dad had to walk to the school, and that was embarrassing to me for them to have to do that. As we neared the school mom asked, Whiteboy, did you use a rock to hit those boys?

Yes Ma’am.

Do you see how much trouble you brought on us by disobeying your father?

Yes Ma’am.

Now Whiteboy is a problem; mom thinks I change into another person when I am stressed or fearful. I became Whiteboy. Normally I am a coward, but I feel the need to care for others, especially those that cannot defend themselves or violate my sense of fairness. My protector is Whiteboy, and when he is active, he is my alter ego. Sometimes he becomes agitated and talks erratically. I was not convinced it was true until now. I do not know where WB ends, and Whiteboy begins in this scenario, but I do know WB did not pick up the rock.

People packed the room when we walked in, and we were early. We were escorted to a table in front of the room. The sounds and rhubarb of intense arguments and conversations filled the air. I am extremely nervous; my stomach was tight and knotted.

Mr. Walter Pencil called the meeting to order exactly on time. He gave instructions that order would be maintained. Everyone would get their turn to speak but in an orderly fashion. One had to stand and wait to be recognized. One man stood immediately, and then two more did likewise.

Mr. Pencil simply said, We are here to determine the result of the actions of one WB Taylor. Nothing else would be discussed.

He looked at me and asked, Did you strike five boys in the classroom of the Coaling high school?

Yes sir; I did, and I am sorry. I acted rashly.

I’m pleased you are now admitting to your actions, but there is serious corollary to you actions.

He looked down at the table and said, The injuries to the boys are not life threatening, but two of them will need some addition medical treatment. I consider this a serious crime, and I will treat it as so.

Now we will go to the discussion before the board makes a decision. First person standing, what is your comment or question?

How can you be fair to the boy considering your son was involved? I think you should step down and let some others make a decision about the boy.

There were many in agreement with the first man.

Mr. Pencil went on It will be considered. Next.

The second person zealously said, I have nothing against the boy, but I don’t like him putting hexes and spells on people with those red eyes. It just isn’t Christian like to do such things.

Mr. Pencil asked, Pastor, do you have an answer about that question.

What the gentleman is suggesting is ludicrous; there are no spells coming from people’s eyes. If we start believing that drivel, we just as well ditch Christianity and practice Voodoo or Hoodoo. WB has no ability to do anything with his eyes but to see, the same as everyone else does. People, please don’t start believing such claptrap; we have enough issues without adding nonsense to the mix.

At that moment, the teachers stood as a group. The sound of so many people, simultaneously rising caused a buzz. Mr. Pencil looked there way and was surprised. What do you have to add to this?

Miss Brugh started Mr. Pencil, I speak for the entire teaching staff. You are responsible for what has happened. You allowed you son to run roughshod over every student, and I will add teachers since he was very young. You and I have discussed his attitude and behavior many times; you have condoned what he did and as a result, you are culpable in his action. Your son is not in any fashion an ‘A’ student. He obtained those grades through extortion and threats; furthermore, he used your name to get his way. WB Taylor is an ‘A’ student; he is the best student I have ever taught. Not because of his knowledge, but because of his diligence. She paused to take a breath, and she looked around the room for a moment. Your staff members, the teachers, have agreed that WB Taylor should be graduated with honors as the result of this meeting. He is the first person who stood up to the school bullies and, frankly speaking; you should be ashamed of yourself as a father.

She sat, and applause broke out in the room.

Taken aback some, he then said, Does anyone else have a comment? A long silence ensued.

…

What about the Taylor family, is there anything else to add?

My dad stood. Mr. Pencil I would ask you to look at my son. His face is the results of his first hour of the first day of school. You son had this planned from the outset. WB missed two days of school because of his injuries. I personally instructed him to stand up against those boys, and he did. Any action he took was in self-defense because those five boys would not have stopped after one time. Additionally, as WB noted to me, not one person came to check on his whereabouts. He lay on the restroom floor for a lengthy time; that is until he was able to gain his footing and walk home. Your son led a group of thugs whose only intent was to entertain themselves by making other fearful of them. He sat, and the room broke out in applause.

We will adjourn for thirty minutes.

When they returned, my high school days abruptly ended. I was expelled, but I was to receive my graduation diploma.

CHAPTER TWO

Death and Revenge

T he events of those three days heavily hung on me and emotionally I felt drained. The difficult year I built up for, was suddenly over. I received my diploma in a frame. Miss Brugh delivered it personally. She explained, Your grades are exemplary and have been made official by being entered into the re cord.

I smiled.

She continued, We gave you a ‘B’ in Social Studies. You would have gotten an ‘A’, but you were considered to unruly in class one time.

She laughed and laughed at her joke. She thought it was funny. I did, as well. I became unruly for a few minutes.

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My dad and I cut down two oak trees during the summer. Then we bucked them into six-foot sections with a two-man saw. It was near a mile distant from our house. We had no other transportation than our feet, so it was my responsibility to get the tree sections to the house. The only way I could accomplish this was to roll the sections to the house, and that was my responsibility. I dressed in my oversized shirts and wore a wide brimmed hat to protect my white skin from the sun. It was downhill the entire distance, which was a tremendous help. Getting it past the stumps of cut trees and standing trees required me to guide the logs by using a pry bar to lift one end and to steer the log along the path. After getting it out of the forest, I rolled it downhill towards our house through a large field of sagebrush. Since the logs were always larger on one end, they rolled in a small arc, which I made the adjustment for. It required constant lifting and pivoting to keep the logs moving in the right direction. That was my task starting three days after the school board meeting. While I labored rolling the sections, I played repeatedly over in my mind the events of the first three days of school. My lack of remorse turned to second-guessing. I wish I had tried something different, but there was not anything different to do except not go to school. While rolling the sections, I wondered if this is how someone thought to make a wheel. Three or four pieces became my measure in a day; usually I could move two in the morning and two in the evening. Mom would not allow me out during the midday sun because of my skin; covered or not. I spent the middle of the day reading textbooks or the books I obtained from the library at Hilltop. It took a week to bring down the larger pieces.

My work centered on cutting limbs of the tree-tops into manageable lengths, when the mine danger siren sounded. The siren always sounded when there was an incident of some sort occurring inside the mineshaft. When that sound occurred, every person who had a relative or friend working in the mine said a prayer Please God, not mine. Being not yet halfway home with a piece of oak, I left it and ran for the house. Mom had a look of concern when I entered. I said, Its dad; I felt him

Yes; I felt him also, she trembled as the words tried to become audible.

I saw his face mom; he said, ‘I’m Okay, don’t worry’.

WB, never tell anyone what you just said. That was Jesus taking you father home.

Mom, I saw his face before the siren sounded.

Oh, child; please don’t say that again to anyone! You know how they feel about you, and those eyes.

What do we do mom?

Wait until they notify us and then we will go see the body. He will be lying on the table in the mine conference room covered with a sheet. We will see his face and then go see the preacher have him buried tomorrow. That’s all we can do.

Less than an hour later, there came a knock at the door. Mom answered the door, and I stood behind her. It was Mr. Carpenter, the Mine Superintendent and an unrecognizable man. Mr. Carpenter said, I regret to inform you that your husband has been killed in a mining accident. There was a large coal fall, and it struck him on the head. The other miners got to him as fast as they could, but there was nothing to do, they were too late. The only comfort I can offer is he died instantly and did not suffer. I am truly very sorry.

Mom said without showing emotion, We knew it was him when the siren sounded. We both thank you for coming and informing us. She closed the door and waited, looking out the window until they drove off and then Mom wailed in sorrow. We held each other, and she cried for a long. When mom had cried out, she had no tears left, she said, We have things we must do. His body is at the mine office building. That is where we went; it was a two-mile walk, an hour’s time. His body lay covered on a long table as mom said it would be. Mom lifted the corner of the sheet and looked at him. There were dark black marks, like a large smudges on his forehead; blood caked his hair. Mom turned and started to say something when she saw the preacher standing nearby.

He offered condolences and asked, What can I do to help?

Mom rattled off a list of things she wanted. She said in her butchered English, I want the funeral tomorrow, and I want him buried in the church cemetery. I want all of the pallbearers to be only miners. Thank you.

The preacher helplessly looked at me, not understanding what she said. I interpreted, Mom wants the funeral the next day, and she wanted him buried in the church cemetery.

It was difficult for me to grasp, recognize, and characterize how I felt about my dad’s death. I did not know how or what to think. I did not know what I felt. I know I missed him; my heart hurt deep inside my chest. Mom was strong until the funeral was over, and we walked home alone. I had my arm around her shoulders, holding her close so as not to lose her also. We went home to life that we knew would be different. We did not know just how different it would become. If we had known, maybe we would have stayed away.

WB she began as we walked, I want you to promise me some things. You know your dad had a drink when we went to Hilltop on Saturdays. Well I want you to promise me you will never take strong drink. Do you promise?

That was easy; I did not intend to follow my dad in that manner. Yes mom, I promise.

Good for you; now I want you promise not to smoke tobacco or curse; promise?

Yes, I said. I wish she had made me promise not to lie; it was easy for me to do that.

Now there is one more and it is best for you. I want you to promise that you won’t kiss a girl that is, any girl, until the preacher says you can kiss the bride; promise?

I laughed at her and said, That will be easy mom; no girl will want to kiss me.

That isn’t true; there is a girl right now waiting for you to come along, and she will snatch you up.

That was tough because I did not know how strong the desire would be when I grew older. At this time, I had no interest in girls, and they certainly had no interest in me. I assumed I would never have a girlfriend, and I did not think I should get married because of my appearance. Therefore, I said, Yes, I’ll wait.

If you do, after that it will make every kiss you have with your wife just like the first kiss.

Still promise? She asked.

Yes; I promise.

I want you to understand something else about your father. There was a reason he had you do all of those hard chores and make you stay outside every Friday night. He could have hired a mule to drag the firewood in, but he wanted to make you strong by doing it as you have been. You are one strong twelve-year-old man, physically and mentally. He wasn’t punishing you; he wanted you to be self-sufficient. He had an event in his life where he needed the skills you have learned. If he hadn’t had them, we would have perished, and you wouldn’t be. Now you don’t have him here, but he has prepared you for the future.

At home, mom sat on the couch or lay in my bed. Wherever she was present, I was there with her. When she was on my bed, I lay on my pallet. In the living room, I sat next to her holding her hand. She did not talk; she sat with her arms wrapped around herself while staring without focus. Sometimes she sat on the couch; she rocked with her arms wrapped. I did not have a notion of what was swirling around in her psyche. She was maybe unhinged; her life changed as abruptly as it had for many miners’ wives before. The change is very much unimaginable. She needed time; that was my hope. I became more concerned for her than for myself. We missed church and went into the next week with little change. I got her to drink water and eat occasionally. I guess she was looking back or maybe realizing the fragile life she knew was gone.

Near the end of the second week, she changed. She got up, dressed, and asked, What do you want for breakfast? We have things we must do, and we start today.

Well, even I felt better just having her up and about. We left the house intending to see Mr. Carpenter, the Mine Superintendent. Mining companies do not pay well, but they do provide housing. That housing was available to an employee of the mine. Once an employment ended, one had three months time to find other accommodations. Mom had intentions to ask Mr. Carpenter for an extended time in the house; at least until spring. At the mine office, Mr. Carpenter was in but he was too busy to see us just then. We would have to come back the next day. It frustrated mom. She thought under the circumstances of the death of her husband he should have seen her, but she pushed on. She always pushed on!

We were at the mine office early the next morning. Mr. Carpenter’s secretary was a thin woman whose disposition showed she was under duress, and I sensed compulsion. She seemed to have been crying. Her eyes darted here and there, and she would not look directly at us. We waited nearly two hours, and finally Mr. Carpenter would see us. When we went in, Mr. Carpenter made no mention of dad’s death. He said in a matter-of-fact way, What can I do for you?

I know the rules about the company house we live in, but could you give us some more time, say until next spring before we have to move? It is going to stand unoccupied; there is no one waiting for a home, mom pleaded. He looked at me, and