Being Bobby: Experiencing God, Life and Growing Up

By Robert W. Ferguson

What if you want to be tall, but you are short?

What if you want to be strong, but you are weak?

What if you think you are smart, but you do lots of dumb things?

What if you are not a prodigy, even when theres something inside that tells you that you are very special?

What if, you believe you have been fearfully and wonderfully made, but you recognize that you are still somehow deeply flawed?

What if you know you have a purpose, but you are afraid you will never live up to that purpose?

What if you want to be loved, but you fear love will never come to you?

What if all your potential screams to be released, but your fears are too great?

What if you could just be somebody else?

What if you were Bobby?

How do you handle the

what ifs?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512755565

Robert W. Ferguson

Robert Ferguson earned a Master of Divinity with Biblical languages in 1987. He has served three congregations as pastor and is currently pastor of First Baptist Church of Archdale. He and his wife, Leesa, have four children and live in North Carolina. Today he is known as “Pastor Bob.”

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Copyright © 2016 Robert W. Ferguson.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-5557-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-5558-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-5556-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016914315

WestBow Press rev. date: 11/16/2016

Contents

Part One Bobby

A Boy Named Bobby

November, 1963

Those Early Days

The Third Sink

I Think I Will

Blackberry Summers

Two Birthday Parties

Everybody Does It

The New Preacher

Who Died?

Basketball Jones

Sneakin’ Around

Linda on My Mind

The Hill

Part Two Robert

Starting Over

Pop Group

A Project?

A Real Girlfriend

Different Circles

Tenderfoot

Anything Goes

The Prom

Summer of ’75

Walking in the Woods

My Eyes Adored You

I Write the Songs

Let’s Get Physical

This Old Guitar

Moving On

Part Three Bob

A College Kid

Sudden Death

Alone Again, Naturally

Two Letters

Little Leesa

Learning to Love

Signs of Things to Come

Chasing After the Wind

A Mutual Use

Will You Ever Come Home?

Rising Tides

Echoes of Love

I Wish You Peace

Epilogue

Thirty Years Later

Author’s Note

What follows is based on a true story. Some of the names and details have been changed out of courtesy to those involved. All scriptures quoted are based on the New King James Version of the Bible but are often a personal paraphrase.

God calls us from our youngest days. His call is not always to a specific profession, but it is always a call to use the talents and abilities he has given us to honor him. He helps us discover our calling in various ways. It is my prayer that as you read this story, you will see the various ways God has called you.

Part One

Bobby

A Boy Named Bobby

This is a story about a boy named Bobby. His last name isn’t important. If it were Kennedy, or Jones, or even McGee, it would be of some importance to the story. Since Bobby’s last name is none of these, it’s not very important at all. In fact, not much about Bobby is important. He was, pretty much, like most other boys; he had all the same desires and dreams of being special, but was in fact, quite ordinary.

Bobby is an old man now—at least on the outside. The years have changed him. His dreams and desires have dimmed, but deep down inside, the little boy is still there.

This tale begins with a couple who wanted a son to carry on their ordinary surname. After three girls, they were finally successful. They named their little boy Robert, after his paternal grandfather, but they called him by his nickname, Bobby. Bobby was a small baby—so small that his older sisters thought they had a living baby doll to play with. They would all take turns playing mom. He was so little and so cute. They loved having a baby brother.

Bobby grew, as most babies do. But he didn’t grow very big, which must have been a disappointment to his father. When Bobby was four, his parents had another little boy they named Jimmy. Bobby didn’t pay any attention to his baby brother, even when everyone else did. Their doting had always made Bobby feel special—now, he was forgotten. What’s wrong with me? Bobby wondered.

It’s funny how thoughts like these find a way to burrow into the dark corners of one’s mind, only to resurface later at very inopportune times. Who knows exactly when or how the seeds of inadequacy were planted in Bobby, but planted they were.

Still, Bobby never forgot how the attention of his family had made him feel special. Maybe it was his singing. Bobby found that when he sang, he could get the attention he wanted. He learned to sing songs by listening to his sisters’ forty-fives; the Beatles, Bobby Vinton, Bobby Vee. His sisters would often showcase his talent to their friends.

Hey Bobby, come sing for Tommy! Bobby’s sister said as she turned to her friend, You gotta hear this. He’s so cute! Bobby! Sing ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand!’

Bobby didn’t need any more coaxing. He belted out the song for Tommy.

Hey, that’s pretty good! You’re gonna be a rock star, ain’t cha, Bobby?

Bobby just beamed. See there, he had heard it again. He was special. Bobby couldn’t count the times he had heard the words He’s so cute. He had to be one of a kind. Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, doubts arose. How can you be special? You’re just a little kid? "Someday, Bobby told himself, someday everyone will see." As a child, waiting for someday was easy. Bobby wanted to be special, but he feared he was not. As he grew older, this dilemma grew as well. It was a struggle for Bobby in the years to come. How could he be so special and be so, well, not special?

November, 1963

Bobby lived in a small white house in a mountain farming community. His father was not a farmer; he worked in a factory. So did his mother. They were simple folk, and still connected to the land. There were two cows in the pasture behind the house. Bobby’s mother milked the cows early in the morning because she worked the evening shift. The neighbors milked the cows at night. Bobby didn’t know who the cows belonged to. It didn’t matter. What mattered was fresh milk. There was a barn in the center of the pasture that housed chickens and pigs. Fresh eggs and pork tenderloin were also a part of Bobby’s early days.

This particular day was overcast but without rain. It was cool but not cold. Bobby had yet to start to school and he was digging in the dirt next to the front porch where a summer flower bed had been. He looked up as the school bus stopped at the driveway. It seemed a bit early for the girls to get home. Bobby watched his sisters get off the bus. They were all crying. Now, he had certainly seen his sisters cry before, but this was different. Never had he seen all three cry at the same time. Something bad had happened. It was even worse than the time when his grandma died. Then, he had seen sniffles and smiles at the same time.

Bobby loved his grandma. She was all the things a grandma should be. She was warm when she hugged him. She was always sweet, gentle and kind. She would slip Bobby some of her chocolate cream drops when his mom wasn’t looking. At the funeral home, Bobby’s mom explained that Grandma had gone to heaven to live with God. That wasn’t so bad. Bobby went right up to the casket and said, Bye-bye Grandma, see ya someday.

This was different. There was sadness in the girls’ tears, but there was something else, too. Bobby could sense it—fear. Bobby had been afraid of things before, but his parents and his sisters, they had never been afraid of anything. They had always told Bobby that there was nothing to be afraid of. Yet, here, before his very eyes, Bobby could see that his sisters were afraid. There was even a look of concern in his mother’s eyes. His daddy was still at work. Would he be afraid too?

Everyone’s eyes were glued to the TV that afternoon. It was a color TV. Bobby’s family had gotten one only a year or so before. He could still remember the old black-and-white set. A white dot glowed in the middle of the screen for nearly a minute after it was turned off. Nobody was going to turn the set off today. News reporters with serious faces were talking about a lot of things that Bobby did not understand. But one thing he did understand: somebody had killed the president.

The next few days were filled with talk of the assassination. Bobby watched as the TV showed the horse-drawn caisson, with its flag-draped coffin, led by soldiers in dress-blue uniforms who marched with awesome precision. For the first time, he heard the mournful sound of Taps played by a lone trumpeter. He saw the lighting of the eternal flame marking President Kennedy’s grave. Bobby realized that the world was much bigger than the backyard and pasture where he played. There was another world out there, a world full of important people; the kind of people whose death made everybody cry and everybody afraid. There were the bad people too. Bobby’s safe world had been shaken.

Mama, Bobby said as the funeral program on TV ended, Did President Kennedy go to heaven?

Well, Bobby, I believe he probably did.

Isn’t heaven a good place to go? Grandma went there, didn’t she?

Yes son, she did. And yes, heaven is a good place to go. Bobby’s mother was always patient with his questions, which he had lots of.

Well, how come everybody is so sad about the president going to heaven?

It was not time for him to go. Somebody shot and killed him. If they hadn’t done that, he would still be here. So it was not his time to go.

Was it Grandma’s time to go when she died? Bobby was beginning to put it together in his mind.

Yes. She had lived a long productive life. It was time she went to heaven. Despite her strength, the corner of Bobby’s mother’s eye moistened. You see, Bobby, God made us. He has the right to take us home to be with him. But the man who killed the president did not have the right to take away his life. Only God has that right. That’s why it was not his time to go. Bobby wasn’t sure he understood it all, but he trusted his mom. She loved him so much that he knew what she said was true.

Those Early Days

The service was almost over. The preacher had asked everyone to close their eyes as the musicians played one more verse of Just As I Am. Bobby did what he was supposed to do and sat quietly. His mind, however, was racing. When will this be over? he thought. Bobby didn’t mind church. He had a good time most of the time. The Beginners class in Sunday School was lots of fun with his friends Leonard, Terry and Terry. They got to color pictures of Jesus feeding the five thousand or walking on the water. They heard good stories from the Bible too. Bobby believed them. Why shouldn’t he? Everybody at church believed them. Why would they not tell Bobby and his friends the truth? The fact was, Bobby never knew a time that he didn’t believe. It just always was.

Now, here was the preacher pleading for people to come forward and get saved. Bobby did what he always did. He waited it out. It seemed like days sometimes, even though Bobby knew that it was only a few minutes. He was not sure why the preacher kept begging people to come to the front of the church.

Finally—thankfully, Bobby thought—the Preacher gave up. He said the closing amen, and everybody started gathering up their things to go. Bobby waited in line with his mother to shake hands with the preacher.

Saturdays were wonderful. It was freedom, now that Bobby had started school. Sundays were half wonderful. Even though church was fun, it took up half of the day and there was so much to do. So here Bobby was, waiting to shake the preacher’s hand.

Hey Bobby, how are you today? the preacher always asked this.

Fine, I reckon, Bobby knew the answer well. But today, the preacher asked another question.

So Bobby, what are you going to be when you grow up?

I’m gonna be a preacher! The words just came out. Bobby did not know where they came from. Maybe he was just trying to impress the preacher, because Bobby had never, ever, thought about being a preacher. Still, everyone seemed pleased. Bobby’s mother smiled. The preacher slapped Bobby on the back. It felt good to please the adults. So, Bobby really didn’t give it much thought at that moment, but later he wondered, Why did I say that? I could never be a preacher. I’m not good enough. So Bobby just put it out of his mind and didn’t think about it again for a long, long time.

Sunday dinner was usually fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans. The chicken did not come in a package from the store. It had been roosting in the barn the day before yesterday. Bobby’s mom knew how to make the best fried chicken. She made it from scratch, literally.

She caught the chicken. It struggled for a moment in her arms, but she would gently pet the animal until it calmed. This was so that the meat would be tender. A tense chicken made for tough meat. The last stroke of her hand, however, was lethal. In one smooth stroke, her hand grasped the chicken by the neck and began violently swinging the helpless bird around and around. The chicken squawked briefly but could not make much sound after the first swing. Three or four good rotations usually did the job. Down on the ground the chicken would go, neck completely broken. The chicken flopped around on the ground for another minute or so, but soon it was still. The flopping bird looked really funny, but Bobby didn’t laugh. He knew it was dying.

Bobby often watched his mother wring the necks of chickens. It didn’t bother him. It meant fried chicken would be on the table soon. Still, he was taken aback at the ferocity of which his mother was capable. When Bobby heard his mother say, You had better straighten up, or I’ll wring your neck! he knew she could.

Of course, Bobby’s mother never wrung the necks of anything except chickens. She was sweet and kind and very even tempered. However, if pushed too far, she—despite being only five feet tall—could push back with a vengeance. It was not his mother’s temper that kept Bobby in line—it was her vision, her insight. While she didn’t have eyes in the back of her head, she could see right through little boys who were being less than honest.

Once, when Bobby was in the third grade, he told his mom that he was sick and could not go to school. By coincidence, he had not finished a homework assignment the night before. Bobby was able to convince his mother that he felt too bad to go to school. Later in the day, he began to feel better and was allowed to go out to play. Bobby was enjoying the warm sunshine and a carefree moment when, to his horror, he saw the school bus coming up the road. Not wanting the kids on the bus to see him, he skittered around to the backside of the house and almost ran into his mother. With an all-knowing look, she said, The guilty flee when no man pursueth.

How did she know? Bobby thought that she must have some direct insight from God, because she always seemed to know what was going on. Bobby thought she had a Bible verse to respond to most everything too. It was many years later before he discovered that his mom was loosely quoting Proverbs 28:1.

Bobby’s mom took her children to church regularly. Bobby’s dad, however, never attended church. The only thing that Bobby’s dad did on a regular basis was go to work and to the American Legion to drink beer with his friends. He was a good man, quiet and unassuming. In many ways, he was a product of the rural American culture. He grew up on a farm and was one of the first in his family to graduate high school—which only went to the eleventh grade. He and three of his brothers joined the army to defend our country during World War II. He never talked about the war much, but Bobby learned that he was awarded two medals, a purple heart for being wounded and a silver star for valor. Bobby’s dad had rescued several wounded soldiers during a battle in which he was also wounded. Bobby was an older teenager before he learned all this. He hadn’t realized that his dad was a hero. To Bobby, his father was just Daddy.

Daddy was everything a family man of that day was supposed to be. He earned a decent living, put food on the table, provided clothes for his family and never owed a dime to anyone except for the small mortgage on the house. He was, as most men of his generation seemed to be, aloof when it came to interacting with his children. His way of relating to the kids was to hand out sticks of chewing gum. Bobby most certainly liked this. Daddy could be a conduit of many good things. Still, Bobby regarded his dad with a certain fear and reverence. If he wanted something, Bobby usually went to Mama first—to ask Daddy took real courage.

As Bobby’s age (and nerve) increased, he would ask his dad for a quarter so he and his friend RT could walk to the store and get a coke. Daddy often grumbled, but most of the time, Bobby got the quarter.

Occasionally, Bobby’s dad would take him and his brother camping with the boys. The boys were the sons of his daddy’s best friend, Robert. He had five boys. The oldest, Taylor (they called him Tater Bug) was handicapped from birth and was institutionalized. He visited several times a year, and it was always a big deal when Tater Bug was home. The other four, however, were the kind of boys Bobby was convinced would have made his dad proud. They were big, strong and very athletic. Everything Bobby was not.

Still, Bobby loved being with the boys and thought maybe he would grow big and strong one day. RT was Bobby’s best friend. He was the youngest of the boys and although he was almost two years younger than Bobby, the two of them were always about the same size. RT had twin brothers, Dean and Gene and another brother named Delbert, who was so cool that he soon dropped the Del in his name and went by Bert. All of the boys were such great athletes that Bobby often felt very small and weak around them. A very convincing voice whispered in his ear, the boys are really cool, but you are not.

The Third Sink

By the time Bobby started school, his dad let him grow some hair. Up until then, his daddy would take him to the barber shop and have all of his hair buzzed off. So it was with great pride that Bobby’s fine blonde hair was the subject of interest to the teenage girls on the school bus. There it was again. Bobby was special. These girls, who were almost grown up, thought he was adorable. The girls in the first grade, well, that was another story.

Bobby was shy, but he desired to show his peers that he was special. One day, the teacher asked Bobby to sing for the class. He was reluctant to do it by himself, but when his friend Jeffery volunteered to sing with him, Bobby agreed. The two boys stood before the room and Bobby began to sing. Soon, Bobby realized, Jeffery wasn’t singing. Bobby’s face flushed with embarrassment as he felt all the eyes looking at him. Even though the class clapped when he finished, Bobby felt like crawling into a hole!

Bobby liked school well enough and was an average student. He made good grades in most of his subjects, but he was an awful speller. Of course, that didn’t bother him. What did bother Bobby was the fact that he could not pee at school, at least not in front of the other boys. He would often ask to go to the bathroom during class time because he couldn’t go at break. The teachers did not understand this, and Bobby really had no way of explaining it. You had plenty of time to go during the break, Bobby! the teacher would say. So Bobby had to endure the rest of the day with his stomach aching because he could not go. But even with the pain, if there were other boys in the bathroom, Bobby simply could not pee. At the time he did not know that his experience of bashful bladder was quite common. In his mind, it was just another dilemma. Why couldn’t he pee like everybody else? Was he special, or was there something wrong with him?

Thankfully, over time, Bobby found that if he waited until almost everyone had cleared out of the bathroom, and he went into a stall (there were no doors on them) then he could relax enough to finally pee.

By the time he was in the fourth grade, the bathroom break was not a big problem. Bobby still did not pee in front of the other boys, but he was more relaxed when there was a crowd. The other boys, however, were becoming competitive. The boy’s bathroom was long and narrow, almost like a hallway. There were a series of open stalls to the right, and on the left, one long, trough-like urinal followed at the far end by three sinks. The peeing contests took place almost every time there was a bathroom break. The contestants would stand at the open end of the urinal and see how far they could send their stream of pee. If you could reach the end of the urinal, you were okay, but the real studs could hit the last of the three sinks!

Naturally, Bobby never participated in these contests. It wasn’t that he was such a goodie-two-shoes, it was because of his bashful bladder. Secretly, he desired to know that he was a stud, too. In fact, he could pee just as far as any of those guys. He and RT had peeing contests all the time. It was funny how peeing in front of RT never seemed to bother Bobby. Still, peeing out in the weeds and watching that stream make a huge arc was one thing. But to measure it by the boys at school, well, that would prove—if to no one but himself—that he, Bobby, was just as much of a stud as anyone else.

So it happened, one afternoon the bathroom was empty and Bobby’s bladder was busting. His chance to prove himself had come. Bobby stepped up to the end of the urinal and let ’er fly. He hit the first sink, then he hit the second, and, with one last surge of everything he had, he hit the third sink. He was a stud! Then, a toilet flushed and the custodian, who had been sitting in one of the open stalls, stepped out and nabbed the culprit who had been peeing in the sinks!

Bobby was taken to the principal’s office where he received three licks with the board of education. He didn’t protest, even though it seemed so terribly unfair. All the other studs were getting off scot-free. Bobby, of course, would not dare tell on them. That would only make matters worse. But why oh why did Bobby get caught the only time he ever did anything wrong when all the other guys seemed to get away with everything?

Deep down inside, Bobby knew