It Takes Two

By Sherman Bishop

This story is about Sherman from his beginning until his present day. It began with his air force career, his first girlfriend, then finding his relationship with God, which gave his life structure and led him to meet his first wife. It also includes their travels in the military and raising two children. In 1980, Sherman lost his first wife of fourteen years. The loss was devastating and just about took his life. After six months, he met his second wife, got married, and adopted her two children. As a team, they finished his air force career and worked at the ministry while stationed in Austin, Texas. After retiring, he and his wife and four children returned to San Antonio and started another church work. Through trials and rough experiences, it would take two committed people with a relationship to God and dedication to each other to make this journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685171940

Book preview

Mom & Dad First Met

Small House in Troutville

From the beginning of time God put everything in place by twos, two are better than one because they have a good return for their work.

—Ecclesiastes 4:9–12

In January of 1945, I became one of six children to my mom and dad who were a hardworking family in rural Virginia. Dad was a farm machinery mechanic, and Mom was busy keeping the house running with six kids and one half brother. My mom and dad met while they were working at the local peach and apple processing plant near our house. My dad was thirty-nine, and my mom was nineteen at that time. Dad had lost his first wife to breast cancer at the age of thirty-four. He had four sons who were all at least ten years old by that time. The youngest of the four was about seven or eight who lived with us at our home in Troutville, Virginia. The house we lived in was about eight hundred square feet with two small bedrooms, front room, and kitchen; there was no inside bathroom facilities, just four rooms and a path.

One of the things I remember about the outside facility was how it would cure a tummy ache at night. If I had a tummy ache and needed to go, it wouldn’t take long after looking out into the dark that the pain would go away. The walk to the outside toilet was about one hundred fifty feet from the back door, and to hear the wind and noise would change your mind in a second. We had to make do with the boys in the back bedroom and the girls in the front room. There were three in one bed, and the girls had to be on beds in the front room.

Mom and Dad had the front bedroom off from the front bedroom. Those were times that we had to grow together as a family. If we didn’t work together, things didn’t go so well. With that size of family, everyone had to do their part. Even though we were kids of five or six years old, we had to mature fast.

In the summer, Mom and Dad had a garden and raised two hogs. This was where our food came from. The hogs were fed until the fall, then they were slaughtered for the meat. I remember the first time I saw the fully cleaned and dead hogs on the kitchen floor. Dad would bring both hogs from the outside after cleaning. Then after they were slaughtered, he would cut them up for food, keeping us throughout the year. What a real education. These large animals on the floor being sprawled out was quite a shock for a four-year-old. Not much explaining for what was going on there. I was staring at the weird-looking animals, having to piece all of it together in my mind.

Big Two Story House

We lived in this small house for about three or four years then moved about five miles to a small town west. It was to be where we were to live, and it was small and cramped. With Dad’s income, getting a place any bigger to meet our needs was not possible. With this, looking back, it was a way that drew us together and gave us the mindset of making it work. If any one of us were to be a loner, it would for sure become a lonely ride.

With Dad being a farm machinery mechanic, this kept him out early in the morning, like 6:30 a.m. to about 7:30 p.m. It was only on the weekends that we got to spend any time together. As years moved on, we eventually had the opportunity to move across the street to a two-story house owned by the church. Mom and Dad had started working at cleaning the church, and as part of their pay, we were able to move in this house. This was quite an exciting time for all of us. We had so much room than we had ever had before. In years past, we had to be cramped up in smaller places, and now there was room to spare.

We lived in this large house for about twelve years and attended school and worked part-time to help support the family. It was my responsibility after school to do other side jobs and take care of the outside work too. During the summer, it was helping in the garden and mowing grass around the house; but when winter came, it was cutting wood and bringing coal for the stoves. It really kept a person busy with all the things that were needed to be done. With all of these, there was not much time for other things that I wanted to do, like study for school. Because of being so busy, always tending to things that had to be done at home, my schoolwork suffered.

I love sports such as baseball and football. My mom and dad insisted that when school let out, I should get on the bus and come straight home. Determined as I was, I went out for football practice and stayed late after school on Mondays and Wednesdays of each week. After arriving home, I would get lectured on how I was needed and was not to stay after school but to get home as soon as possible so as to get the work done. After arriving home and getting everything finished, the day was pretty much finished.

Once getting a good night’s rest, I was to get up early, around 4:30 a.m., and do my paper route duty, and my day would begin all over again.

*****

I always felt that I should be responsible and respect my parents. This was something that was embedded in my life as a small child until I was a teenager.

I remember so vividly the time when I went to baseball practice at the local elementary school. These games were held after school and for the local kids who wanted something to do. The games would start at the end of the school year. A friend of mine told me about them and asked if I would go and join the team with him. Mom and Dad were not in it for me to have other things to do because of my present responsibilities. I decided that to start having any fun outside of things around our home, I would go out and join this team. I knew it was wrong to disobey, but I was hopeful that maybe I could sneak away a couple of days a week, and maybe that wouldn’t hurt.

After two or three practices, Mom and Dad found out, and I had to stop. To stay in the team, you had to show up for practice at least one day a week. After two practices, we were given our uniforms. After Mom and Dad made me stop, the coach came by the house, talked to Mom and Dad, and told them that I could not miss any more practices or I would have to turn in my uniform. Mom and Dad were on the front porch when the coach arrived. My dad decided right then that I was to quit and give the coach my uniform. It was if my heart was pulled out of my chest because I really loved to play, and it was the only way I was to get an escape from the stress at home. I knew Mom didn’t want to make me do this, but she had to honor Dad’s decision. I had to go upstairs and get the uniform, walk out, and give it to the coach. It was one of the most difficult things I had to do. It was something that stuck with me for a long time.

*****

All the way through school, my grades were failing, and I would daydream a lot. After entering high school, this was a pattern that would follow. There was no middle school when I went. It was first grade through seventh grade then eighth grade through twelfth. The way that I got from one grade to the next was by being moved by my teachers to the next grade, no matter what the grades were. There was only one teacher who really took interest in me. It was Ms. Wilson, my sixth-grade teacher. All the other teachers never took time to help me; they just sat me at the back of the class until the end of the year. But Ms. Wilson would take time for me by giving me assistance with my work to help me improve my grades. For a long time, I was an F and a D student, but after leaving Ms. Wilson’s class, I was doing Cs and Ds. After I left elementary school and started high school, my potential was really elevated, and I felt that I could really go now and do a good job in school.

*****

It was 1961. That was the year that my dad hurt himself on the job. One day, while he was walking around a piece of machinery, not noticing that the tow bar was out in front of him, before realizing it, he had struck his leg on it, making a very bad bruise. My dad was the kind of man who would not go to a doctor or complain if he got hurt. This was a big mistake for him when this accident occurred. When I started going to high school, I decided to go out for football. Part of the requirements was to remain after school twice a week and practice for about an hour. After practice, I had to go home for my chores. Dad had started having problems with his leg, so my responsibilities increased. I was told that I was to give up football and be home to take care of things because of Dad’s condition. I went to eighth grade and was to start the ninth the following spring.

That next year, Dad started going to the doctor because of lots of problems, and it was hindering his work. Mom insisted that he take time and go see the doctor.