Back In The Day - True Story

In the summer of ’58,

rain fell harshly in late July,

bringing white sand under my feet

into a squishy quicksand feeling,

and the odor of tall Carolina pines,

catch your senses quickly.

As a boy loving the outdoors,

I relished this downpour,

the inherent feeling of freedom

as I was drenched beyond mere wetness.

Running crazily,

not watching the path taken,

half sunk in the sands murky depths

laid a trap …

an empty, open pork and bean can.

My toe, its sharpness, met.

I could hear Grandma calling.

She heard my hawk-piercing scream.

Tears mixed with rain salted my cheeks

as I bravely hobbled to her house,

into her waiting arms.

Rain continued to beat the air savagely,

slamming like small fists on the tin roof;

like nails driven into wood.

it was relentless.

Thunder reigned supreme.

Lightning screamed around us,

lighting up a frightening black day.

I shivered in Grandma’s warmth,

her arms holding me, protecting me,

as she always did.

Tears subsided as she washed away blood and sand.

Taking a warm cloth, she eased away my pain.

With a kiss to my toe and a band-aid,

she said a prayer,

asking God to make things right.

Finished, she hugged me again,

saying she loved me.

Shortly after, the rain stopped.

So did the pain in my toe.

Grandma always knew what to do.

**********

The above photo is my grandmother

who passed away in 1983.

Not a day goes by

where I remember that storm, her prayer,

and my toe no longer hurting,

I was all of 10 1/2 then.