A few months after the fire, and feeling sure Mr. Drake would not miss me, I gave notice at Denmar. I then gave away all my extra stuff, said goodbye to my friends, and shouldered my backpack. It felt good. The last four years were full of good memories, which I will always cherish, but my nomadic childhood had instilled into me the ability to not look back, once I move on I don't miss what I leave behind. The next adventure is always waiting. I tramped around for a while seeing the country and meeting some good people. In a letter to my sister I shared a bit of my life during that time...
Dear Sis,
Hope all is well with you and the family. Your package caught up with me, thanks for the pastries; everything was still good when I got them. Thanks also for the copy of your last published article, it was well written. Hard to believe my big sister writes like that. It really makes me proud when I read something you have written. Someday I hope to be published, but seeing your words in print makes me feel almost as good as seeing my own. Keep it up.
I'm doing fine. After leaving West Virginia I found myself wandering toward Florida at the right time and spent a season picking oranges with Seminole Indians and migrant workers from Mexico. Some good people. The Seminoles taught me how to build their native huts and cover them with palm branches as their ancestors had done for generations.
The Mexicans spoke little English and I spoke less Spanish, but we became friends. They taught me to grind grain and spices with a mortar and pedestal, and showed me pictures of their beautiful dark eyed children and wives back in Mexico. They also help me understand that if they were not here working their families would go hungry. They shared their homemade tortillas and refried beans with me and I kept a lookout for the feds who showed up periodically to check for green cards. When that happened my Mexican friends melted into the orange groves while I talked to the agents. We always had a good chat.
I realize that legally I was breaking the law just as they were, but I kept seeing the faces of their children and could not make myself turn them in. Sometimes my compassion for the less fortunate does not allow me to see people as 'us' and 'them'. They were just men who are trying to take care of their families and I was their friend. This philosophy may not serve my personal best interest, but it's where I am at this time, and I am willing to take the consequences if it proves detrimental.
While traveling I always meet interesting characters and hear great stories. You remember I wrote about the award I received at Denmar for the best excuse for not coming to work? Well I hitched a ride with an old man who told me a similar story. He had been a school teacher for thirty years. When I asked him what changes he had seen in the educational system over the years, he assured me that there had been many. Then added that the changes were usually in the buildings, the equipment, or the system, the kids were basically the same. He laughingly said, “I made a hobby of collecting excuses my students gave me for not finishing a paper, or coming to class. The imagination and creative energy that went into some of them could only be called works of art.”
He shared a few with me then said, “By far the best excuse I ever received turned out to be true. Later I asked the boy's dad and he confirmed the story. This is how the boy explained it...
“Well Mr. Collins, nite-fore-last Paw heard a commotion out at the chicken house. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his shot gun and flash light then he run out to see what was going on. He expected to see a weasel, or maybe a fox or something. As he stood there in the door of the chicken house looking in he didn't see nothing, but then our hound dog Old Blue walked up behind him. Now the rear flap on Paw's long johns was opened and when Old Blue stuck his cold nose to Paw's naked backside Paw squeezed off both barrels of the twelve gage. So I couldn't come to school yesterday cause you see I had to spend all day plucking the chickens Paw killed.”
“Well Mr. Collins, nite-fore-last Paw heard a commotion out at the chicken house. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his shot gun and flash light then he run out to see what was going on. He expected to see a weasel, or maybe a fox or something. As he stood there in the door of the chicken house looking in he didn't see nothing, but then our hound dog Old Blue walked up behind him. Now the rear flap on Paw's long johns was opened and when Old Blue stuck his cold nose to Paw's naked backside Paw squeezed off both barrels of the twelve gage. So I couldn't come to school yesterday cause you see I had to spend all day plucking the chickens Paw killed.”
Well Sis, speaking of school and lessons, I had an interesting altercation the other day, got stung 16 times by yellow jackets. Had some nice little knots all over my body. When they started to heal I really had a problem. Have you ever tried to scratch 16 different itches at the same time? There are lessons that come too late for the learning. "
Love your little brother,
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