Short Stories

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Proper Attitude


Growing up in a small rural community helps one obtain an attitude on life not afforded those who grow up in large municipalities. I was blessed to grow up in the small rural community of Caesar, Mississippi, where life was slower than in most places. Caesar was so small we didn't have signs telling visitors where the community limits began or ended. However, most folks who lived in Caesar reckoned the boundaries to be from my Uncle Bob's road on the west side extending to Shug Branch on the east and from my Uncle Columbus's place on the south to Mr. Paul Ladners road on the north. The surrounding area, including Leetown, was considered the outskirts of Caesar, although some may dispute this hypothesis, especially the folks from Leetown.

Caesar was blessed to have a General Mercantile store, a Baptist Church, and a whole bunch of gentle, country folk who bought most of their food and clothing from the General Mercantile and who attended Church on a regular basis. It was the type of place where women and children could walk the old gravel roads at night and never be afraid of being attacked or otherwise molested. Drinking hard liquor was not permitted, that is not openly, and women who didn't smoke or curse were considered the "weaker sex" and treated with all respect due them. Men would remove their hats in their presence, stand and give them their chairs when they would enter the room, and call them "Mam" when the woman was the older. Most of the older folks were called "uncle" or "aunt" by all the children regardless of whether they were kin or not, and all the young folks called each other cousin. Strangers were treated cordially and if by chance they came visiting during mealtime another place was set at the table and the stranger invited to eat. Very few refused after smelling the food being cooked on an old iron, wood-burning stove.

Recreation in the community was of the "home spun" type. Once a year the Church would have "Vacation Bible School", in which the young would make crafts of various types relating to Bible stories, the older folks would attend a "Bible study", and at the end of the one or two week school, everyone would be treated to a night of fun and games and a special treat of ice cream. This was the only "organized" recreation available in the community other than an occasional excursion to the ole swimming hole on Catahoula Creek.

The General Mercantile store was owned by my Grandpa Bob and was the center of "action" of the community. The older men would sit on an old slat bench that had somehow found its way to the porch of my Grandpa’s store from the original Church building. This is where the older men would tell stories of old, whittle, discuss the weather, and cuss the government until someone would say "well, this ain’t getting the plowing done" and would stroll off. This generally triggered an exodus of the other farmers, though grudgingly.

The younger boys, of whom I was one, would sit there taking in all the old stories, enjoying every minute of it and hating to see it end. Occasionally an off color joke would be told, and most of the time we youngsters would not know what they were talking about. However, my Sunday school teacher would shake his head and say "you boys, you boys" as he laughed and walked off. This particular Sunday School Teacher was a Deacon in Union Baptist Church, and his main duty at the Church, other than passing the collection plate, was to ring the Church bell each Sunday morning precisely at 10:00 a.m. He carried out this duty well for many years. He was also a self?proclaimed "non?liar", which he stressed to us each Sunday "now boys, lying is wrong and you shouldn't do it. I never told a lie in my life”. Well, I believed him as much as I believed my Granddaddy who said he never had a headache.

Now that I have reached the age of, lets say, maturity, where I want to spin a yarn to the younger generation, there is no store with an old slat bench to go set on, to whittle, chew tobacco, cuss the government, and talk about the weather. There are no young boys to set around and listen to my yarns and even if there were they wouldn't believe what I would say.

I have given a lot of thought, in my old age, to the memories from those bygone days at Caesar, MS. Granddaddy and Grandpa passed on during my early years and now Mama and Papa have gone on to their rewards. As I grow older it seems that these memories grow more precious each day. I think there needs to be more old slat benches located around for old people to set on and for youngsters to stand by and listen in awe to the tells of old.

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