Reminiscing about the past
Having business on Main Street in Canton today, I decided to walk to my destination. As I passed the beautiful old homes now filled with predominately law offices, my mind traveled back to a time those homes were occupied by wonderful families. My mind’s eye could almost see the children playing on the sidewalks. While progress has taken us into a different time, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the absence of the families who once lived on Main Street and called it home.
Later in the day, while riding in my truck, a very familiar song started playing. It was “Remember When” by country artist Alan Jackson. As I listened to the song, I thought back to my earlier walk on Main Street. The older I get, it seems more and more of my conversations begin with, “I remember when.” It could be as we get older, we have more old memories than new ones we’re making. Then again, it could be just me. Maybe everyone else still has the energy and connections for a full social calendar. I have neither.
Remember when kids played outside until it got dark and sometimes later, and it was safe? We went from place to place on our bicycles without the thought of a helmet. We would play on metal slides which would literally burn your skin in hot weather. We also played on steel merry-go-rounds, monkey bars, and seesaws, which were equally hot and full of rusty nuts and bolts.
Remember when catching spring lizards was entertainment? In summertime, we would catch lightning bugs and put them in a mason jar with holes in the top so they could breathe. Only to let them go so they could entertain us again. Somehow, we lived through all of this without being too badly scathed.
Remember when no organized sport would have dreamed of playing or practicing on a Sunday? Even those who didn’t go to church wouldn’t do it out of respect for those who did. The town was full of family-owned businesses which provided us with everything we needed. They didn’t open on Sunday. It didn’t seem to hurt their bottom line. Who could forget a man named Ace Gregory who could be found in one of the local barber shops shining shoes? Men cared more about their appearance back then. Mr. Gregory had a skill with a pair of shoes which seems forgotten, but he will always be an important part of our history.
Remember when expectations of behavior at home extended to the hours we spent in school? Parents and teachers worked in unison in making sure kids acted right. We were expected to say the Pledge of Allegiance of America while standing with our hands over our hearts. Sometimes we would have prayer at school. Not a moment of silence or reflection. We’d pray and no one was offended. We only had two bathrooms. It was boys and girls. There were no other options. Nor did we need one. It’s just the way it was. I am not and will not make this political. I won’t even respond to a negative comment about what I’m saying, I am just remembering when. What I lack in social interaction, I make up for in a memory bank which overflows with thoughts of a different time in our community. I remember when Chalcedonia Baptist Church was the center of my social and spiritual calendar. It was this way for many of us from around here. Then I thought about the deacons who supported me in my quest to serve the Lord. Six of those deacons are no longer with us. James Worley, Austin Little, Glen Hendrix, Clarence Dobson, Frank Jordan, and most recently, Jerry Dobson, have reaped their reward. Not for being deacons. For no other reason than they were saved. I didn’t always get them. They didn’t always get me. But thinking back on them today I realized every one of them made the best decisions they knew how. They were more than good deacons. They were good men. Some of the best I have ever known. I am better for knowing them all. If you knew them, I bet you can say the same.
In the last couple of years, Jerry Dobson and I had several private and personal conversations. A couple of years ago he invited me to come to church and enjoy a Pastor Appreciation Service. Letting him know I appreciated the invitation, I told him I was afraid lightening would strike if I showed up. Dobson looked me in the eye and told me if I changed my mind, he wanted me to sit with him and his family. And if lightening did strike, it would get us both. He meant it. I thanked him and hugged his neck. Of all our conversations though out the years, this one would be our last. And the most important to me.