Let Freedom Ring: You Zonked Me

Forty-nine years ago today was the bi-centennial Fourth of July.  My how time flies!  Andy, my oldest son, was six months old.  It was an exciting time to be an American.  Two hundred years was not a long time for many nations but the good old United States of America was celebrating a great event in the history of the world.

The Hopper family was celebrating by slaughtering four pigs.  Dad invited his family to have barbecued pork.  “Killin’ hawgs” is a hopper family tradition when the weather is cold, but a July killing was something different.  July in Alabama is hot!

The pigs were not large, but four was also a first for us.  We had to work fast.  Mamma made sausage while we prepared the hams, shoulders, ribs, and pork chops for cooking.  We stewed the lard from the fat and cooked French fries.  There plenty of fries and cracklings.  Dad told me to not eat too many cracklings saying the fresh meat would make me sick.  The fries and cracklings were delicious.  We cooked well into the night and I ate until midnight.

At day break the Bi-centennial was well under way.  I did not want any barbecue pork for the celebration.  I never told day he was right about the fresh pork.  Every time I burped it tasted of grease.  I think daddy knew by the grin on his face when he asked why I wasn’t eating.

There are plenty of memories about Independence Day.  Most of them involve trips to the doctor or to the emergency room.  All I can say about those events were that the Hoppers and our extended families like to have fun and we did it without alcohol and other drugs.  It was just great red neck frolicsome and capersome celebrating.

I often think of the times spent with my in-laws.  It was their family reunion.  The day started early with a hickory fire to make coal for cooking chicken halves.  Lucky’s grocery in Montevallo, Alabama was our chicken half headquarters and was a reliable standby when some family member arrived without his or her bird.  Facing the wrath of Margaret was usually a scolding for being unprepared. 

When there were amble hickory coals for cooking dad Roy and sons Tony and Lane would place the chicken halves on a homemade grill which sat on concrete blocks.  The trio was meticulous when cooking.  Their technique was precise and deliberate basting with a homemade secret sauce.

There were always plenty of onlookers as family began arriving early anticipating a samples hot from the grill.  Usually there would be gizzards and livers as preliminary offerings.

When the time was right, the halves were flipped, basted and the top returned to ensure the halves were cooked according to specifications.  Hickory coals were transferred from the adjacent fire to underneath the halves with critical eyes ensuring proper heat without burning.

As the smoke billowed, the sweat rolled, and the tall tales began, arguments about Auburn and Alabama football prevailed.  The rotation and basting of the halves took precedence.  Roy’s lemonade was usually a big success with gallons consumed by the cooks and onlookers alike.

As the noon, or thereabouts, hour approached Tony’s special barbecue sauce simmered, Kay’s German chocolate cake, moistened, Cathy’s lemon pie grew tart, and Sharon’s peach cobbler cooked, waiting some homemade ice cream.

The yard was beginning to spring for games of volleyball, horseshoes, and croquet.

Bill, Carl, Jabo, and Lee pitched horseshoes, young folk’s volleyball, women folks solved the world’s problems, and babies cried in the heat.  Most of the women folks sat inside under the air-conditioner.

When the dishpans of halves were golden brown and sweating under the tinfoil, grace was said.  Family began to fill plates with bake beans, slaw, and all kinds of fixin’s.  Recipes were swapped, Tony’s barbecue sauce was slopped, and tea, cokes, and water were slurped.  Roy, Tony, and Lane smiled with each compliment on the chicken.  Smiles abounded as the cakes, cobblers, and pies suddenly disappeared.

The biggest event was the croquet game.  It was renamed Zonked.  We spent more time zonking the leader’s ball than trying to win.  Sometimes the leader of the game would be knocked into the woods.  It was great fun.

My best memory of horseshoes was when Tony threw a double ringer.  I was pitching against him and I double ringered him.  Those were the days!  Most of the family are dead and gone.  The laughter and smiles are a wonderful memory. 

Those that fought for our freedom have been gone for almost two-hundred and fifty years.  Lisa, my wife asked this morning, “Do schools teach about the Declaration of Independence?”   I replied, “Probably not.  Most people hate history.”

 

And free and not using your liberty for a cloke of maliciousness, but as the servants of God. I Peter 2:16 KJV

For you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another.  Galatians 5:13 KJV

Independence Day Escapades

I trust that you will have a safe and blessed Fourth of July.  After the Fourth most of us will be recovering from bulging bellies and thunder thighs from too much barbeque, potato salad, baked beans, and peach clobber; from aching pains and soreness from volleyball, pitching horseshoes, playing softball, and swimming which is really arthritic flare-up and gout caused by uric acid overload from too much watermelon, cantaloupe, and pork; and from sunburn from showing too much skin and applying too little sunscreen.

When I think of celebrating a safe Fourth of July, I think of my cousin, Stevie.  My aunt threatened to lock him in a room taking away his Independence Day.  Stevie was an accident waiting to happen during pre-teen and teenage years.

One Fourth he aggravated Grandmoe Chapman’s dog one too many times.  Rover was Grandmoe’s mutt and trusted “guard dawg”. On this particular Fourth, Rover got even by biting a hole in Stevie’s lip.  This meant a quick trip to Dr. Joe Moore in Clanton.  Stevie got stitches and a shot. 

Another Fourth Stevie was playing with a step ladder.  The ladder collapsed almost severing fingers from both hands.  It was another quick trip to see Dr. Joe for stitches and another shot.

On another Fourth we were working on an old rear engine Chevy Corvair.  It had one fan belt that looped from the top down around the side and the back bottom of the engine through a series of pulleys.

Stevie and my brothers were watching the belt trying to diagnose a squeak.  They told me to bump the engine (that’s a Chilton County for turning without starting).  I bumped it and they yelled for me to stop.  Stevie was pointing at a pulley just as I bumped it and his fingers went between the belt and the pulley.

You probably have guessed it by now.  When I went to see the commotion, Stevie had two fingers dangling and one finger with a compound fracture.  I told daddy we needed to carry Stevie to the doctor.  He asked how bad the fingers were.  I said, “Bad.”  I had wrapped them and would not let Stevie see them.  When dad saw them he said, “Let’s go.”  My dad and I loaded up in my hot rod Cutlass Supreme and raced to none other than Dr. Joe.

Dr. Joe shook his head as he filled a shot.  He had a few choice words for Stevie and commenced to set the fractured finger and sew the other two back together and hoped Stevie did not lose them.  Stevie never cried through the whole ordeal until Dr. Joe stuck his fingers to deaden them for surgery.  My aunt had a few choice words for Stevie when we returned him home.

It gets better.  One Fourth Stevie and my brothers decided they would make their own fireworks.  They found out that if you mixed red-devil lye with aluminum foil and water it created helium.  Their scheme was to put the material in a coke bottle and trap the helium in balloons.  They put balloons on the mouth of the bottles.  For fireworks they would remove the balloons, tie rags on the balloons, and light the rags with a lighter.  Rising high over the Chilton County sky the balloons exploded with brilliant colors.

It was so successful that they expanded their experiment.  More aluminum foil, red-devil lye, and water would make a bigger explosion.  It did.  The coke bottle exploded and melting aluminum went everywhere.  Stevie received the most.  Dancing an Indian rain dance for relief, my brothers and another cousin tried spraying water on Stevie’s brightly glowing legs and shorts.  Water was a no no because water is the catalyst to start the chemical reaction.  It spread the concoction and Stevie made another trip to Dr. Joe.  At least there were no stitches, only gauze and cream for burns.

Stevie had one more bad Fourth.  Two other cousins and he went to the local store for fireworks.  No more concoctions.  The sun was setting as Stevie and his cousin left the store on a Yamaha motorcycle.  They stopped to shoot some fireworks.  Stevie, sitting on the back heard the other cousin leave the store on his 750 Honda.  He was winding it out.  This cousin wore glasses and had difficulty seeing at night.

Stevie screamed, “He can’t see us!”  They took off trying to get out of the way.  For a cousin that could not see, he hit the motorcycle dead center of the rear tire pushing the rear tire into the engine of the bike and forcing the front tire of the bike into the 750 engine.  Bikes locked together, the trio slid around seventy-five feet up the highway.  One cousin was bruised, one had a bleeding arm, and Stevie had rocks embedded in his buttocks.  He slid on gravel which ate through pants, underwear, and skin.  My aunt had a few more choice words as she used a pair of tweezers to remove the rocks and then a trip to Dr. Joe where he placed Stevie head down and filled his rear end with Ivory soap to remove tar, dirt, and gravel and prep for another shot.  He did not have stitches but our other cousin had forty-five or more on his arm.

 A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished (Proverbs 22:3 - KJV).

I am glad God watches over us, especially Stevie growing up.

I am your Creator. You were in my care even before you were born (Isaiah 44:2a - CEV).