My Goal to be the Best

 The first organized sport was Little League baseball for Mars Hill in rural Chilton County Alabama. I played catcher for one year. A couple three years later I played Babe Ruth baseball. My dad loved baseball, but I found out in was not for me.

I tried basketball as a high school freshman. We were in a league of ninth graders that were too tall for the seventh and eighth grade and too immature for high school. We had a great season losing one game that season.

I went out for football in the seventh grade and loved it. Unfortunately, it left me too injured to play basketball. My family was poor, and I could only play one sport. I chose football. I can testify that in all three organized events I watched the first game of each from the sideline. I did watch Mars Hill’s semi-pro baseball games but that was it.

My first football banquet was a unique experience. It was a big night for Jemison High School football. We for runner-up state champions in Alabama 4-A high school football. I rode the banquet with my cousins and met my date there. Mom got her a corsage, and I gave it to her. She came with her parents and brothers.

The meal was delicious. My favorite dish was the apple cobbler with ice cream top. It was the first time I had ever had what I learned was pie-a-mode. I had never been to extravagant event in my life.

After the meal they presented everyone on the team with a certificate of participation. Those that played received a letter “J” for Jemison that could be sewn on a sweater or jacket. I had played a total of three plays all year, but I was a practice team dummy. I was ignorant about such happenings and awards.

Several trophies were given that night. I made up my mind that I was going to win a trophy. Two years later my junior year the team awarded me with the “Best Defensive Player” trophy. My senior year they honored me with “Most Valuable Defensive Player” trophy.

By the time my daughter was playing volleyball awards were inclusive. When I attended me sports banquet, every player received a trophy and there were no accolades for the top player or players.

My daughter's freshman year while in State Volleyball Tournament, judges had my daughter in first place to win a trophy. Aware that My daughter was in the running for one of the tournament trophies, her coach pulled her from the game. Judges scratched her from the ballet. Her coach told my daughter that she did not want her to have an award.

A year or two later my daughter played in a regional tournament receiving an award. One again her coach was everyone gets the same reward, no special awards. The sponsoring regional tournament coach sent my daughter trophy to Jemison High School, and the principal awarded my daughter in front of the whole school.

I thought such shenanigans were wrong back then. I knew from ninth grade civics class that socialism and atheist communism wanted everyone to receive the same wages regardless of the expertise of the worker. Fast forward to the last few years and inclusion, quotas, mandates, and political correctness want everyone to get the same award. The end result is mediocrity.

My brother took his crew to dinner one day. Most of his crew were younger workers. They were in favor of socialism in the United States. Not seeing anything wrong, my brother used the tip for the waitress as an example.

They had agreed that their waitress did an exemplary job. My brother asked them if it was fair to give the tip the restaurant to disperse it equally among the waiters and waitresses.
They all said no that it belonged to the waitress that served them. He told his employees that is the difference between socialism and awarding a job well done.

Know ye not that they which run in a race run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run, that ye may obtain. And every man that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things. Now they do it to obtain a corruptible crown; but we an incorruptible. I therefore so run, not as uncertainly; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air: But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection: lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway. I Corinthians 9:24-27 KJV

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