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Me and Dillard: Volume 4, Issue 3
As I remember, the best part of going to school as a boy growing up in the backwoods of Arkansas was getting out for the summer. It wasn’t that I minded going to school so much. It was just that I really liked getting out. I could hardly wait to get home because this was an extra special day.
As both of my regular readers know, I was raised by my Uncle Alva and Aunt Beulah, and they’d got a letter from my dad. He was coming to see us for a few days. It had been almost two years since the last time I saw him. So when I got home, I sat on the front porch looking up the gravel road hoping to get a glimpse of him driving down the hill.
It was almost dark when he drove in the yard. I never really knew how to act when he came in. But he hugged me and I helped him get his stuff in the house and we all stayed up late talking. The next day we decided we’d go fishing on the river.
Anytime you’d go fishing on the river, it was an adventure. The best fishing holes were accessible by boat and that was an all day trip. My dad didn’t want to take the time to go that route, so Uncle loaded up his 1949 Chevy pickup and off to the river we went.
Of course you couldn’t drive to the best fishing hole on the river either. That’s what made it the best fishing hole. You had to want to go there to get there. So we got out of the truck and began walking down the trail to the Roe hole.
The trail wound through a serious thicket of saw briars and cane. Uncle Alva was in the lead busting the brush, my dad was a few steps behind him and I was bringing up the rear. As the trail wound closer to the river, I heard Uncle Alva warn us, “Be careful at the bend. The bank is slippery and looks like it’s caving in.” I couldn’t see him, but I could still hear him cutting through the cane.
I stopped and looked at the spot he was talking about and it really did look spooky to me. The water was about four feet below the bank. Over the years trees had fallen into the bend of the river and had become home to turtles, snakes and eels.
Just then I felt the ground crack under my feet. I jumped. I went nowhere. As I slid down the bank, my life flashed before my eyes. Of course that didn’t take long since I’d just finished the first grade. I thought for sure it was over for my kind.
I knew my dad was just in front of me and that Uncle Alva was in front of him cutting the trail. As I slid down the bank, I hollered, “Uncle, help me!”
My feet had barely hit the water, when I felt a strong grip around my arm. I looked up into the eyes of my Uncle Alva. He pulled me out of the water and set me safely on the trail. We picked up the stuff I’d lost and almost without a word, the three of us began walking toward the best fishing hole in the county. The fishing was good. We had a great time and too soon the afternoon was gone and we headed back home.
All afternoon long, I kind of felt guilty that I’d called for my uncle to help me when my dad was so much closer to me. I just couldn’t shake the feeling.
My dad left in a couple of days and the following weekend I went to see my friend Dillard. He was in his favorite chair on the front porch just a rocking. He asked me why the long face. I told him the story and that part about me feeling guilty for not calling out to my dad when I fell.
He thought about it for a minute and said, “Son, you love your dad, and always will. But in desperate situations we always reach out to people who have been there for us in times past. You yelled with your mouth, but the name came from your heart. You called for your uncle because you knew he’d be there for you.”
We sat in total silence until it was time to go in for supper. I looked up at him and nodded as if I got it. All I understood then was that when I grew up I knew I wanted to be the name in somebody’s heart.
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