Peaches and Noses

Many years ago we lived in a little bump on the map known as East Gate, just outside Dayton, Texas, which is east of Houston. Specifically in a farm house owned by the Lessakers (man I mangled that last name but that is how it sounded!). It was a magical place for a boy.

Spring time in East Texas is such a quiet time because of the fog. So thick you can't see the hand at the end of your outstretched arm. Sound is muffled and visions of buildings and things are like seeing them through a gauze, if you see them at all. I remember the walks down that long shell driveway early in the mornings. I could usually see about 20 yards and the temperature was mostly cool and comfortable (not the case in August!). Fog is such a great medium to stimulate a young boy's imagination: what was that sound, what was that that just walked across the drive in front, is someone waiting on the other side of that tree. Man, I loved mornings because they were almost always to myself. I was free to be whatever my mind could make up. It was one adventure after another in the Spring.

But what was really special for me was my time that I spent with Mom and Dad on the front porch. We had lots of discussions and Dad taught me so much about life and politics and family and values and work and Mom taught about learning and helping and doing your best and honesty. My most vivid memory however was watching Mom and Dad interact with each other. I doubt if there was ever a couple more in love and devoted to one another. On that porch I learned about giving and trusting and loving a life mate.

It would be late in the afternoon, near time for the sun to give it up for the moon. Dad would have been home for a few hours and supper would have been fixed, eat, and chores done. The heat of the day would still be in the house so the only logical place was the front porch by the peach tree. And that is where we would settle. and talk. and play. Mostly tho I would watch. Dad would have his head in Mom's lap, reclined down the porch steps. Mom would run her hands over Dad's short cropped hair, massaging the day's tension away. All the while talking about this that and the other thing. Eventually, Mom would work on Dad's face. Squeezing pimples out and such. Especially around the nose, I was always amazed how much that needed attention.

We didn't watch a great deal of television back then. Maybe there wasn't much to watch in the first place. There ain't nothin that can take the place of the real life I was experiencing. Man, I miss that porch.