FIRST LOVE

When I lived with my Native American grandmother- many moons ago - there were certain events that came along that simply made the life of a poor waif like myself so much better. We were dirt poor. How poor?

We were so poor we didn't have indoor plumbing, no electricity at all, the walls of the house had gaps half an inch wide that would freeze over during the winter, and we lived off corn bread and turnip greens on a good day, or poke salad and dried beans and molasses on a bad one. A rare chicken dinner to honor the preacher on an occasional Sunday was a real treat.

During the summer, perhaps two or three times a season, a medicine show would arrive in town and camp in a vacant lot next to the hardware store. We were all excited when it came to town because the medicine man would put on a real show. I mean… a real show as in moving pictures. The owner would pull his truck to the end of the lot, prop up a few side poles, drape a large piece of canvas, and voillah, a movie screen.

The camera, an antique 16mm - with sound of all things - would start promptly at 7:00 PM  even if it was still daylight. He usually ran two ninety minute specials almost all of which were cowboy movies (the only thing they made back in those days) and during the interlude between shows he would hawk his medicine that was guaranteed to cure OR clean almost anything.

Halfway through the movie though, being the fidget I was, I grew bored and started paying more attention to the gorgeous little girl lying on the dusty ground several trucks and wagons to my right. Oh what a glorious sight! She must have been all of 5 or 6 years old, and my young heart was all a flutter with the purest and deepest of love. I know I stared at her for what seemed like an endless and blissful eternity.

I noticed her off and on for two summers and my love simmered and my eagerness to see her knew no bounds. I even became courageous one time and actually talked to her and touched her on the arm. Needless to say, I didn't wash my hand for days after that touch. (Not that I washed much back then. Twice a year was considered good enough.)

But, she suddenly disappeared from my life forever. I never really understood what happened to her, where she went, and the why of it all. To all my persistent inquiries and demands my grandmother would simply say she got polly-mites or something that sounded like that, and the good Lord took her with him up to heaven.

I later learned that she had died from poliomyelitis, a disease that killed many young children in those days. I was very angry with the Lord and gave the preacher man a nasty look each time he came to our house for Sunday dinner. I could never understand why the Lord chose to take this wonderful and gorgeous little playmate of mine with him. I was furious, jealous and spiteful with grief.

I finally learned the true answer to my question when my own beautiful little daughters came along. When they were at age 5 or 6 I again saw in them the glorious beauty that I had so relished as a little boy. There is something about little girls that make little boys and daddies go all fluttery inside. I also came to forgive the Lord for taking away my first true love.