One of my favorite Christmas memories involved my big imagination and the endless possibilities of a particular present. I tell this story so much my wife just rolls her eyes every time I start out with "One Christmas I...." and she always knows whats going to follow.
When you are 8 years old you have a huge imagination, and mine was no different. Mike, Stevie, and I were always playing some kind of war games or reenactment. A piece of PVC pipe would become a semi-automatic rifle, a big piece of PVC would become a rocket launcher. We could find any object and find some kind of military use for it. That Christmas I had my mind set that I needed a big cardboard box. I wasn't talking about a grocery box I wanted a refrigerator size box. A box of this size could be transformed into a variety of military uses such as a tank, command center, jet, or submarine. The possibilities were endless. I wrote my letter to Santa explaining what I wanted, sat on his lap at the Enchanted Forest (because everyone knew that was the real Santa), and after questionable looks from Santa and my parents my point had been made.
Christmas morning arrived and as usual my brother and I ran into the living room to see what Santa had brought. There against the wall stood the tallest box I had ever seen. To an 8 year old it appeared to be as tall as the tree but of course it wasn't. I felt around the sturdy walls of cardboard and even though I couldn't see over the top I could only imagine how much space was inside. The box was perfect! I stood back and my imagination kicked in full gear of all of the adventures I could have in this wonderful gift before me. In my moment of happiness something caught my attention. I noticed my little brother playing with all of the toys Santa had brought him. I'm not sure how Santa brought you gifts but he always left ours unwrapped for us to see when we first got up. Will is having a blast playing with his new firetruck and the rest of the toys he had pulled around him. I started looking around for the toys that I thought Santa had brought me and there were none to be found. I walked around my big box thinking they might been behind it but nothing was there. My heart sank and I felt a lump develop in my throat thinking surely this isn't all I got from Santa? My mind was racing as I thought about what else I had asked for and I was drawing blanks. I was so focused on my big box that it consumed me to the point that I never mentioned any other toys.
By this time mom and had crawled out of bed to begin our family Christmas. My dad saw the disappointment in my already watered eyes. He asked if everything was ok and I explained to him about my giant dilemma. He confirmed that the box is what I had asked for where I sheepishly replied "yes sir". My dad gave me hug, picked me up, and walked me over to the box. There inside the box was a mountain of toys from Santa to me. I learned a valuable lesson that Christmas that still relates to life today. We can be so focused on our plans and goals that we can easily miss the blessings we encounter along the way.
Merry Christmas.
-Steve Childress
Friday, October 30, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Christmas Tree Larry's
Once the Thanksgiving turkey had been consumed, and we said goodbye to our families it almost seemed like we switch gears into Christmas mode all in the same weekend. The fall decor comes down and is replaced by nativity scenes, sleigh bells, and wreaths. The kick off to our Christmas season always began with our annual trip to Christmas Tree Larry's. Mom would bundle my brother and I up and we would pile up into my dad's copper colored Nissan pickup truck. My dad would put in a cassette that came to be known as the soundtrack to every childhood Christmas I had. Kenny and Dolly's "Christmas to Remember" album would set the mood as my brother and I eagerly awaited to pick out that most special tree that would grace our living room that Christmas.
Christmas Tree Larry's was a beautiful tree farm with hills, Forest, and a good size lake. We would grab our saw and set off to hundreds of trees looking for the best one in the bunch. We would spend hours it seemed looking at the heights, shapes, and texture of each tree. We would shake them to see how many needles fell from it, check the truck to see if it were sturdy enough, and of course, although he was trying to hide it, my dad was eye balling price tags. Once we found the tree we desired it was time to cut it down. Now the razor sharp saw was always intimidating to use, but my dad always let me have the first go at it. After I made several markings on the trunk he took over and cut it down with ease. My dad, brother, and I would all do our part in carrying the tree back to the checkout station while mom followed behind laughing at how silly we all looked. Once we got to the checkout station the workers would string the tree through a net while Mr. Larry himself entertained my brother and I with his Christmas Tree Larry coloring books.
After unloading the tree and transferring Kenny and Dolly to the home stereo we mounted the tree in the corner and began decorating. We would spend all afternoon decorating the tree and house, replaying the music over and over again until we had transformed our little home into a Christmas paradise.
Christmas Tree Larry's was a magical place for my family and many other families in the Millington area. The memories Mr. Larry gave us and the fact that he took the time to give my brother and I a special gift was a testament to his character. Later, my senior year, I had Mr. Larry's wife as my English teacher. It was nice to hear her stories of the families Mr. Larry touched with their little tree farm. Mr. Larry has since passed but the Christmas memories he's left behind, and in the hearts of so many people will live on forever.
Years later, after Shannon and I had been married, Shannon gave me gift that literally brought tears to my eyes. I peeled open the wrapping paper and there sat in my hand was a CD of Kenny and Dolly's "Christmas to Remember".
-Steve Childress
Christmas Tree Larry's was a beautiful tree farm with hills, Forest, and a good size lake. We would grab our saw and set off to hundreds of trees looking for the best one in the bunch. We would spend hours it seemed looking at the heights, shapes, and texture of each tree. We would shake them to see how many needles fell from it, check the truck to see if it were sturdy enough, and of course, although he was trying to hide it, my dad was eye balling price tags. Once we found the tree we desired it was time to cut it down. Now the razor sharp saw was always intimidating to use, but my dad always let me have the first go at it. After I made several markings on the trunk he took over and cut it down with ease. My dad, brother, and I would all do our part in carrying the tree back to the checkout station while mom followed behind laughing at how silly we all looked. Once we got to the checkout station the workers would string the tree through a net while Mr. Larry himself entertained my brother and I with his Christmas Tree Larry coloring books.
After unloading the tree and transferring Kenny and Dolly to the home stereo we mounted the tree in the corner and began decorating. We would spend all afternoon decorating the tree and house, replaying the music over and over again until we had transformed our little home into a Christmas paradise.
Christmas Tree Larry's was a magical place for my family and many other families in the Millington area. The memories Mr. Larry gave us and the fact that he took the time to give my brother and I a special gift was a testament to his character. Later, my senior year, I had Mr. Larry's wife as my English teacher. It was nice to hear her stories of the families Mr. Larry touched with their little tree farm. Mr. Larry has since passed but the Christmas memories he's left behind, and in the hearts of so many people will live on forever.
Years later, after Shannon and I had been married, Shannon gave me gift that literally brought tears to my eyes. I peeled open the wrapping paper and there sat in my hand was a CD of Kenny and Dolly's "Christmas to Remember".
-Steve Childress
Monday, October 26, 2009
Thanksgiving at Skeeter's
Family is everything to the Childress'. For as long as I can remember we have always gone to my Aunt Skeeter's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Now this was no mealtime event where we were in and out. This was and still is today a two day tradition that started back when we were just babies. I can remember as a kid the excitement of getting out of school the day before knowing #1) that I didn't have to go back till next Monday and #2) we were heading to Mississippi to meet up with all of my family from Southaven to Houston Texas for the most unbelievable Thanksgiving holiday you could imagine.
I have often referred to my Aunt Skeeter as Martha Stewart reincarnated. Everything in her home was perfectly placed and fit for the holiday season. Fall decorations were on every wall, table, and room. She even had the latest fall editions of L.L. Beam and Lands End magazines laying on the coffee table. The spread of food was a sight to behold. We had turkey, ham, cranberries, potato salad, stuffing, corn, green beans, fruit salad, greens, and of course an endless supply of rolls. My aunt's sweet tea was always hot so it tasted oh so perfect as it was cooled by the ice. The adults would eat at the adult table and the kids would eat at the kids table. However we've still yet to graduate from the kids table? My uncle George would return grace and thank God for allowing us all to return another year as we worship through Thanksgiving and celebrated as family.
After the meal the men would go in the living room and watch football, we boys would go outside and play football, and the women would sit around the table and talk about who knows what. Later that evening the eating commenced again with coffee and desserts. Now my Nana made the best strawberry cake. When she passed away, her strawberry cake recipe was passed down to my Aunt Skeeter. I would put this strawberry cake up against Old Timer's Strawberry cake any day....and I love Old Timer's strawberry cake. After consuming several thousand calories we boys were put to bed and the adults would all sit in the living room, take a trip down memory lane, look at old photos, and talk about times gone by.
The next morning we would indulge in leftovers for breakfast and pick up on our family tradition. The women would all go there own way and the men went ours. Usually the women flocked to the stores in search of great deals for Christmas. The men took off to the Mecca of malls, the annual treat, the Mall of Memphis. The Mall of Memphis was a big deal. All we had was the Raleigh Springs Mall and this held no comparison to what the Mall of Memphis had to offer. It had an ice rink and a Pancho's, what else do you need? After a long tiresome day of shopping and putting up with crowds we would always meet at the nearest theater to watch that year’s holiday movie. This tradition actually started in 1990 when we all met up to watch a little movie called Home Alone. Little did we know then that this movie would soon be one of the holiday greats. Afterwards we would say our goodbyes and all head towards our own homes.
Thanksgiving at Skeeter's is the only Thanksgiving I know. Today we still partake in this tradition, only the kids table is a little bigger with the additions of our spouses and children. The memories my parents, aunts, and uncles have engraved into our history will long be continued because one day it will be left up to my cousins, brother, and me to carry on this wonderful tradition. And so it shall.
Happy Thanksgiving!
-Steve Childress
I have often referred to my Aunt Skeeter as Martha Stewart reincarnated. Everything in her home was perfectly placed and fit for the holiday season. Fall decorations were on every wall, table, and room. She even had the latest fall editions of L.L. Beam and Lands End magazines laying on the coffee table. The spread of food was a sight to behold. We had turkey, ham, cranberries, potato salad, stuffing, corn, green beans, fruit salad, greens, and of course an endless supply of rolls. My aunt's sweet tea was always hot so it tasted oh so perfect as it was cooled by the ice. The adults would eat at the adult table and the kids would eat at the kids table. However we've still yet to graduate from the kids table? My uncle George would return grace and thank God for allowing us all to return another year as we worship through Thanksgiving and celebrated as family.
After the meal the men would go in the living room and watch football, we boys would go outside and play football, and the women would sit around the table and talk about who knows what. Later that evening the eating commenced again with coffee and desserts. Now my Nana made the best strawberry cake. When she passed away, her strawberry cake recipe was passed down to my Aunt Skeeter. I would put this strawberry cake up against Old Timer's Strawberry cake any day....and I love Old Timer's strawberry cake. After consuming several thousand calories we boys were put to bed and the adults would all sit in the living room, take a trip down memory lane, look at old photos, and talk about times gone by.
The next morning we would indulge in leftovers for breakfast and pick up on our family tradition. The women would all go there own way and the men went ours. Usually the women flocked to the stores in search of great deals for Christmas. The men took off to the Mecca of malls, the annual treat, the Mall of Memphis. The Mall of Memphis was a big deal. All we had was the Raleigh Springs Mall and this held no comparison to what the Mall of Memphis had to offer. It had an ice rink and a Pancho's, what else do you need? After a long tiresome day of shopping and putting up with crowds we would always meet at the nearest theater to watch that year’s holiday movie. This tradition actually started in 1990 when we all met up to watch a little movie called Home Alone. Little did we know then that this movie would soon be one of the holiday greats. Afterwards we would say our goodbyes and all head towards our own homes.
Thanksgiving at Skeeter's is the only Thanksgiving I know. Today we still partake in this tradition, only the kids table is a little bigger with the additions of our spouses and children. The memories my parents, aunts, and uncles have engraved into our history will long be continued because one day it will be left up to my cousins, brother, and me to carry on this wonderful tradition. And so it shall.
Happy Thanksgiving!
-Steve Childress
Friday, October 23, 2009
Christmas is in the Heart
I have the privilege to represent my company in the various civic and community organizations here in Millington, South Tipton, and Covington. This time of year I'm asked to perform a few of my favorite Christmas songs for meetings and there is one that I always go to because it means the most to me. One of my favorite artist, Steven Curtis Chapman, wrote a song called "Christmas is all in the Heart". This particular song reminds me so much of my Christmas' past and present.
My mom and dad were like most young couples when they first were married, they didn't have much. I've seen the 8mm footage of their first Christmas in their tiny apartment. There was that awful aluminum tree and just a few presents. Regardless of the decorations they had each other and enough dreams and aspirations to fill the room. (Verse 1) In a one bedroom apartment, on the humble side of town, stands a little Christmas tree. It looks a lot like Charlie Brown's. Underneath there's one little gift for him and one little gift for her. After six months on the new job, they're still barely getting by. In the way of decorations there's nothing there to catch the eye. Both of them would be the first to say, "We're together, and we're going to have the Merriest Christmas anyway".
My brother and I were your typical boys. Up before dawn waiting to see what Santa had brought us while we slept. I have photos of the two of us ripping into presents in our long johns while mom and dad sat back barely awake sipping their coffee. We didn't have much money but mom and dad always made sacrifices to make sure Will and I had a wonderful Christmas. Now that I am a dad, I have that utmost privilege of seeing my blond headed 2yr old and the magic and experiences Christmas has to offer to her. This is more important to me than any present. (Verse 2) Two little blond haired boys with big dreams, tried to sleep but sleep wouldn't come. We'd be tearing into presents long before the break of dawn. Mom and dad and cameras making sure we'd never forget that day. Now I'm the one who's taking pictures in the middle of the night. Of my own blond headed dreamer who just couldn't wait until daylight. In my sleepy eyes the spark still glows. I guess there's just some things a kid never out grows.
The last verse of the song summarizes the main focus of what Christmas is all about. God Came and dwelt among us. That God sent His only son that he might die so that we could have ever lasting life. Jesus is the true meaning of Christmas and encompasses every being of who I am. (Verse 3) Its not in the snow that may or may not fall. Its not in the gifts around the tree. Its in the love heaven gave, the night our savior came. That same love can still be found wherever you are, because Christmas is all in the Heart.
Merry Christmas,
-Steve Childress
My mom and dad were like most young couples when they first were married, they didn't have much. I've seen the 8mm footage of their first Christmas in their tiny apartment. There was that awful aluminum tree and just a few presents. Regardless of the decorations they had each other and enough dreams and aspirations to fill the room. (Verse 1) In a one bedroom apartment, on the humble side of town, stands a little Christmas tree. It looks a lot like Charlie Brown's. Underneath there's one little gift for him and one little gift for her. After six months on the new job, they're still barely getting by. In the way of decorations there's nothing there to catch the eye. Both of them would be the first to say, "We're together, and we're going to have the Merriest Christmas anyway".
My brother and I were your typical boys. Up before dawn waiting to see what Santa had brought us while we slept. I have photos of the two of us ripping into presents in our long johns while mom and dad sat back barely awake sipping their coffee. We didn't have much money but mom and dad always made sacrifices to make sure Will and I had a wonderful Christmas. Now that I am a dad, I have that utmost privilege of seeing my blond headed 2yr old and the magic and experiences Christmas has to offer to her. This is more important to me than any present. (Verse 2) Two little blond haired boys with big dreams, tried to sleep but sleep wouldn't come. We'd be tearing into presents long before the break of dawn. Mom and dad and cameras making sure we'd never forget that day. Now I'm the one who's taking pictures in the middle of the night. Of my own blond headed dreamer who just couldn't wait until daylight. In my sleepy eyes the spark still glows. I guess there's just some things a kid never out grows.
The last verse of the song summarizes the main focus of what Christmas is all about. God Came and dwelt among us. That God sent His only son that he might die so that we could have ever lasting life. Jesus is the true meaning of Christmas and encompasses every being of who I am. (Verse 3) Its not in the snow that may or may not fall. Its not in the gifts around the tree. Its in the love heaven gave, the night our savior came. That same love can still be found wherever you are, because Christmas is all in the Heart.
Merry Christmas,
-Steve Childress
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Childress Fall Chili Cook Off
Fall was always an exciting time of the year and personally one of my favorites. The Lucy landscape really showed its true colors with all of the changes of trees and the smell of burning leaves filling the air. At the first signs of fall Will and I knew that it was time to start gathering and stacking tree branches for the annual Childress Fall Chili Cook off. This became a community tradition that brought us all together for great food, family, fun, and fellowship.
The day of the CFCC the Childress household was bustling in excitement. We were adding our finishing touches to the 10ft bonfire, throwing hay bales left and right for seating, putting out countless tables, and rigging lighting all a round our 2 acre lot. Inside the kitchen every burner was on and every oven rack was occupied. My granddaddy would bring this massive black cooking pot and start early on his famous cactus chili. Everyone had a part and everyone did their part with immense pride.
Close to dusk you could see headlights from all directions pouring into our drive and yard. As a kid it looked like a scene from Field of Dreams, although I'm sure it wasn't quite that big of a turnout. Family after family brought pots of chili, desserts galore, side dishes, and everything needed to pull off such a community event. Everyone somehow knew there place. As soon as families arrived the adults would go with the adults and the kids would go with the kids. There were no clinging to your parents, it was a safe and familiar environment.
Every year it seemed that my dad would try to make the bonfire bigger and bigger. One particular year it created such a blaze that you had to keep at least a 20ft radius from the flames to prevent 3rd degree burns. Once the fire died down it made for proper hot dog grilling and marshmallow burning conditions. All of kids had our clothes hangers in the fire each trying to create the perfect dog.
My favorite part of the CFCC, aside from the fellowship, was the hayride. We would all pile up on the 20ft trailer wedging ourselves in between hay bales while we inhaled the diesel fumes of the dully pulling us. The hayride would take us down Willowbrook to Sykes Rd and down the rural part of Willowbrook around the radio station and make its way back. What really made this ride one to remember was Mr. Ian. Mr Ian owned the Lucy Food market, but was also an accomplished bagpipe player. He would sit at the front of the trailer and play his pipes as we rode through the dark haunting cotton fields of Lucy. It was truly a memorable ride for young and old.
The chill of the November air, the smell of crackling wood, the sounds of Mr. Ian's bagpipes, the satisfaction of some great chili/food, and most importantly the friendships that surrounded this annual event has been edged into our minds of what true community was and still can be today.
The day of the CFCC the Childress household was bustling in excitement. We were adding our finishing touches to the 10ft bonfire, throwing hay bales left and right for seating, putting out countless tables, and rigging lighting all a round our 2 acre lot. Inside the kitchen every burner was on and every oven rack was occupied. My granddaddy would bring this massive black cooking pot and start early on his famous cactus chili. Everyone had a part and everyone did their part with immense pride.
Close to dusk you could see headlights from all directions pouring into our drive and yard. As a kid it looked like a scene from Field of Dreams, although I'm sure it wasn't quite that big of a turnout. Family after family brought pots of chili, desserts galore, side dishes, and everything needed to pull off such a community event. Everyone somehow knew there place. As soon as families arrived the adults would go with the adults and the kids would go with the kids. There were no clinging to your parents, it was a safe and familiar environment.
Every year it seemed that my dad would try to make the bonfire bigger and bigger. One particular year it created such a blaze that you had to keep at least a 20ft radius from the flames to prevent 3rd degree burns. Once the fire died down it made for proper hot dog grilling and marshmallow burning conditions. All of kids had our clothes hangers in the fire each trying to create the perfect dog.
My favorite part of the CFCC, aside from the fellowship, was the hayride. We would all pile up on the 20ft trailer wedging ourselves in between hay bales while we inhaled the diesel fumes of the dully pulling us. The hayride would take us down Willowbrook to Sykes Rd and down the rural part of Willowbrook around the radio station and make its way back. What really made this ride one to remember was Mr. Ian. Mr Ian owned the Lucy Food market, but was also an accomplished bagpipe player. He would sit at the front of the trailer and play his pipes as we rode through the dark haunting cotton fields of Lucy. It was truly a memorable ride for young and old.
The chill of the November air, the smell of crackling wood, the sounds of Mr. Ian's bagpipes, the satisfaction of some great chili/food, and most importantly the friendships that surrounded this annual event has been edged into our minds of what true community was and still can be today.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
One to Fear on those Hallowed Eves
Halloween was always an exciting time around our house. My brother Will and I would spend weeks planning the tricks we could play, and ways to rig our house for the expected trick-or-treaters. Will has always had a talent for rigging special effects, especially when it came to lighting. Every Christmas and birthday he would always ask for some kind of special light. Our parents have always been good at nurturing and supporting our dreams. If they saw a talent or interest there they would do everything they could to give us the tools to grow this talent. So needless to say we had an arsenal of special effects to make our house one to fear on those hallowed eves.
Halloween typically fell on a school day so once we got home it was time to get to work. You would almost think you were watching an A-Team episode the way we were cutting, rigging, stringing fishing line, and tying knots. Once the sun set it was time for us to take our places. Now our house was your typical ranch style house with a straight front, brick stair case, and about a 4'x8' concrete patio leading to the front door. Along the front were bushes that made for a perfect location to set our command center for our make shift haunted house. Once everything was prepared it was then time to wait on the first victim.
Our yard was pitch black. All one could see was the faint glow of the front porch light and a massive bowl of candy louring for any trick-or-treater. Out of the front bathroom window we had a stereo playing the grueling Halloween sounds that seemed to surround the atmosphere like the low fog covering your feet. The hesitant trick-or-treater would make there way towards the staircase to claim the prize of candy that awaits. He notices that the bowl of candy is not sitting on a stand but in the lap of a cloaked human like object. The dim front porch light makes the trick-or-treater strain his eyes, but once he is close enough he dares to reach for the candy inside. Once the candy was grasped the cloaked figure holding the candy (me) would open his eyes, and grab the wrist of the intruder. The scream of the trick-or-treater immediately set off a nightmare of events that caused him to do mach 10 from our front porch back to the safety of the street. The human like figure stood up still holding the victim's wrist as Will would switch on his horrifying light show of multiple strobe lights coming at you at all different angles. I had a microphone that tuned in to an FM station that projected my voice like a deep muffled amplifier, where I screamed and made all sorts of howling sounds. The cloaked figure let go of the trick-or-treater's wrist as he went barreling down the staircase. At this point, Will set off a series of ghost that were tied from the base of the staircase to a tree in the yard creating a zip line of strobe flashing ghost to fall fast & furiously to meet the trick-or-treater as he got to the bottom of the stairs and made his escape to the freedom of the road.
Will and I had the best time rigging the house for Halloween, sure that that year we had scared off our last trick-or-treater never to return again. However, low and behold, 365 days later, the would be trick-or-treaters would always try their hand at fate again.
-Steve Childress
Halloween typically fell on a school day so once we got home it was time to get to work. You would almost think you were watching an A-Team episode the way we were cutting, rigging, stringing fishing line, and tying knots. Once the sun set it was time for us to take our places. Now our house was your typical ranch style house with a straight front, brick stair case, and about a 4'x8' concrete patio leading to the front door. Along the front were bushes that made for a perfect location to set our command center for our make shift haunted house. Once everything was prepared it was then time to wait on the first victim.
Our yard was pitch black. All one could see was the faint glow of the front porch light and a massive bowl of candy louring for any trick-or-treater. Out of the front bathroom window we had a stereo playing the grueling Halloween sounds that seemed to surround the atmosphere like the low fog covering your feet. The hesitant trick-or-treater would make there way towards the staircase to claim the prize of candy that awaits. He notices that the bowl of candy is not sitting on a stand but in the lap of a cloaked human like object. The dim front porch light makes the trick-or-treater strain his eyes, but once he is close enough he dares to reach for the candy inside. Once the candy was grasped the cloaked figure holding the candy (me) would open his eyes, and grab the wrist of the intruder. The scream of the trick-or-treater immediately set off a nightmare of events that caused him to do mach 10 from our front porch back to the safety of the street. The human like figure stood up still holding the victim's wrist as Will would switch on his horrifying light show of multiple strobe lights coming at you at all different angles. I had a microphone that tuned in to an FM station that projected my voice like a deep muffled amplifier, where I screamed and made all sorts of howling sounds. The cloaked figure let go of the trick-or-treater's wrist as he went barreling down the staircase. At this point, Will set off a series of ghost that were tied from the base of the staircase to a tree in the yard creating a zip line of strobe flashing ghost to fall fast & furiously to meet the trick-or-treater as he got to the bottom of the stairs and made his escape to the freedom of the road.
Will and I had the best time rigging the house for Halloween, sure that that year we had scared off our last trick-or-treater never to return again. However, low and behold, 365 days later, the would be trick-or-treaters would always try their hand at fate again.
-Steve Childress
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
My First Hunt
I mentioned in a previous article that my dad was no avid hunter, but he was a hunter to say the least. So when I became of age my dad enrolled me into the Tennessee Wildlife Hunter's Safety course. This was a pretty exciting time for a kid because the warrior inside was putting down his fake guns with the bright orange tips and picking up a real weapon. It was my first step to manhood. It was also another opportunity to spend quality time with my dad, something in my opinion every kid needs. I remember trying harder to take in as much information as possible, than I would in my typical school setting only because I wanted to make my dad proud that I passed.
Dad joined a group of local firefighters who had a cabin in Henderson TN. This cabin set the backdrop for what was to be the best hunting trip ever. The cabin was a pretty good size, but you could tell it was built for a "mans" environment. It had a foyer with an exploding spring couch, and muddy wet boots lining the wall. There was a grand living room area with an out of tuned piano, four or five lazy boys, and other couches scattered about the room. In the back were two bedrooms each having three sets of bunk beds. And of course there was the kitchen. The weekend of the hunt there were about eight to ten other guys, all firefighters. They were all laughing and telling jokes that were way over my head, but yet I laughed to seem interested in the conversation. The food these guys cooked up was unbelievable. You have to remember these were all firefighters so great cooking came with the territory. I discovered that weekend that Louisiana hot sauce goes with everything.
Early the next morning dad got me up, got dressed, and out the door. It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but still dad seemed to know the layout of the land like he had been there his whole life. We got to our spot and he put me up in a tree. He told me to not make any moves, and listen to the nature around me. There were turkey everywhere and all caused a ruckus. Every sound had my attention, and every move had me squinting in the darkness. My imagination was putting in some serious overtime. I sat in that stand for what felt like days. Later in the morning dad made his way back over to me and asked me to come down. He and I walked back to a brush in a field where he had thought he had seen some activity earlier. Dad whispered "Ok there are three deer in that brush". I couldn't see them but I took his word for it. Dad went on "now take the safety off but do not pull back the hammer". My little heart was pounding like a freight train. Just then the three deer all jumped out at once and starting running off in different directions. Dad hollered "TAKE YOUR SHOT"! I did just that. I pulled my 30/30 up and fired off a beautiful John Wayne hip shot, and of course missed. My dad pulled up his rifle and fired off a shot but the distance had grown between us and the deer and he missed as well. After the deer had cleared dad looked down at me and gave me a grin that could only be understood between a father and son. Something in between a “what were you thinking” and “that’s my boy”.
That was the only game we would see for the rest of the day, but that weekend is branded in my mind of feeling like "one of the guys" with my dad. I was a 10 year old doing "man stuff" and it felt good.
-Steve Childress
Dad joined a group of local firefighters who had a cabin in Henderson TN. This cabin set the backdrop for what was to be the best hunting trip ever. The cabin was a pretty good size, but you could tell it was built for a "mans" environment. It had a foyer with an exploding spring couch, and muddy wet boots lining the wall. There was a grand living room area with an out of tuned piano, four or five lazy boys, and other couches scattered about the room. In the back were two bedrooms each having three sets of bunk beds. And of course there was the kitchen. The weekend of the hunt there were about eight to ten other guys, all firefighters. They were all laughing and telling jokes that were way over my head, but yet I laughed to seem interested in the conversation. The food these guys cooked up was unbelievable. You have to remember these were all firefighters so great cooking came with the territory. I discovered that weekend that Louisiana hot sauce goes with everything.
Early the next morning dad got me up, got dressed, and out the door. It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but still dad seemed to know the layout of the land like he had been there his whole life. We got to our spot and he put me up in a tree. He told me to not make any moves, and listen to the nature around me. There were turkey everywhere and all caused a ruckus. Every sound had my attention, and every move had me squinting in the darkness. My imagination was putting in some serious overtime. I sat in that stand for what felt like days. Later in the morning dad made his way back over to me and asked me to come down. He and I walked back to a brush in a field where he had thought he had seen some activity earlier. Dad whispered "Ok there are three deer in that brush". I couldn't see them but I took his word for it. Dad went on "now take the safety off but do not pull back the hammer". My little heart was pounding like a freight train. Just then the three deer all jumped out at once and starting running off in different directions. Dad hollered "TAKE YOUR SHOT"! I did just that. I pulled my 30/30 up and fired off a beautiful John Wayne hip shot, and of course missed. My dad pulled up his rifle and fired off a shot but the distance had grown between us and the deer and he missed as well. After the deer had cleared dad looked down at me and gave me a grin that could only be understood between a father and son. Something in between a “what were you thinking” and “that’s my boy”.
That was the only game we would see for the rest of the day, but that weekend is branded in my mind of feeling like "one of the guys" with my dad. I was a 10 year old doing "man stuff" and it felt good.
-Steve Childress
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The Night of the Great Stag
It was very rare to ever see any wildlife wondering around our little community. Lucy is primarily surrounded by cotton fields, cow pastures, and of course Hwy. 51 to it's west. Aside from the small varmints like opossums, squirrels, raccoons, and coyote, it was quite a game free area until one weekend. Rumors had been circulating of a deer spotting. Not just your normal white tail deer, but a massive buck. The phones started ringing from house to house of the great sighting. One could almost imagine Mayberry with the switchboard operator plugging in lines unplugging lines left and right over the fuss. By noon that Saturday everyone in Lucy knew of our new guest. I remember riding my bike that day to meet up with Mike and Stevie and it almost seemed that everyone was outside, as if a parade were about to begin.
Now my dad was especially excited. He hunted but I wouldn't consider him an avid hunter. When my dad shot his first deer he had it mounted for a wall mount. It had been hanging in our living room ever since I was a little baby. He used to hold me up to it and have me pet its long grey neck and look into its black glassy eyes. When I was a little older my dad once told me that the deer had tried to jump through our wall and got stuck. His front side in the living room and the back side obviously on the other side of the wall. Every time when I would run to the other side I never saw the rest. This mounted deer was part of the family it seemed especially at Christmas when we would decorate him in sleigh bells.
My dad was excited about the sighting because he is a brilliant trickster, a trait that what I've been told I inherited. My dad saw an opportunity here and knew exactly who could be the victim. Once the sun went down and the darkness had settled dad snuck out of the house with a familiar missing object. He drove his truck down to Mike's parents Ms. Sue Sue and Mr. Otto, snuck into their backyard and waited for the right time to spring his plan into action. Ms. Sue Sue and Mr. Otto had a large window that gave a grand view of their backyard. Dad peeked over the ledge and there sat the family watching TV. Mr. Otto in his lazy boy, Ms. Sue Sue on the couch and Mike and his brother David on the floor.
Dad saw that his opportunity had arrived and carried out his plan. He took the mounted deer head from our living room wall, raised it up to the window, and started rubbing its antlers against the glass. A shriek like none other came screaming from the couch as Ms. Sue Sue fell off it in disbelief. OTTO! OTTO! the the Deer !!!! Mr. Otto, who was almost asleep, sprung out of his lazy boy, the boys had eyes as big as saucers, and dad started laughing so hard that he dropped the deer head on the ground. Mr Otto came running out the back door (thankfully without his gun) and saw dad rolling around the ground in hysteria. The great stag was never sighted and went down in the history books as a myth, but for one family the myth was real and will live on forever.
- Steve Childress
Now my dad was especially excited. He hunted but I wouldn't consider him an avid hunter. When my dad shot his first deer he had it mounted for a wall mount. It had been hanging in our living room ever since I was a little baby. He used to hold me up to it and have me pet its long grey neck and look into its black glassy eyes. When I was a little older my dad once told me that the deer had tried to jump through our wall and got stuck. His front side in the living room and the back side obviously on the other side of the wall. Every time when I would run to the other side I never saw the rest. This mounted deer was part of the family it seemed especially at Christmas when we would decorate him in sleigh bells.
My dad was excited about the sighting because he is a brilliant trickster, a trait that what I've been told I inherited. My dad saw an opportunity here and knew exactly who could be the victim. Once the sun went down and the darkness had settled dad snuck out of the house with a familiar missing object. He drove his truck down to Mike's parents Ms. Sue Sue and Mr. Otto, snuck into their backyard and waited for the right time to spring his plan into action. Ms. Sue Sue and Mr. Otto had a large window that gave a grand view of their backyard. Dad peeked over the ledge and there sat the family watching TV. Mr. Otto in his lazy boy, Ms. Sue Sue on the couch and Mike and his brother David on the floor.
Dad saw that his opportunity had arrived and carried out his plan. He took the mounted deer head from our living room wall, raised it up to the window, and started rubbing its antlers against the glass. A shriek like none other came screaming from the couch as Ms. Sue Sue fell off it in disbelief. OTTO! OTTO! the the Deer !!!! Mr. Otto, who was almost asleep, sprung out of his lazy boy, the boys had eyes as big as saucers, and dad started laughing so hard that he dropped the deer head on the ground. Mr Otto came running out the back door (thankfully without his gun) and saw dad rolling around the ground in hysteria. The great stag was never sighted and went down in the history books as a myth, but for one family the myth was real and will live on forever.
- Steve Childress
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Lucy Food Market
Like most small communities Lucy had its own little food mart where locals could come by get freshly cut meat from the butcher and purchase the needed groceries for the week. Lucy was no different. The Lucy Food Market was located on Main street west of the rail road tracks that ran through the community. The market was a simple little store that was painted white on the outside with a red roof. In front of the store there were always the most ragged, most tore up, chairs I had ever seen. Inside was laid out like your typical grocery store with a single register at the door.
I was probably around 7 or 8 years old before my mom and dad first let me ride my bike by myself from our house on Willowbrook to the store on Main Street. Now this was no short ride. It was a good mile or so, but on a bike it was always an adventure. We had to take Lucy road to get there which was always a pretty dangerous road to travel because of its downhill sharp curves. In addition, Lucy Rd was the main fairway through the community making it the most traveled. Nevertheless the boys and I would make a trip to the store as many times as we could. Who are the boys? I guess now is as good as time as any to introduce them. My best friends were Mike and Stevie. They each had younger siblings but it was mainly the three of us. We did everything together including hanging out at the food market.
We would each gather up as much change as possible, straddle our sturdy steeds, and ride off as fast as we could to the food market. I will never forget the wind blowing in our face, dodging every pothole, and jumping every stick. Once we turned on Lucy road you could get up enough speed that once you hit the downhill slope, you could coast for almost forever before the uphill trek. When we got to the store we would lay our bikes down on the gravel parking lot (kickstands were for sissies) and march into the store. Mr. Mike would always either be at the register, or in the back cutting some fresh steaks. If he was in the back he would always come up to greet us in his blood-covered apron. The $1.00 or so change we gathered was just enough for a yoo-hoo, lemon sours, and maybe a candy bar. We would pay the man and make our way under the big oak tree that shaded the store. We would sit under that tree for hours it seemed just talking about anything and everything.
Now we always made sure we had at least one coin left over, even if it were a penny. After stuffing ourselves with sugar, we would walk over to the train tracks that ran aside the store. Placing our ears on the tracks, we could get an idea of when the next train was coming through. We would take our coins lay them on the tracks and wait for the next train to make its debut. No matter how immature, juvenile, or illegal for that matter, it was there was always something about a massive locomotive demolishing American currency. Once the train had passed, we would run to the tracks, still fiery hot from the friction of the wheels, and kick our what were coins off. It never ceased to amaze me how shiny it made them. You would think that we would save the smashed currency for keep sakes, but we just threw them in between the tracks and let them be.
Mr. Mike sold that store years later to a friend of ours Mr. Ian who ran it for many more years to come. Today I believe it is a print shop of sort. Regardless of what it has become I still drive by and see my, Mike, and Stevie's bikes lying on the ground next to those pitiful chairs in front of the wonderful Lucy Food Market.
-Steve Childress
I was probably around 7 or 8 years old before my mom and dad first let me ride my bike by myself from our house on Willowbrook to the store on Main Street. Now this was no short ride. It was a good mile or so, but on a bike it was always an adventure. We had to take Lucy road to get there which was always a pretty dangerous road to travel because of its downhill sharp curves. In addition, Lucy Rd was the main fairway through the community making it the most traveled. Nevertheless the boys and I would make a trip to the store as many times as we could. Who are the boys? I guess now is as good as time as any to introduce them. My best friends were Mike and Stevie. They each had younger siblings but it was mainly the three of us. We did everything together including hanging out at the food market.
We would each gather up as much change as possible, straddle our sturdy steeds, and ride off as fast as we could to the food market. I will never forget the wind blowing in our face, dodging every pothole, and jumping every stick. Once we turned on Lucy road you could get up enough speed that once you hit the downhill slope, you could coast for almost forever before the uphill trek. When we got to the store we would lay our bikes down on the gravel parking lot (kickstands were for sissies) and march into the store. Mr. Mike would always either be at the register, or in the back cutting some fresh steaks. If he was in the back he would always come up to greet us in his blood-covered apron. The $1.00 or so change we gathered was just enough for a yoo-hoo, lemon sours, and maybe a candy bar. We would pay the man and make our way under the big oak tree that shaded the store. We would sit under that tree for hours it seemed just talking about anything and everything.
Now we always made sure we had at least one coin left over, even if it were a penny. After stuffing ourselves with sugar, we would walk over to the train tracks that ran aside the store. Placing our ears on the tracks, we could get an idea of when the next train was coming through. We would take our coins lay them on the tracks and wait for the next train to make its debut. No matter how immature, juvenile, or illegal for that matter, it was there was always something about a massive locomotive demolishing American currency. Once the train had passed, we would run to the tracks, still fiery hot from the friction of the wheels, and kick our what were coins off. It never ceased to amaze me how shiny it made them. You would think that we would save the smashed currency for keep sakes, but we just threw them in between the tracks and let them be.
Mr. Mike sold that store years later to a friend of ours Mr. Ian who ran it for many more years to come. Today I believe it is a print shop of sort. Regardless of what it has become I still drive by and see my, Mike, and Stevie's bikes lying on the ground next to those pitiful chairs in front of the wonderful Lucy Food Market.
-Steve Childress
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The Begining
I have a friend named Otis that I am involved with in certain civic clubs around town, and Otis writes a weekly article in the paper about his childhood. Now there is a significant difference in age between Otis and me, but nevertheless I thought "you know what, I have some pretty great memories from my childhood that I could at the very least document". So here I am writing about my childhood and the adventures my friends and I shared.
Now Mark Twain had his Huckleberry Finn, and I might not be no Mark Twain, but I do have my fair share of childhood stories. I was born in Memphis Tennessee in 1979. We lived in a little community outside of Millington called "Lucy". Lucy was a beautiful community full of trees, pastures, curvy roads, plenty of hills, and full of everything needed for a bunch of boys to get into plenty of trouble with. The city of Millington was a booming little city but was most famous for the Naval Air Station that Millington hosted. NAS provided the icing on the cake for my childhood because of the fighter jets that were constantly flying overhead. Every boy in my neighborhood dreamed of becoming a fighter pilot. The mix of the F-14's, F-18's, courser's, and other fighter aircraft, combined with the release of a little movie called "Top Gun" had us all speaking in call signs. I will speak further about these adventures in later post.
We weren't the richest family in the neighborhood. Come to think of it no one really was, or maybe we just didn't notice. Dad was a Memphis City Firefighter and like every firefighter they all had second jobs due to their schedule. Dad owned his own plumbing business called "Splash Plumbing". Now even as a child I always thought that was a strange name for a plumbing business but regardless it worked. Mom had a various number a little jobs here and there but for the most part she always felt her career was to stay at home and manage us boys. I have a little brother, Will who was born when I was 6 years old. Like most brothers we fought and had our differences, but in the end the bond of brotherhood stood strong. The last of our family always consisted of at least 2 dogs. Now these weren't your little rat dogs you see celebrities carry around with them in purses these were Man dogs: Labs, Retrievers, and yes even a Blood Hound. My family formed several friendships with several other families in Lucy and they all happened to have kids the same age as Will and me. The friendships started with these kids were rock solid and even though we've all pretty much gone our own ways now, I can still guarantee you that if any of us were ever in need the other will be there.
I hope I'm painting a nice backdrop for this article that will somewhat lay a foundation for future post. I'm looking forward to taking a trip down memory lane as I divulge my "Lucy Memories".
-Steve Childress
Now Mark Twain had his Huckleberry Finn, and I might not be no Mark Twain, but I do have my fair share of childhood stories. I was born in Memphis Tennessee in 1979. We lived in a little community outside of Millington called "Lucy". Lucy was a beautiful community full of trees, pastures, curvy roads, plenty of hills, and full of everything needed for a bunch of boys to get into plenty of trouble with. The city of Millington was a booming little city but was most famous for the Naval Air Station that Millington hosted. NAS provided the icing on the cake for my childhood because of the fighter jets that were constantly flying overhead. Every boy in my neighborhood dreamed of becoming a fighter pilot. The mix of the F-14's, F-18's, courser's, and other fighter aircraft, combined with the release of a little movie called "Top Gun" had us all speaking in call signs. I will speak further about these adventures in later post.
We weren't the richest family in the neighborhood. Come to think of it no one really was, or maybe we just didn't notice. Dad was a Memphis City Firefighter and like every firefighter they all had second jobs due to their schedule. Dad owned his own plumbing business called "Splash Plumbing". Now even as a child I always thought that was a strange name for a plumbing business but regardless it worked. Mom had a various number a little jobs here and there but for the most part she always felt her career was to stay at home and manage us boys. I have a little brother, Will who was born when I was 6 years old. Like most brothers we fought and had our differences, but in the end the bond of brotherhood stood strong. The last of our family always consisted of at least 2 dogs. Now these weren't your little rat dogs you see celebrities carry around with them in purses these were Man dogs: Labs, Retrievers, and yes even a Blood Hound. My family formed several friendships with several other families in Lucy and they all happened to have kids the same age as Will and me. The friendships started with these kids were rock solid and even though we've all pretty much gone our own ways now, I can still guarantee you that if any of us were ever in need the other will be there.
I hope I'm painting a nice backdrop for this article that will somewhat lay a foundation for future post. I'm looking forward to taking a trip down memory lane as I divulge my "Lucy Memories".
-Steve Childress
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
