Stand by Me

Several of the adventures we had as boys were dictated by movies we
had seen. Top Gun came out and we were all about jets and call signs.
Robin Hood Prince of Thieves came out and we laid down out toy guns
and took to the woods for weapons. We would pull bamboo out of the
ground and use them as spears or carve out branches into fighting
sticks. One Friday night we all watched the movie Stand by Me. The
movie is about a bunch of boys set out on an adventure to find a
missing boy or boy's body. Inspired by the movie, we had all agreed
that night to take our own little adventure the following day... minus
the missing boy of course.

We had each packed our backpacks with the necessities for such an
adventure. Sack lunch, canteen of water, camo paint, a knife, bug
spray, and of course our camo clothes bought at the Millington Army
Surplus store. We agreed to meet at Stevies house at 6:00am that next
morning which means I got up at 5:30 to get there on time via bicycle.
Looking back my parents never really questioned us on all of our
bizarre adventures but again it was a different time and they had
nothing to fear. Mike, Stevie, and I set out on our adventure
promptly at 6:00am towards the woods behind Stevie's house.

Geographically speaking these are the woods to the southwest of
Oakhurst rd, goes to the edge of Sykes rd, and backs up to Crenshaw
rd. Big area to cover and uncharted territory to us adventurers. We
had walked for hours covering various fields, crossed many barbwire
fences, and walked upon several little ponds. This might not seem like
much but to us we were living out the movie in every aspect.

We had circled back around to a water tower towards the very back of
Oakhurst and stopped for lunch. We sat there, ate our lunch, and just
laughed and talked forever. We were boys being boys and there is no
other way to describe it. We had finished our lunches and slowly made
our way back to civilization just as the sun was setting on the
horizon. An ordinary Saturday to most but a memory filled with
exploration and adventure for the three boys of Lucy.

Steve Childress

Great American Pastime

It is that time of year again where kids of all ages are re-oiling
their gloves, buying new cleats, and swinging donut weighted bats. Yes
it's baseball season. After school practices that go into the dusk of
day and then you race home to do homework. The school halls are
bustling with talk of teams, talent, and the smell of competition
is overwhelming.

I am proud to say I am a product of the Millington park and rec.
baseball league. I started my lustrous baseball career with the
coach pitch team the Chiefs. Coach Buck, my dad, as well as Mike and
Stevie's dads, taught this fearless group of five-year-olds the traits
of the game. Although it was underhanded pitch, we thought we were
playing right along with our baseball hero's of the day like Ozzie
Smith or Orel Hershiser.

As we all got older we advanced up in the league to the Bobcats where
we actually had one of our own peers pitch the ball to us. It was
about this time that the sport started to get intimidating and we started to realize who had athletic ability and who, like me, did not. Mike always had the cool position
of catcher. He got to wear "the gear" and played a strategic part in
each game. Stevie was placed in several different positions but all
were in the infield arena, which still considered you a decent
player. As for myself I found a permanent home in either left or right
field, where I alternated with the kid who always sat Indian style
picking flowers instead of picking off grounders and fly balls.
Regardless of my lack of athletic ability, I still played my role with
pride chanting at the batters, and turning my hat inside out to Rally
my teammates.

I didn't know it at the time but it was at Miles fields where we all
as peers began to showcase our talents and standout among the rest.
Hero's were born on these fields that would take this love of the game
to new levels in high school and college ball. Even as an eight-year
old no matter how far down in points we were we knew that when a Ray Fortune or Daniel Hodges got up to bat that the game would be saved. Although I played a
small role in this era I knew I was sharing a role that millions of
kids shared in this great country in my time and decades past.
Baseball was more than a summer activity it was a way of life, a
definition of self character, and a development of pride for one's
self and team. It is truly the great American pastime because we would
play it just as much outside of games and practices as we would at
games and practices. Even writing this story I am immediately taken
back to the sound of cracking bats, the grit taste of dust in my
mouth, the smell of freshly cut grass, and the sight of nine boy's
giving it their all in little league baseball.

Steve Childress

Here fishy fishy

The Childresses are many things but one thing we are not are
fisherman. It has always been one of those things that never caught
on or should I say kept our interest. Now that is not to say we did not
try. We have had plenty of opportunities.

My grandfather was a skilled fisherman. He gave me my first rod and reel
and taught me everything he could about the sport. Every summer he and
my grandmother would take me to Natchez Trace Park. We always stayed at
the park inn which was surrounded by a beautiful lake. My granddad took
me out on the pier for my first fishing experience. He baited my hook
and taught me how to cast my rod. He stood behind me, watched as I
found my spot, I pulled back on the rod, and gave a great cast. At
that moment I heard a shrill coming from my granddad. I had released
my line too early. My line let out on my back cast hooked my
granddad in his right eyebrow. He cut the line and tried getting it out
himself. He eventually had to go to the front desk at the inn and have it cut out.

A few years later, my mom had planned a mother son day at Shelby Farms. We went horse
back riding and had brought some cane poles to fish. We were having a
great day fishing and feeding near by ducks. Our hooks were in the
lake when mom's bobber went under. With excitement she sprung up to
pull it in. I was so proud of my mom because she caught the most
beautiful duck I’d ever seen. Our feathered friend had eaten the hotdog on the hook and had
somehow gotten the hook caught in its beak. Of course, the duck would
not let us help it, so we ended up calling the ranger to take care of it.

Our best fishing story happened many years ago when my brother Will
was a toddler. He had his Mickey Mouse fishing pole with a piece of
hotdog for bait. He would cast it out into the muddy water, reel it
back in along the dirt, and repeat the process several more times. I
went to check on him and saw he no longer had his bait. When I asked
where it was he simply replied, "I ate it." Happy fishing y'all

- Steve Childress

The Spring Buzz

Spring is a beautiful time of year here in Millington and the Lucy
area. Just the other day I took time to drive around the old
neighborhood and see all that spring had brought. However, one
unwelcome sight of spring has always been the wasp and bumblebees.

I've had my share of "bee" battles but two in particular are the most
memorable. We always had a problem with bumblebees. Those big hairy thumb sized monsters would always disturb our spring/summer outdoor activities. They would especially hang out by the grill where we
cooked out. One summer my dad invented a game that became a Childress
annual favorite. “Bee Ball” was invented when dad grabbed a little
metal spatula used to move charcoal around and smacked the bees when
they got to close or tried to attack. The sound of the bee being
projected off the metal shovel was indeed a humorous sound. We would
actually argue on whose turn it was to hit the next bee. Call us redneck if you’d like but we all got a kick out of bolting that bee into the oblivion.

My second “bee” story requires a vivid imagination because folks you cannot make this stuff up.
One Spring Stevie and I had a crush on the same girl who
lived down the street from us. We were always seeking out her
attention and trying to get her to notice us. One day Stevie and I invited her over to my house for a
friendly competition, a battle of the wills, on who would get the
girl. We started the competition off by seeing who could do the most
sit-ups on my deck. We lay on the hot wooden deck, flexing our muscles. The girl was counting our sit-ups when not one but two wasp were flying around me. One saw my right nostril as a point of impact,
entered, and proceeded to sting me. The second wasp waited patiently
for the first to make it's run, as if it were a fighter plane waiting for the first to make it’s raid, and once it exited the second made the exact same maneuver. Yes two wasp flew up my right nostril and stung
me. It took everything within me to not cry. There was a girl present, and one I much admired so I had to be tough. I ran inside and mom put bacon soda in my nose. My face immediately began to swell up and my right eye was swollen shut. I walked back outside bruised and battered from
the attack where my lady to be was still waiting. I knew at that
moment that I had won the affection or in this case sympathy of the of
the girl. I really didn't care but I did get the girl and we went steady…for a whole day.

There are many sure signs of spring and insects are not exempt.
Although they can be quite annoying, we all have our stories (good or bad) that make
us reflect on days gone by and appreciate the memories had.

- Steve Childress