A New Resolution
By Bill Shepard
I reckon I have been watching too much TV lately. With all that is going on in the Middle East with ISIS and what is going on in our political world, I’m a bit frustrated. There are a lot of ways to deal with the problem, but I think I’ll just revert to my childhood days. Now I didn’t have a lot of frustrations when I was a boy, mainly because I didn’t have anything to be frustrated about! Life was a lot different that far back. We didn’t have a radio, telephone, or newspaper when I was a boy and TVs and computers hadn’t been heard of. If the sun came up and the mill whistle blew, calling folk to show up for work, my world was complete.
Bill Shepard
Of course, I would get up and go to school to learn about things and places I wasn’t interested in. I suppose I knew more about places I read about in my history and geography books than I knew about my hometown! I rolled wheels, pulled wagons, and devised my own things to play with and do. One thing was certain; I didn’t get bored with nothing to do. I could find amusement in a lot of ways, one of which was kicking a tin can along a narrow dirt road. If you had seen me on an errand for Mama to the Company Store or any other place, chances are I would be pulling my wagon, rolling a wheel or tire, or kicking a can along the road and following it wherever it landed. Did you ever do that? If you haven’t you should try sometime. You can get a lot of frustration out that way.
Instead of kicking the Democrat or Republican, Trump or Hillary, kick a can! Well, I think you would probably get as much good out of doing one as the other! Like I said, when I was a boy, I often kicked cans. One day on an errand to the Company Store, I had an experience I have never forgotten. I had left the store and was on my home and of course, I was kicking my can and following it from one side of the road to the other. I had crossed over the bridge that spans Swift Creek beyond the old mill (now gone). I gave my can a hard kick and went after it. When I reached where it had stopped moving, I looked down and there was a half of a one-dollar bill. I picked it up faster than a chicken can pick up a grain of corn and that’s fast! I have never claimed to be smart about anything, but I knew that the other half of that dollar bill had to be somewhere. I kept on kicking my can and following after it, always keeping my ears on the ground. From one side of the dirt road to the other, back and forth, I kept moving. I knew the other part of the bill had to be somewhere along that road. But where?
I don’t know how long I had been walking, like I said, you can get lost in time and thoughts when you are kicking a can. I was so lost in what I was doing that I missed the place where I was to cross the railroad track and head for home. I looked a ways up the road and saw another boy approaching in my direction and he was kicking a can also. There was nothing unusual about that. It wasn’t unusual in those days to see someone kicking a can along the road. It wasn’t unusual to go to the store, church, or school, and find a number of tin cans left outside. We didn’t own a bicycle or a car, so we parked out tin can outside. The thing that got my attention about this boy was the intense way he kept looking at the ground. When we got close enough, I recognized him as one of my friends who also lived in the village.
“What are you doing, Fred?” I asked. That was a foolish question, I could see what he was doing. What I really wanted to know was why he kept looking at the ground in a more intense way. I had a suspicion that he was looking for the same thing as I…that other piece of a dollar bill!
My suspicion was correct; he reached into his overall pocket and took out the other piece of that one dollar bill. Now, if I had been as smart as one of those Washington politicians, I would have known how to get the dollar bill for myself. When I couldn’t think of a way to get it, I decided half loaf was better than no loaf at all.
Anyway, Fred and I went to a nearby village store that was operated by a kind man who knew both of us. He took both pieces of the dollar bill and pinned them together. Then he gave us each a fifty-cent piece. Now, wasn’t that smart? We were both as happy as two boys could be. In a little while, the storeowner had both his fifty-cent pieces back and my friend and I had a stomach full of RC Cola and Moon Pie. The solution had been simple, but when I got home I had a problem trying to explain to Mama why I was so late coming home from my errand. When I explained my story to her and gave her piece of the moon pies I had stuffed in my pocket, she was all right.
Have you ever kicked tin cans along the road? If you have frustrations to deal with, you should try kicking a can down a winding dirt road. You could name the can Bernie, Hillary, Trump or Obama and begin kicking.
Mr. Shepard is a native of Darlington, S.C., and a current resident of Piedmont, S.C. He is the author of “Mill Town Boy” and “Bruised”. He has been sharing his tales of growing up in Darlington for decades, and we are delighted to share them each week.
His mailing address for cards and letters is: Bill Shepard 324 Sunny Lane, Piedmont, S.C., 29673