Farm life was all I ever knew from the time I was a youngster until I went away to college. My father was a tenant farmer, and tobacco was literally our financial lifeline. That crop was dependent on hard work and the weather. My earliest remembrance of that work was watching my mother and father riding a tobacco setter, sitting low to the ground, row after row until about eight acres had been transplanted. In those very early years that tobacco setter was pulled by two Percheron mares named Kate and Dinah.
One late spring or early summer during tobacco setting time, I learned a good lesson once again about acceptable behavior. A great-uncle and his wife were our neighbors, and as was customary in those days, they helped with our crop and my mom and dad would reciprocate. I was about 6 at the time and had heard this great-uncle use some very colorful cuss words. It seemed to me to be a good way to spice up one’s conversations. So while my parents were on the far end of the field, I began lacing my speech with a well-chosen string of words that I thought would make a big impression on my uncle. It certainly did. He was so impressed that he immediately informed my folks of my new found vocabulary. They were not impressed. In fact, they were the ones who left an impression on my backside.
Now I would not be hypocritical enough to say no bad words have come out of my mouth since then. What I do say is that I was blessed to have parents who loved me enough to instill in me right from wrong and to discipline when necessary.
– Terry A. Morrison.
A Blessed Life (4)
