Sunday, March 7, 2010
A Gun, For Goodness Sake...
He finished third grade and the fields called. Nine years old was young to start working even back then in the hot southern summers. He found a woman and God found him. He bought a few acres of dirt and built a house. He made it into their home. It was his little piece of the dream and they filled it with three daughters. He made a living beating out pieces of coal from dark tunnels inside the earth. Life was tough, but he was tougher. He was a part time preacher. He wrote poetry. He was a good man.
We went inside and he pulled a piece of paper loose from a small notebook inside his desk. In black ink he wrote a bill of sale for a single dollar I never paid. On the bottom, he signed his name, Willard Ashmore. It briefly occurred to me that I should mark this moment in time and so I did because he was a good man.