I See You

I See You 

She was just a little girl with long, brunette pig tails and wide eyes. She was her daddy’s little girl, the light in his eyes. A country girl, born and raised in the rich farmland of the Mississippi River Delta, in Missouri. The open fields were her playground. She walked the dirt roads between her house and her neighbors without a care in the world. She was the youngest of twelve children. Her parents loved this last addition to their his-mine-and our mixture of kids. Her father wasn’t a young man when she came to him. All of her brothers and sisters were much older, some already had families of their own when she was born. They were more like uncles and aunts in some ways. She was special. She was Little Sis. I didn’t know her then, but I can still see her. 

Her father owned her heart. He was her first love. He doted on her, loved to have her near, even when she was rowdy and rambunctious. Maybe even especially then. She loved to ride her bicycle on the country roads, with her pet chicken riding on the front handlebars. She was a happy girl.

Mischievous, playful and carefree. I wasn’t there, but I can still see her. 

She was a good student. A strong reader, and speaker. Her teacher, Mrs. Glass, was so taken with her abilities that she entered her into a speech contest. Mrs. Glass came up with a skit for her to do, with multiple characters to act out. She won first prize and a Blue Ribbon. Her folks were so proud. She was only in the second grade. I wasn’t in the audience to watch her perform, but I can still see her.  

She was still just a girl when her father was struck down with a brain hemorrhage. The family

cared for him at home, her included. He improved but he was never the same again. Her father wasn’t able to farm anymore, so they sold the farm and moved.  Her mother worked at the local school cafeteria. He lived some years afterwards before death finally took him. Her first love. Her life changed forever.  I didn’t see her tears, but I can still see her crying.

 She quit school before finishing the eleventh grade. She wanted to go to work, to help out. To have her own car. She worked at the local truck stop/cafe, waiting tables for the truck drivers and farmers. She grew into womanhood long before the sexual revolution. I didn’t hear her sass the truck drivers, but I can hear her now.  

The little woman began writing to a soldier. He was in the Army, stationed in Europe during the 1950’s. He was from Arkansas. They got to know each other through their letters. When he was discharged, he went home to his folk’s place, outside of Forest City, Arkansas. She didn’t hear from him. She decided to go see him for herself, to meet this man she’d been writing. In the days before interstates and fast travel, she drove from Southern Missouri all the way to Forest City, alone. In the time before “Google Maps” she headed to the tiny Post Office and got his address.More accurately, she got directions through the sparse dirt roads that lead to his address. When she arrived, one of his brothers had to go fetch him. He was down the road talking to a man about a car. She was standing on the porch when he arrived. He bounded up the steps and patted her on the head as he headed to the front door. He’d mistaken her tiny frame for one of his little brothers. She laughed and said, “Is that all you’ve got to say to me?” I didn’t see it myself, but I can still see her laughing. 

The rest is Stone Family history. They had four kids. Two boys, two girls. She took them to church and made a home for them. She did all the hard work of a homemaker, without regrets or complaints. She was there for them when they awoke every morning, and when they lay down to sleep. Baseball, softball, football and basketball games, they were almost always there, in the stands, rooting for their little ones. I was the youngest boy, so I did get to see those parts. I can see her still rooting for us, today. In our own minds, we’re still the same kids that used to love to ride our bikes till the streetlights came on. We still feel the same, even though our bodies tend to argue with us much more now. No matter how old you are, whether you work a paying job or at home, we are grateful for being who you are. When you think that life has changed you, or beaten you down, don’t forget that you’re still that happy little girl that romped on the playground and beat the  boys at sports. We appreciate you. We love you. Most of all, we see you.