I'm sharing a short story I wrote about my family. It occurred shortly after we moved to St. Cloud from Ohio in 1961. I was not quite six, and the memories are not necessarily accurate, but they are as my "fill-in-blank" brain remembers them. The essence of the story is not only about the events that took place, but about the incredible spirit of optimism I remember when I think of my father. Even in his later years when he was plagued with physical ailments due to a bad heart, he didn't let that stop his love of life and family. I can hear him now when I would say, " How you feelin' today Daddy?'
He would reply, " I woke up and put my feet on the ground. It's a good day." For that role model, I am eternally grateful. And now, "Looking Up."
Looking up, Willard saw blue sky blazing into the shop window through the crack between the roof of the garage and the roof of the house. The faded, green house, sitting slightly to the left of the center line of Highway 441 was the first Florida residence for Willard, his wife Virginia and the four children still at home(they had eight total). It was not just the Beekman’s house; it was also free food and lodging for thousands of biting fleas and creeping cock roaches. August heat cooked the parched sand lot enclosing three sides of the house. The combination of heat and wasteland pushed the sandspurs in the yard to grow plump, fat, and wickedly sharp.
Willard’s radiator shop, in the detached garage, was sweltering hot. He pulled a radiator up and out of a boiling vat of acid with a hook and pulley. Business was starting slow, but Mama was going to take in kids during the day, and Willard saved ever penny he could scrounge for a new house of their own. Renting was a temporary plan, especially the house on the highway. He couldn't grow a garden in a sandbox. Selling his house in Ohio brought in almost enough for a down payment, but Mama would have to wait a little while for the new house. He would get it; it just wasn’t easy- for a lot of unforeseen reasons.
The first month in Florida proved his dream "Garden of Eden" was inhabited by snakes. On his seventh day in St. Cloud, he woke to an empty carport. He supposed his was the easiest car to steal in the whole town, sitting right on the highway over night with the keys, (Martha again?) left in the ignition. All it needed was a sign on the side saying take me I’m yours, but the sign wasn’t necessary. Martha made it inviting enough, and the thieves caused problems for the family because some things were very important, such as transportation.
Willard dipped into the down payment fund to replace the car since it didn’t look like it would ever be recovered. He tried not to dip too deeply, so he bought an old, green pickup he found cheap. It matched the house at night. It had a chance. Also, Martha couldn’t drive a stick shift.
Willard looked at the clock on the counter top and reached over to pull the string on the fan and flip the lights off. After laying his heavy gloves on the counter, he went into the house to get Mama. They were going to crank up the old, green truck and go to pick up Mary at the hospital. She was finally coming home.
Transportation, the entire focus the week before, became unimportant, except as a way to get to the hospital, after Mary, his sixth child, almost died from a ruptured appendix. There were more snakes in town, and one of them was named Dr. Jewel. He saw Mary the morning her appendix ruptured and sent her home. She lay on the couch, sweating, moaning and tossing with pain. Her fever spiked and her pain was unbearable to watch, so Willard and Virginia wrapped her in a blanket and rushed her to Kissimmee to the hospital. That trip was the longest thirty-three minutes of his life. Two adults and a writhing teenager jostling around in the front seat of the old truck was no picnic. When they got to Community Hospital, they checked Mary in immediately and rushed her into emergency surgery. Three weeks later, she was finally coming home. There went the rest of Mama’s down payment. They didn’t have insurance, and no bill went unpaid. He’d just start over and pinch those brown pennies that much harder.
In spite of everything, there was some beauty in their new, small town, especially when the evening sunset colored the sky like heaven itself. This evening, the sky outdid itself. The air began to become tolerably comfortable but still thick, and the sandspurs nodded off to sleep. Willard, breathing in the hot, shop air and letting it out slowly, thought about Mary at home now and resting peacefully in the front bedroom; she was going to be all right. He also had two lawn mowers to repair and a radiator core to replace in the morning. He pulled the string on the fan and turned out the light. Looking up, Willard watched stars popping out in a darkening sky as they glowed through the crack between the roof of the garage and the roof of the house. Walking carefully through the night time shadows, he passed through the shop door and strolled around the house to the front porch.
A shrill scream cut through the night’s calm. Mama ran down the steps of the porch and flew into Willard’s arms, panting and spewing barely distinguishable words. "There’s a sssnake by the front door of the house!"
"Dear God," Willard prayed aloud as he ran back into the shop, flipping on lights to find his axe. "Did I do the right thing bringing my family to Florida?" Then, grabbing the long handled axe, he mounted the front steps to the porch in a single bound, and swinging wildly, he chopped and smashed the harmless rat snake into pocket size pieces. Martha, Willie, and Linda, after running outside at the sound of the raucous, stood on the porch close to Mama, and watched the scene with fascinated horror. Mary yelled out in a strong voice from the opened, front bedroom window, "what’s going on out there?" All eyes looked up from the chopped mess and splintered wood on the porch floor and gazed toward the bedroom window-captivated by the voice of recovery.
He would reply, " I woke up and put my feet on the ground. It's a good day." For that role model, I am eternally grateful. And now, "Looking Up."
Looking Up
Looking up, Willard saw blue sky blazing into the shop window through the crack between the roof of the garage and the roof of the house. The faded, green house, sitting slightly to the left of the center line of Highway 441 was the first Florida residence for Willard, his wife Virginia and the four children still at home(they had eight total). It was not just the Beekman’s house; it was also free food and lodging for thousands of biting fleas and creeping cock roaches. August heat cooked the parched sand lot enclosing three sides of the house. The combination of heat and wasteland pushed the sandspurs in the yard to grow plump, fat, and wickedly sharp.
Willard’s radiator shop, in the detached garage, was sweltering hot. He pulled a radiator up and out of a boiling vat of acid with a hook and pulley. Business was starting slow, but Mama was going to take in kids during the day, and Willard saved ever penny he could scrounge for a new house of their own. Renting was a temporary plan, especially the house on the highway. He couldn't grow a garden in a sandbox. Selling his house in Ohio brought in almost enough for a down payment, but Mama would have to wait a little while for the new house. He would get it; it just wasn’t easy- for a lot of unforeseen reasons.
The first month in Florida proved his dream "Garden of Eden" was inhabited by snakes. On his seventh day in St. Cloud, he woke to an empty carport. He supposed his was the easiest car to steal in the whole town, sitting right on the highway over night with the keys, (Martha again?) left in the ignition. All it needed was a sign on the side saying take me I’m yours, but the sign wasn’t necessary. Martha made it inviting enough, and the thieves caused problems for the family because some things were very important, such as transportation.
Willard dipped into the down payment fund to replace the car since it didn’t look like it would ever be recovered. He tried not to dip too deeply, so he bought an old, green pickup he found cheap. It matched the house at night. It had a chance. Also, Martha couldn’t drive a stick shift.
Willard looked at the clock on the counter top and reached over to pull the string on the fan and flip the lights off. After laying his heavy gloves on the counter, he went into the house to get Mama. They were going to crank up the old, green truck and go to pick up Mary at the hospital. She was finally coming home.
Transportation, the entire focus the week before, became unimportant, except as a way to get to the hospital, after Mary, his sixth child, almost died from a ruptured appendix. There were more snakes in town, and one of them was named Dr. Jewel. He saw Mary the morning her appendix ruptured and sent her home. She lay on the couch, sweating, moaning and tossing with pain. Her fever spiked and her pain was unbearable to watch, so Willard and Virginia wrapped her in a blanket and rushed her to Kissimmee to the hospital. That trip was the longest thirty-three minutes of his life. Two adults and a writhing teenager jostling around in the front seat of the old truck was no picnic. When they got to Community Hospital, they checked Mary in immediately and rushed her into emergency surgery. Three weeks later, she was finally coming home. There went the rest of Mama’s down payment. They didn’t have insurance, and no bill went unpaid. He’d just start over and pinch those brown pennies that much harder.
In spite of everything, there was some beauty in their new, small town, especially when the evening sunset colored the sky like heaven itself. This evening, the sky outdid itself. The air began to become tolerably comfortable but still thick, and the sandspurs nodded off to sleep. Willard, breathing in the hot, shop air and letting it out slowly, thought about Mary at home now and resting peacefully in the front bedroom; she was going to be all right. He also had two lawn mowers to repair and a radiator core to replace in the morning. He pulled the string on the fan and turned out the light. Looking up, Willard watched stars popping out in a darkening sky as they glowed through the crack between the roof of the garage and the roof of the house. Walking carefully through the night time shadows, he passed through the shop door and strolled around the house to the front porch.
A shrill scream cut through the night’s calm. Mama ran down the steps of the porch and flew into Willard’s arms, panting and spewing barely distinguishable words. "There’s a sssnake by the front door of the house!"
"Dear God," Willard prayed aloud as he ran back into the shop, flipping on lights to find his axe. "Did I do the right thing bringing my family to Florida?" Then, grabbing the long handled axe, he mounted the front steps to the porch in a single bound, and swinging wildly, he chopped and smashed the harmless rat snake into pocket size pieces. Martha, Willie, and Linda, after running outside at the sound of the raucous, stood on the porch close to Mama, and watched the scene with fascinated horror. Mary yelled out in a strong voice from the opened, front bedroom window, "what’s going on out there?" All eyes looked up from the chopped mess and splintered wood on the porch floor and gazed toward the bedroom window-captivated by the voice of recovery.
Peace. Love, Linda
