Harry Whitt on the Journey with Jesus
I remember when I was a boy looking at old men in wonderment. They were either my grandfather or someone else’s grandfather. I knew my granddaddy was once a farmer and he still dabbled with farming. He helped my Daddy with a few things, had a garden, and sometimes had a little patch of corn. He got a few dollars every month from the plan put in place by FDR.
Continue reading “Old Men”
When I was in elementary school, my mother would tie up five quarters in a handkerchief on Monday for my week’s lunch money. Yes, lunch was only a quarter. Lunch was on a light green rectangle tray with sections for the different foods. White milk was our only drink option which means there were no drink options. I loved Fridays because it was either a hamburger or a hot dog plus the other stuff. The fish sticks with the dark spots I hated.
Continue reading “Quarters for Lunch”
Somewhere along the way, Christmas became morphed into a nice “Hallmark Channel” feel-good story told with hot chocolate in hand before a cozy fire. What is there not to like about a young couple away from home delivering a baby in a stable? Light the star, cue the shepherds and “Action!”
Continue reading “Christmas, More Than a Cute Story”
Many children’s stories opened up with the phrase, “Once upon a time…”. When I was a child, the old timers started many of their stories with, “When I was a boy…”. It was the men in Liberty overalls form of “Once upon a time…” Now, I am probably labeled an old timer by most even though I don’t wear overalls.
Continue reading “Once Upon a Time…”
We were at a reunion gathering of our extended family when a distant cousin excitedly called his wife over to see my dad’s hands. He was amazed that Daddy’s hands looked like his deceased father’s hands. I looked at my hands and they looked like Dad’s. Two of my brother’s hands are also similar.
Continue reading “Hands of My Father”
Mother’s Day rolls around every year to give honor to our mothers. We shower our living mothers with presents, special meals, and recognition. Those who have gone from our midst, we shower with accolades of remembrance and honor.
This year I thought about the generational line of women in my life from my grandparents to my four granddaughters. The grandmothers to the mothers of the future.
Continue reading “Generations of Mothers”
I was raised in a working-class family who had risen out of Depression Era poverty. Most of our neighbors were either poor or slowly rising to middle-class status. Our exposure to rich people was rare.
Continue reading “Work With Your Own Hands”My daddy was born in 1914 in the ridges of Northeast Alabama. He was deserted by his father when he was a school-age boy and “raised” by his single mother in the midst of the Great Depression. He was raised dirt-poor.
Continue reading “Daddy Bought a Nissan”
I remember waking on a cold Fall morning to the sound of symphonic rain on a tin roof. Long before there were weighted blankets, there were Momma’s hand-made quilts piled high in a frosty room. Oh, how I wanted to just lay there for just a little longer, but the ruler of my mornings had already sounded the getup alarm once before, “Harry, it’s time to get up!”. Continue reading “Momma’s Biscuits”
Our collective great-aunt, Governor Kay Ivey of Alabama just had a press conference with a “Stay-At-Home” order. Don’t you just love Aunt Kay with her South Alabama drawl; all our Southern politicians of old talked like this once upon a time, it was a requirement. I really like her, I really do. I would like to sit and have a chicken liver dinner with her, complete with potato salad, baked beans, and ice tea.
Pathway Journey 