A 35-Year-Old Story Posted Reluctantly

I wrote and posted reluctantly this story about my father and me. Mother felt it showed a side of Dad that most people never saw. I only saw it once. Yet she also felt it illustrated why he successfully navigated fathering two daughters.
The Father’s Day Story My Mother Wanted Told

Bernadean, Edmund, Jr., and Angie Gates in the

'70s.

        My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, recalled a Father’s Day sermon preached by Jon Ogle in the 1980s that succinctly described her husband and my father, Edmund Gates, Jr. Bro. Jon entitled the message, Man of Steel, Man of Velvet. Several times over the years, Mother commented that phrase aptly characterized the man she knew all her life. They were married and made a life together for 67 years.
         From my earliest memory, I could be classified as a bibliophile, a book lover. Usually, my grandfather or father would bring me, not a toy, but a little Golden Book, when they went to town, if they were in a store to purchase one. My parents and my maternal grandparents, who lived with us, all read to me.
         With eagerness, I anticipated the monthly book club order leaflets distributed by my teachers from first grade through high school. Unable to resist reading the library book I always had in my possession, I tolerated mild nausea on the long school bus ride so I could read.
          Occasionally, as a family, we would go for a shopping trip to Ponca City. During my fifteenth or sixteenth year, in the big box store of that day, Gibson's, I located a book about which it seemed everyone was raving. I used some of my limited funds for the purchase of  that best-seller in the book section.
           I devoured the book and experienced disappointment. Being accustomed to reading classics by authors like Nathaniel Hawthorne, Charles Dickens, Margaret Mitchell, and many others, this 20th century sensation failed to match the quality of a well-written masterpiece. I cast it aside.
           My sister, around 10-11 years old, picked up the paperback book. She flipped it open and discovered words that my father had always characterized as “stuff I wouldn’t want in my hand, let alone in my mouth.”
           She proceeded to share the book, that not only had vulgar words but profanity, with my grandmother. They set the wheels in motion with a red pen marking the egregious phrases.
           Upon Dad’s arrival at home after “pounding nails” all day, my sister met him with my questionable purchase. Dad looked at a couple of pages, turned the book sideways in his hand, and promptly ripped it completely in half.
           Dad and I never discussed the incident. Mother and he never conversed about his destruction of the best-seller. I only remember saying to Mother, “I really didn’t think it was very well-written.”
           The parental exercise of discipline vividly revealed why Mother called Dad “a man of steel and a man of velvet.” The velvet moments had been taking place for one and a half decades of my life. He had shown me what he believed by living it out for the betterment of our family and for each of us as individual family members. Dad sacrificed daily for us to have a life of interacting and engaging with each other for the express purpose of enabling us to be the best we could be. His utmost concern for my well-being remained ensconced in my conscience.
           For this reason, when the “hammer fell” and I experienced Dad’s “steel” side, without resentment, I knew with certainty he wanted the best for me and desired that wholesome experiences impact my life. He assaulted the negative influence in my life - undesirable book - not me, as a person. Ironically, Dad, the verbal parent, had let his action speak, refusing to diminish his mighty act with words.
           This account revealed my teenage fallacy of investing in what was popular and trendy. Yet, as an adult, I am aware how easily I can be affected by the world around me. Just as I skimmed over the vulgarities and profanities to get to a storyline lauded by the readers of that era, the temptation to ignore sin in our world can trap us and deceive us into thinking we have no sin. John wrote in I John 1:8 - 

              If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.
           Those of us who have a relationship with God, through trust in and commitment to Jesus, must realize our heavenly Father also has velvet and steel sides. He is a God of love but is a God of justice and holiness, too. James, the half-brother of Jesus, stated in James 4:4 – 

         Unfaithful people! Don’t you know that love for this evil world is hatred toward God?  Whoever wants to be a friend of this world is an enemy of God.          Finally, I am reminded by some of the last words by Jesus before His crucifixion as recorded in John 14:15 –
“If you love Me, you will keep My commandments.”

Lord, help us to obey you, in all honesty, not in word only, but truly from our hearts. We acknowledge that You know what is best for us for the present and the future, too.

Eight Decades Ago at Burbank High School

 Following the blog post recalling Mother’s high school graduation, Bobby Simma, one of my former principals, shared senior panels from Ripley High School featuring his parents and grandparents. This spring marks the 80^th year since my father’s high school graduation, so it seemed a good time to revisit those four years of Dad’s life. The post about Mother’s graduation was entitled The Graduation Gift That Couldn’t Be Wrapped which can be accessed at: https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2018/05/the-graduation-gift-that-couldnt-be.html

The 1938 Panel from the Burbank High School at Burbank, Oklahoma. Dad is pictured 
fourth in the bottom row. Gracie Rice in the lower left corner was also a Big Bender. 

                My father attended high school one year at Fairfax. He made many friends in the student body, such as the Shafer twins, Claude and Clyde and in the faculty, V. J. Lockett. Having to ride a horse to the nine-mile corner west of Fairfax to catch the bus, then riding back to the Gates farm just in time to do evening chores took its toll on Dad. He characterized that year “as a waste”- educationally.
              Dad’s older sisters, Ella Edith and Mary Elizabeth, had lived with families in Fairfax so they could complete high school in 1933 and 1934, respectively. My grandfather, Edmund Gates, Sr., paid room and board to the families and my aunts did housework to assist with their “keep.”

My grandpa’s reliance on my father precluded Dad moving to Fairfax to further his education. The family farm in the Bend demanded my father, as a teenager, live there and do morning and evening chores each day, with a full-day’s work required every Saturday and Sunday.

Finally, Dad’s hope for an education drove right up to the little farm on the Arkansas River. Prior to the beginning of the 1934/1935 school term, Mr. Roy Stegall, the superintendent of Burbank High School, actively pursued the Big Bend high school-aged students by developing a relationship with the parents of these students. Dad said Mr. Stegall arrived at the Gates farm and began with, “Ed, your hogs really look good…” Soon my grandfather willingly agreed to send Dad to Burbank High School.

                My father boarded the Burbank bus at Woodland Grade School after walking about 1 ½ miles through the timber from his home to the community school. Then he rode the over-30-mile ride to Burbank to attend high school. Dad always felt privileged to have graduated from high school prior to serving in World War II. Below are excerpts relating to Burbank High School from his military memoir, Okie Over Europe.

Edmund’s father had always quoted Benjamin Franklin who had said, “Put your purse into your head and no man can take it from you.”  The quotation had impacted him so much that he had copied it in a quotation collection he had been required to compile in his high school days.  Edmund had always preferred the outdoors and vigorous activity to time spent at a desk poring over books.  Yet once again the path that he had chosen greatly influenced his placement in the military.  Although Edmund had never dreamed his attainment of a high school diploma would so strategically affect his life, the first question with which he was confronted was: “How much education do you have?”  He was immediately steered in a different direction from those who had only completed the eleventh grade of high school. 

Later he would reflect with deep gratitude on the encouragement he received from Miss Cecilia Smith, his English teacher, enabling him to graduate from high school.  The bus ride from his rural community, the Big Bend, to Burbank where his high school was located was about 35 miles or a round trip of 70 miles each school day.    Edmund frequently carried a can of cream or several dozen eggs as he walked the one and a half miles to board the school bus.  He sold both farm products at the little store in Burbank located just down the hill from the high school.  Every penny from the eggs or cream was returned to his mother.  Miss Smith knew what hardship Edmund faced just to attend high school, so she worked with him on her lunch break to assist him in meeting her stiff requirements for the senior English course she taught.  He could never have imagined the immense value her dedicated instruction would literally mean to his survival. 

         An article from the Ponca City News dated February 1, 1943, reported of Edmund’s squadron being credited with shooting down thirteen enemy planes.  In the same article, Roy Stegall, Edmund’s high school superintendent, was quoted as identifying Edmund as ‘an “A” student.’   In retrospect, Edmund was not sure this was an accurate report of his school record from Burbank High School.

          He had just finished hearing the third game of the World Series.  He said it was a good game until the Yankees scored four runs in the eighth.  Obviously, Edmund was a Cardinal fan.  The St. Louis Cardinals and the New York Yankees played in the World Series of 1943.  The broadcast was direct from the United States.  Edmund reminisced about high school days of skipping classes just to hear part of a World Series game.  Little had he realized when attending Burbank High School just a few years earlier that he would find himself in such dangerous combat situations. Edmund was aware he was contributing his small part in a much greater struggle literally to save the Western World’s highest principle of personal freedom for all.

                As our family remembered what would have been the 99^th birthday of my father on June 15, I recalled Dad saying, “Hard work never killed anyone.” Few men worked harder from their earliest days until well into their 90s than Dad did. As a result, that pattern made him a star patient of his therapists even after both strokes. Dad attempted all asked of him from his therapists.

                I aspire to reduce or eliminate the complaining. Dad sometimes expressed being glad when an especially tough task was done. But I never heard him back down from a job, dread the job, or grumble at having to do it.

                Dad had a way of laughing and making a tedious task bearable and even fun. I think that is what is meant by teaching a child to work. (Mother taught us to find satisfaction in a job well done. Grandma Gladys Rainey Smith insisted the dread was the worst part of the job.)

               

Outside my window, a new day I see,

And only I can determine what kind of day it will be….

I can enjoy what I do and make it seem fun,

Or gripe and complain and make it hard on someone.

lines from the poem, Today – poet unknown

                Any of us with influence on children whether as teachers, parents, grandparents, relatives or mentors at church or in an organization must realize attitude and instruction is essential with young people. Properly approaching a task and completing a job requires working along side the child or teenager, giving needed encouragement and coaching the young person to perfect the task. King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, wrote about the joy of working. As we find joy and contentment in our work, may our example inspire younger generations to do the same - just as Dad's determination to get a high school diploma still inspires doggedly perseverance to reach goals.

So I decided there is nothing better than to enjoy food and drink and to find satisfaction in work. Then I realized that these pleasures are from the hand of God.     Ecclesiastes 2:24

Cookies, VBS, and Treasured Memories

As I hastily put this together, I recalled Vacation Bible Schools of long ago. I have written previously about attending VBS at the Big Bend Baptist Church. As a little one, I had no inkling what a treat I experienced attending VBS each day where my maternal grandma, Gladys Rainey Smith, taught the older students and my paternal grandma, Mamie Tripp Gates, and her dear friend, Fern Anson, lovingly served cookies and Kool-aide to us.

She Only Wanted One Brand

          Aunt Daisy Dean Rainey Rice (she was my great-aunt since she and Grandma Gladys Rainey Smith were sisters) often sent by my father to pick up a few items at town. (Ironically, Dad or Grandpa frequently did the grocery shopping.) Many times, when we gave her a call, she requested a Duncan Hines cake mix. She always specified “Duncan Hines” so I was excited when I discovered semi-homemade recipes using Aunt Daisy’s favorite brand.

        A few months ago, I made a plain vanilla cookie from a recipe calling for a Duncan Hines white cake mix. Mother and I enjoyed the taste of the cookies. The photo below revealed the appealing appearance of the cookie. 

Vanilla Cookies Made from a Duncan Hines
White Cake Mix

        I hadn't made many cookies since Dad’s death. Angie discovered Dad really liked the softness of Loft House cookies but didn’t prefer the frosting on them. I researched online and found a taste-like Loft House cookies recipe. They were so easy to whip up. I combined a Betty Crocker cake mix, any flavor worked, 1/3 cup canola oil, and 3 eggs and baked at 375^o F for about 8 minutes.

        My father was the epitome of self-control. He only ate one cookie per meal. It didn’t matter if the cookies were hot out of the oven or not. Only one cookie for him.

        The season rolled around for VBS 2018. Our church scheduled a workday. Mention was made of “snickerdoodle” and “oatmeal raisin” cookies. An alarm went off in my brain. Here was my chance.

        I had found a snickerdoodle “semi-homemade” recipe on http://www.cookkosher.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=6591 so the work day before Vacation Bible School was a chance to try it out. I pulled out a Duncan Hines Butter Golden moist cake mix from the freezer and of course, thought of Aunt Daisy.

Here’s how I made these snickerdoodles.

1          I preheated the oven to 375^o F.

2          In a small bowl, I combined 3 tablespoons of sugar with 1 teaspoon of cinnamon and set it aside for later.

3          Then I combined the cake mix with two eggs and 1 stick of butter or margarine. (My 93-year-old mother refuses to use recipes that call for more than that amount of butter or margarine. She even tweaks recipes to reduce it even more.) 

4          Using two spoons (it just is less messy on my hands), I made about 1-inch balls of dough, rolled them in the sugar/cinnamon mixture, and placed them on the aluminum foil-lined cookie sheet. (My last few cookies were rolled in Mother’s own sugar/cinnamon mixture. She ups the cinnamon in her mix. They tasted better, especially if you like more cinnamon. But she didn't have exact proportion of sugar and cinnamon she used.)

5          Before placing them in the oven, I flattened each ball of dough with the bottom of a drinking glass.

6          The cookies baked for 9 minutes, cooled for 1 minute, and then I removed them from the aluminum foil-lined cookie sheet.

Snickerdoodle Cookies Made from a Duncan Hines
Butter Golden Cake Mix

Finally, as I reflected on the prospective VBS students on our church’s list and then thought of the teachers, helpers, and workers, I realized Aunt Daisy had relatives either as young students, teachers, or helpers at every level.

I thought of how she loved her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She delighted in lavishing sweet treats on them or anyone when they came to her house.

As I concluded this posting, my mind went to the longest chapter in the Bible. It is chapter 119 of Psalms. I do not think it is coincidental that it is an encompassing treatise on God’s Word. The snickerdoodles and other VBS sweet treats popped into my mind as I read Psalm 119:103:

How sweet are Your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!

May we ever savor God’s Word as we meditate on it as we fall asleep each night, as we wake to a new day each morning with its promises on our lips, as we go through the day with a heart of thankfulness for His gracious goodness to us, and a will to obey what we've read.

For any readers living in the Ralston area, encourage your young relatives or neighbors to participate in VBS 2018 for 5-12 year-old students at Ralston Baptist Church on June 10-14, Sunday through Thursday evenings from 6 – 8:30 p.m.  VBS Family Day will be on Sunday, June 17, beginning with breakfast at 10 a.m. with Worship Rally following.

Memorial Day - a Week Later

Memorial Day Thoughts - The Family Cemetery I’ve Never Visited

            On Memorial Day, I only visited one cemetery - Pixley Cemetery where over 30 relatives are buried. I have a personal connection or have been told a story about almost every grave in that cemetery on the hill with a view overlooking the Arkansas River.

            This year as I loaded flowers, my mother indicated I didn’t need to put out all those floral remembrances. She mentioned “Fairfax Cemetery” and “Riverside Cemetery” as we talked about the burial places of loved ones. She reminded me gently there was no way to "decorate" all of them. Then I began to think of Hickory Grove Cemetery in Delaware County in Eastern Oklahoma.

            My great-grandfather, Walter Smith, a fullblood Cherokee, was buried in the cemetery on land donated by his grandmother, Susannah Spaniard Smith Miller, according to the history of Hickory Grove Cemetery. Great-grandpa Walter spoke Cherokee, English, and Spanish. This week I began thinking of three of his daughters who died young and are buried in the old country, the way my grandpa referred to the area of Eastern Oklahoma where he was born and raised. 

Tombstone of Baby Cherokee Smith

            Darkus, a twelve-year-old sister, greeted my maternal grandpa, Calvin Callcayah Smith, on March 13, 1894, at his birth. A little-four-year old sister, Amanda Alice, welcomed the new baby brother who had large, but beautiful, gentle gray eyes.

            When Grandpa was age three, little Cherokee Smith arrived at the Smith home. Three days later on February 19, 1898, Julia and Walter Smith grieved the death of their tiny daughter. Grandpa never mentioned Baby Cherokee. Only after his death, when looking at the documentation of his enrollment as an original allottee on the Dawes roll, did I learn about her.

            Darkus married Samuel Nichols. Soon she anticipated the birth of their first baby. Sweet Darkus gave birth to little Lewis but once again the Smith family mourned the death of a daughter and sister. Darkus died on April 7, 1901, after giving life to little Lewis. When Death encroached upon the Smith family again, my grandfather was seven years old. I recalled Grandpa mentioning her name but never speaking of her death. My mother's cousin, Elizabeth Purcell Hammer, said her grandparents, Walter and Julia, took little Lewis to live with them.

Tombstone of Darkus Smith Nichols

            A few months shy of Grandpa’s sixteenth birthday, the sister he called “Mandy” died as the result of being thrown from a horse. Grandpa always referred to her as “Mandy.” As I filtered his experience in 1910, I compared it to the shock of a tragic car wreck in our era. What a jolt to Grandpa's young heart! Even though he never told of the circumstances surrounding her accident, I know how challenging that grief journey must have been for Grandpa to say “good-bye” to his twenty-year old sister. 

Tombstone of  Amanda Alice Smith 
whose 129th birthday will be June 9th.

             Even though Grandpa experienced the loss of beloved sisters, he stands stalwart in my memories as one who encouraged, didn't complain, and spoke with words sparingly. I hope to model his example of having a word to uplift instead of tearing down.  I strive daily to stifle my tendency to grumble and complain. Finally, my goal is to live out Proverbs 21:23 by praying Psalm 141:3.

Whoever guards his mouth and tongue 

Keeps his soul from troubles.

Proverbs 21:23

Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth;

Keep watch over the door of my lips.

Psalm 141:3

Note about  researching - When going to a cemetery where loved ones are buried, look at the markers or tombstones for clues into the past. Each of these photographs of tombstones from Hickory Grove Cemetery were taken from the site findagrave.com. Findagrave.com is a good option for researching cemeteries where ancestors are buried when travel to those locations is unlikely or impossible.