Phil Hudgins
Someone asked me one time, “What is your earliest memory?”
Well, if I’m remembering the memory correctly, it would be the time I had my photo taken with Smiley Burnette. I think I was four or five. I could be wrong, though, because I probably couldn’t count when I was four or five. Math has never been my best subject.
Of course, if you don’t know who Smiley Burnette was, you would say, “Well, who was Smiley Burnette?” And I would say that he was a comedic actor who played sidekick to Gene Autry and Roy Rogers. And if you don’t know who Gene Autry and Roy Rogers were, I would say they were Hollywood cowboys, not good actors, but heroes of my childhood, with their white hats and righteous ways.
I remember the first time I saw my sister, Elaine. She was a few days old. I would have seen her sooner, but my brother, Ken, and I had been banished to our grandparents’ farm because we were coming down with red measles near her birthday. Our daddy practiced social distancing long before it was fashionable.
I was four months shy of 9 years old when Elaine made her appearance, and, if I am remembering correctly, I didn’t know my mother was having a baby. There are worse things than being innocent and naïve, you know. Stupid comes to mind.
The day I learned to swim is a memory as vivid as yesterday’s.
I don’t know how old I was – old enough to fish, because that’s what I was doing that day. My Uncle Jamie asked me if I knew how to swim, and I said no. Hearing that, he threw me into the Chattahoochee River. My learning curve on swimming was top-notch.
I remember the first and last whipping I got from a teacher. It was in the first grade. Mrs. Winters turned me down over her lap and paddled me. I wet my dungarees and no doubt her dress. She was a nice lady, though. She taught me to read such words as “see” and “Spot” and “run.”
I recall learning the value of a dollar from my brother. Actually it was a quarter, not a dollar. That’s what he paid me, a quarter, for helping him collect money on his paper route on Fridays and Saturdays. One quarter. For two days. I soon got my own paper route.
I remember learning an important lesson as a paper boy. That is, if you’re nice to people, they’ll usually be nice to you. Not always, but usually.
The time a driver ran into my bicycle while I was delivering papers is still fresh in my mind. The man tried to say it was my fault. I was in his lane, he said. But Judge Sam Harben, who lived across the street, saw the whole thing and came to my defense. It was your fault, he told the man, and you’ll pay for his bicycle.
You know, memories are really nice when they have happy endings.
Phil Hudgins is the senior editor of Community Newspapers Inc. Reach him at phudgins@cninewspapers.com.