FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 64

On the way home that evening, Corrina asked me about Daddy and the beehive.

“Why do you think he could do that, Pup?” she said. She slid over nearer her door than to me when she wanted to engage in conversation. When satisfied with our talk, she eased back over by me, grabbed me by the arm, and just sat quietly.

She seemed to find security in being together, although I couldn’t understand why. Maybe she was looking for something, too, as we all are, especially when you’re 16. You are stuck somewhere between childhood and manhood or womanhood, and you have to stand there in the gap and figure out exactly what life is all about.

I’ve often wondered if Corrina didn’t learn as much that summer as I did. I wonder what the story would sound like coming from her young mind.

The question about Daddy and the beehive got me thinking exactly who Daddy really was. What kind of man was he at 17, then 18 – or how did he feel about life when he had his first child, or how much stock he put in on his job, if that job defined him, the way it does most of us. Most of my questions about Daddy would go unanswered, but the one about the beehive would not, at least not in my mind.

“I think the reason those bees wouldn’t sting my daddy, Corinna,” I said, “was because he wasn’t afraid of them.”

Looking over at her, she was still turned toward me but was almost too far away to touch. Sometimes, I could only touch her with words; sometimes, it would be just a look, maybe a smile. She proved to be a lady you would have to woo, court, wine, and dine. I knew she would never be an easy catch, for me or somebody else, if I should let her get away in the course of life. But I admired that in her and knew it would take her far in life. I felt satisfied with that thought, knowing she would be all right and never fall for the wrong kind. Perhaps it was too deep a thought for an almost 17-year-old, but when life shows you a long stretch of west-Texas type of sandy highway rolling up ahead, you tend to wonder more about what will happen way out behind the mountains.

Sometimes, driving home from Corrina’s late at night, I would look out at the stars and wonder what the Lord had in mind. I would say a prayer – especially for Mama because that prayer was the most immediate. And I prayed for young Corrina Belle, too, praying that the Lord would always go with her and hide her beneath His wings, as Mama would say, quoting from the Psalms. Sometimes I think the Lord pulled Mama straight out of the Bible and set her down on this earth.

Corrina and I were still talking about Daddy and the beehives as we pulled up in front of her house. We came to that spot many times over the summer. It was where I learned that her mama took a special interest in making sure the plants on the front porch were well watered. By the time we got to the end of July, I got to where I’d tell Corrina to go ahead and roll down the passenger-side window so we’d be ready when those flowers needed watering. She’d laugh as if her mama wouldn’t do it this time, but about the time I’d say it the front door would swing open.

After a few of those occasions, I’d start beating Mrs. McClain to the punch and holler out, “Mrs. McClain, it sure is a pretty evenin’, isn’t it?” Or, “Mrs. McClain, those flowers sure are lookin’ good.”

Mrs. McClain had a good sense of humor, and she would catch my teasing and would snap back in an accent sweeter than Grandma’s apple pie, “I always told Cori Belle I wouldn’t let her go out with somebody who didn’t know his flowers.”

It became a thing for us during the summer, and Mrs. McClain and I would kind of have a contest as to which one of us would speak first. When she went back inside, Corrina breathed a sigh of relief because she had never known what either of us would say. She was mainly glad that her mama trusted me just as she did.

“I didn’t finish tellin’ you why those bees wouldn’t sting Daddy,” I said as we watched her mama baby her plants. “You see, bees are a lot like human beings. They get up early in the mornin’, get dressed – well, they don’t get dressed because they’re already dressed,” I corrected myself. Corrina smiled and moved a little closer, her way of teasing me into thinking she was buying the story the hook, the line, and the sinker.

“But they do get up early in the mornin’, and some of ‘em go to work, and some of ‘em head off to school – They all make B’s in school,” I said with a laugh, “I jus’ thought of that. And some even go to the mall and shop. Because they’re so busy, you see, they don’t have time to worry about somebody reachin’ in to steal the honey, unless the person is suspect. You know when somebody isn’t actin’ all on the up and up, and that sends an alert through the whole beehive, the school’s fire alarms go off, the emergency alert system engages on the TV and all those kinds of things, and every last bee that can head out to take care of that threat. But when my daddy comes, why, it’s like the kindergarteners who are takin’ their daily nap, they don’t even budge, and the whole village ...”

“And that’s why they didn’t sting your daddy,” Corrina interrupted, sensing I didn’t know how to end the story.

Then Corrina scooted really close to me, glancing to watch her mama finish up watering her flowers, and she said, “Pup, I’m a little partial to your storytelling, and that crazy imagination,” she added with a smile. “Every time you drive off in our little red Nova, I can’t help but think how amazing you are, considering what all you’re going through.”

Corrina paused. Sometimes, her heart seemed to fill to the brim and bring her words to an abrupt stop. She gathered herself, offering an apologetic smile, then added, “It’s as if you go out and rob the beehives every day of your life.”

“Maybe not in a short-sleeved shirt,” I said.

“Oh, no, Billy Ray, most definitely in a short-sleeved shirt, like your daddy.”

Coach Steven Bowen, a long-time Red Oak teacher and coach, now enjoys his time as a writer and preacher of the gospel. And, after a ten-year hiatus, he’s also returned to work with students at Ferris High School as well.

In addition to his evangelistic travels, he works and writes for the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl Road and Ovilla. Their worship times are 10 a.m. Sundays and 7:30 pm. Wednesdays. Email coachbowen1984@gmail.com or call or text (972) 824-5197.