FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 77

Mama was waiting patiently when she heard the screen door slam behind us. I was nervous about Mama and Corrina’s conversation that night after we had talked about some of Daddy’s struggles earlier. But when I came back into the room after a shower and getting dressed and the usual English Leather, I was glad to see that Mama was in good spirits and was in the process of telling her about how Daddy and she got married, and started a family, and how things were good.

When I walked in, Mama was saying, “Then this one came along,” she said, pointing at me. “He’s almost four years younger than Pistol, so we had no idea in the world where he came from. But he ended up being a very early Christmas present, born in August. Maybe that’s why we all loved Christmas so much, because we considered Billy Ray being our Christmas of 1956.

“Zeke loved his baby boy. He really spoiled him too much, wouldn’t let him do anything for himself. He would tell him when he needed to go to the bathroom, when he needed to eat, when he needed to take a nap.”

Mama paused, then laughed and said, “I hope Billy Ray can overcome all that attention. He never lacked it, that’s for sure.”

Corrina looked at me, and said to Mama, “No, he still gets plenty of attention, Miss Louise. He’s awfully spoiled. I even spoil him myself. I don’t know if it’ll ever end.”

They both laughed at that, and I jumped in.

“You two know I’m sittin’ right here, don’t you?” I said.

Mama and Corrina just looked at each other, grinned, and continued to pretend I wasn’t even there.

“One thing about Zion that was so special was his love for children, and that sure came out when we started raising Billy Ray. Those were the best years we ever had.

“All the kids were young – Buella Mae was eight at the time, and Cliff and Pistol were four and five, and Zion didn’t have any health issues.

“You know he was run over by a wagon when he was a young boy, probably 10 or 11, and it did damage to his stomach that always bothered him. As he got older, it started bothering him more and more, and eventually, he had to start taking medication to help with the pain.

“It didn’t start getting bad until Billy Ray was six or seven, and it seemed to escalate from there, one thing leading to another. He got hooked on the drugs, and all of that really interfered with his thinking.

“I could always tell when he was going downhill. I would call the doctor, but adding another drug to the problem never helped. Eventually we had to take him to Milledgeville to try to find some help.”

“Milledgeville?” Corrina said.

Mama paused, and I could see a regretful look on her face.

“Yes, that’s the Georgia state mental hospital. Corrina, I hated taking him there. Leaving the love of my life in that place was almost more than I could bear. He would have to be there two or three months at a time. I would go up to see him when I could. We would talk about how we met and how much we loved each other; and after a while I would have to leave and he would beg me to take him home.

“That was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I knew I couldn’t take him home, because he wasn’t well. It was the only time I ever saw him cry, and I never forgave myself for leaving him, even though I had to.

“I promised to stay with him in sickness or in health, and I was going to do that, no matter what. But leaving him made me feel I was betraying him.

“Sometimes when I had to leave, Dr. Hammonds would come out to help. He’d sit down with us, and he’d start telling me how much good Zeke did for the other patients. ‘He is just like having another nurse in the place,’ he’d say, ‘he just has a knack for helping people. Miss Louise, I want you to know that Zion is a good man, has a good heart, and you can be very proud of him.’

“Then he’d turn to your daddy,” Mama said, turning to talk to me, “and he’d tell him that he’d be going home soon, just be patient,” and Zeke would finally agree, but never without tears filling every part of his sweet blue eyes.

“Billy Ray got his eyes, I see a lot of Zion in your Pup,” she said, smiling. “I would hug him as tight as I could and cry my eyes out. He was so gentle, even though he was hurting, and I’d eventually have to let go of him and walk away. I’d try not to look back, but I couldn’t help myself, and I could see him standing by the window watching me all the way to the car. I knew he had those loving tears rolling down his face.

“But it wouldn’t be long before he’d be able to come home. We tried to make sure he always made it home for Christmas.

“Christmas was his favorite time. I would have to make him wait until Thanksgiving to go cut down a tree out on the old Bowen place. Nobody lived out there by that time, and as soon as we had our turkey and dressing, always with cranberry sauce – Billy Ray insists on that, too, every Thanksgiving – Zeke would grab one or two of the boys and head out to go cut down a tree.

“He always took Billy Ray, because Billy Ray never liked getting too far away from his daddy, but he’d take one of the others, too. Thanksgiving night would be our family night, and we’d get that tree set up here in the living room and get the lights hung.”

Mama pointed to the northeast corner of the house.

“Because he was so talented he could do just about anything he wanted to do. We couldn’t buy much, but our children didn’t need much, and we bought them everything we could. With Zeke’s check that he got every month, and my check from the cotton mill, we did okay. We never figured out how, but we did.”

Mama paused and thought, wistfully. I could see her mind going back with a great deal of satisfaction to those better times.

SANTA CLAUS continues next week

Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently spent two years teaching and coaching at Ferris. He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) served many years with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, but now spend time evangelizing in several states in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the writing of the ongoing novel/memoir here in the Press. Call or text (972) 824-5197, or email coachbowen1984@gmail.com, or see frontporchgospel.com.