on the ground?” I was caught. And it was not a happy catching. I was marched into the house. My father got his leather belt, and I was ordered into the back bedroom. My father and I had quite a contest. He was trying to whip me, but I was dancing and jumping from side to side trying to avoid his lashes. He finally wore me out, and I had to lie down and take it. It was soon over. Afterwards, the discussion began, “This hurt us more than it hurt you.” I KNEW BETTER! This was silliness. I hadn’t heard anything so stupid in my life, and I wondered for days, “Isn’t there a better way?” “There has to be a better way.” No one talked about it. Why didn’t someone say, “Let’s work this out together”? It made no sense. Candy bars never tasted good again.
I do believe my mother began to think that I was really trouble and that I was going to wreck the whole family. It was easy for her to get nervous and upset. I have no idea what on earth ticked her off, but out of the blue, she decided I should be sent to jail. The jailhouse was on the opposite hill. So, in a fit of rage, she tells me she is calling the jailhouse to have someone come and pick me up. I can still hear myself agonizing, fighting with her, and trying to grab the phone away from her clenched fists. I decided I had better have a quick talk with Jesus, so I yelled, “Jesus, help!” That’s all I remember. A little later, as I was taking an afternoon nap, the song “Jesus Loves Me This I Know” came floating through my mind. I could feel no other love but the love of Jesus. I was glad that I had invited Jesus into my heart, because I needed him. It never occurred to me to doubt whether my heart was spacious enough to accommodate a person like Jesus. It seemed to me a pretty grand thing to have Jesus living in my heart.
I had enjoyed so many good and beautiful things in my life, I figured I must observe and witness some ugly ones. Doing so awakened me and exposed me to things I didn’t quite understand. Pondering over these matters, I found them difficult to comprehend.
After first grade, there were two grades in each classroom. In fourth grade, musical instruments were introduced. I had already started piano lessons before entering school, and I was doing well. I tried to mimic the church pianist, who could play all the runs and fly his fingers up and down the keyboard. I thought, “Someday, that will be me.” My mother played the accordion, so I thought that I would probably continue in her footsteps; but the instrumental music teacher and other advisers thought that the accordion was too big for me. I appreciated their insight. I was introduced to the cornet, a brass instrument very similar to the trumpet but distinguished by its conical bore, compact shape, and mellower tone quality. The cornet became my musical instrument to study for the band. I believe everyone noted a lot of “hot wind” blowing around that could be put to good use.
My mother’s sister Barbara married her sweetheart, Max Hamilton.
The three cousins, Gloria, Margie, and I, participated in the wedding. I sang “I Love You Truly.”
Max sang to his bride as she came down the aisle. It was very special.
The only sad thing about this gloriously happy day was that my grandparents refused to accept this union and did not attend the ceremony. What a blow! This introduced me to the word “acceptance,” and I began my search for its meaning. Were they not willing to bring Max into the family? Was he not satisfactory or good enough? What was the problem? My aunt Barbara was a mature adult. She traveled all over spreading the message of Jesus, and she supported herself. Thinking about “acceptance,” when I asked Jesus to come into my heart, it never occurred to me that he might take one look inside and say, “Sorry, this isn’t quite what I had in mind. This is not the kind of place I want to live.” Both Max and Barbara were involved in church work, and they made an ideal couple. They had the same goals and ideals in doing God’s work. They were a sensational musical team. My mother used Aunt Barbara as an example for me to aspire to. Everything about Aunt Barbara—her voice, her musical capabilities, her storytelling, her sweetness—was my mother’s ideal for me. Aunt Barbara was great, but my mother didn’t look at me and encourage me to be myself and the best me I could be. She never did. I didn’t listen and missed my opportunity. I also learned that parents, the church, the community, and a host of others like having control; and when you don’t conform to them, they can pout, retreat, ignore, and withdraw. Where is the love? I was so happy and proud that my aunt Barbara stood her ground, married the love of her life, and continued her calling.
Uncle Max and Aunt Barbara traveled and shared God’s message through song. They created three beautiful children.
The family formed a sensational musical group for sharing God’s message. They retired as a group when Phil, the oldest, entered high school; Steve, the middle child, entered junior high; and Susan, the youngest, entered first grade. They settled down on Grandfather Hine’s farmland and built a new life. Max worked as a postman in Indianapolis, the children were enrolled in school, and Max and Barbara continued performing in churches all over the area.
Back to English and my childhood, there was a movie theatre in town. My church didn’t believe in going to the movies, so I didn’t give the theatre much thought until “Black Beauty” was showing, and my teacher decided our class would attend. For this field trip, you were not allowed to go without permission from your parents. “Black Beauty” was the story of a widower trying to raise his motherless daughter, Anne. He presents her with a colt, Black Beauty, with the hope that by learning to discipline the horse, she may learn to discipline herself. I thought perhaps I could learn something from this, but I was unable to attend. It was ridiculous to read a book but not be able to see it in pictures. My class walked from the school to the theatre, and that was okay. Then, the class stopped and entered the theatre, and I waved goodbye and walked home alone. Yes, I was right. I was different. I did not fit into this group.
The church’s activities were gathering places for the townspeople, farmers, and landowners in the surrounding area. One of the most powerful families was Seth Denbo’s. Mr. Denbo owned the lumberyard and the car dealership across the highway from our house. He had a huge hatchery and breeding farm for producing quality purebred poultry and eggs. He farmed crops of all kinds. Late one afternoon, there was a crackle in the air followed by the sounds of police sirens and a racing fire engine. All those noises made me want to hide. I was frightened by the sounds and the smell; and when I looked out the window, what I saw was horrifying. The lumberyard was ablaze. It was terrifying to realize the possibility of a spark causing more fires. Glued to the window, I could see sparks falling on our lawn. The smoke, the smell, and the sight of it all were suffocating. Then I noticed the full moon. I was fascinated by the moon, my never constant yet always faithful friend, hovering over me and chasing away my fear. Sleep would not come. I was consumed. Finally, weary beyond words after hours of being stuck to the windowpane, I looked up at the moon, spoke to Jesus, and fell asleep.
Seth Denbo was a strong supporter of the church, a powerhouse in the community, and a major force in state politics. He was a conservative Republican, and he fought hard for southern Indiana’s needs, issues, and concerns. He lobbied in Indianapolis for the people living south of Highway 40. He was a guiding light for those who hated Indianapolis’s running of the GOP. It was felt by many that Indianapolis favored the northern part of the state. Even Grandmother Hine favored northern Indiana. She lived only a few miles north of Highway 40, but still her allegiance was there. Of course, her influence did not help my mother, who was constantly trying to please her own mother while living in the south. Suddenly, Seth Denbo quit the church. Mr. Denbo and my father had been
