I remember how he looked, but I hadn’t given much thought to how he sounded.
Hearing an old song set off the memory of my dad’s voice singing, “I don’t want to walk without you.”
I thought about others to see if I could recall how they sounded.
Mother was rarely at a loss for words. Her voice is the one I hear most often; sometimes angry, sometimes laughing, but never forgotten. (I’ve since discovered, that Mothers occupy a cool spot in Hell while Fathers automatically receive ” a get out of jail free” pass.)
The voice I hear from her is, “I guess they did the best they knew how to do.” At the time, I wanted sympathy for some slight I suffered. Funny thing is, this rationale never seemed to present itself at the scene of some of my petty crimes.
Perhaps I still require a reminder.
In her quiet southern voice, my grandmother told me, “You’ll never do that again will you dahlin”, when hearing about my misbehavior of the day/week, depending on my level of activity. Those few words shamed me into good behavior– for a while. She was the majority of one, who believed I was perfect.
I was eight and our neighbor Maggie was my dearest friend in the entire world. Her mother had been a slave and Maggie a domestic until she was too old to work. Her deep-throated laughter as I read aloud letters to her from her daughter made me giggle.
What a gift to be the beneficiary of these voices from my past.
At the same time, I am trying to be mindful of the legacy of my voice.
Whatever it is, I hope someone remembers the caveat, “I guess she did the best she knew how to do.”
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.