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Learning to say, “Yessir” Our family had just returned home from church. My three brothers and I, along with our father, were seated and talking on the spacious front porch of our farmhouse while Mother and the girls prepared our Sunday dinner. Mom yelled from the kitchen door for Dad to send one of the boys to the well to draw a bucket of fresh water for dinner. Dad ordered me to go, since I was one of the younger ones. “I got the last one,” I protested, “It’s somebody else’s turn.” Dad said, “But I told you to go.” I knew he meant business, so I went. The well was 100 yards away. I returned with the water and took it to the kitchen, then returned to my place on the porch with the other boys. “That’s the last bucket I’ll get today,” I grumbled. “Maybe not,” said Dad, “It may be necessary for you to get the next one, too.” “We’ll see about that,” I muttered, pushing my luck. “Yes, we’ll see,” he snapped. “Go pour out the other one and bring another.” I carried 13 buckets of water before I stopped saying, “That’s the last one.” I was a little slow learning that fathers didn’t lose arguments with their sons in those days. Howard E. Alley |
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