Greetings and thanks from the depths of my heart for reading my columns.
Now they are where they are safest, in the precious pages of The Enterprise-Tocsin and in the hearts and minds of those who read them.
Sometimes the most divinely of deeds are hidden in plain sight.
It’s a wonderful Wednesday afternoon, March 8, 2023, and while coming out of the Catchings Double Quick eating two microwaved Little Debbie’s “Sticky Buns,” I noticed a man, a very independent legless amputee in a wheelchair, struggling to get his chair out of a trench in the hospital parking lot.
While trying to get from the South Sunflower County Hospital parking lot to Double Quick via his wheelchair was very difficult, he struggled while holding and hugging a light pole seeming like he was going to turn the wheelchair over causing substantial damage to both him and the chair.
That’s when I yelled “Hold on I got you!”
After finishing eating the “Sticky Buns,” I mentally transformed into the suntanned Superman by poking my chest out, putting on my imaginative cape of confidence, and rolling up my sleeves revealing “ashy elbows” caused by lack of lotion or moisturizer.
I immediately rolled my sleeves back down and went in for the rescue. Heavier than I thought he was, I received strength from the Heavens, him holding my waist, and I was able to pull this huge hunk of humanity’s wheelchair out and save the day.
While walking away feeling like a four-hour workout session with the “All Mighty” Mario Watkins at the Snap Fitness Center in Indianola, I thought about the parallels between me and Superman.
We both write for the local newspaper and help people with the best of our abilities.
Yes, sometimes the most miraculous miracles and divinely of deeds are hidden in plain sight and this is another episodic episode of the chronicles of the suntanned Superman, a good-looking good guy, born on the dawn of a breaking moon and destined to do something divinely delightful.
Before Superman, Jacques Cousteau
It’s the late 1970s and three small children are home alone after coming from school waiting for their mother to come home from work.
They are my brother Kirk (11 years old), my sister Regina (10 years old) and me, age 8 going on 15 years old. Kids home alone with vivid imaginations can be wonderous if properly harnessed.
However, this is not the case in this column.
My brother and I decided to pretend and play the late great French naval explorer Jacques Cousteau doing an aquatic underwater exploration under our sister Regina’s large king-size bed.
However, Jacques Cousteau had an undersea flashlight and we couldn’t find one in the house, so we, without thought or hesitation, decided to use a lit candle.
After a few imaginative swim-laps under the bed smoke permeated the entire room. After receiving a hunch from Heaven, our uncle, legendary lawman and Lewis Grocery truck driver Otis Dezell, affectionately known as “Bo,” came to our rescue, after driving and parking his police cruiser, rushing in the house, grabbing both the large mattress and box spring and single-handedly taking them out of the house, saving most of the day.
Regina was saved, but for us two little boys — our nightmare was just beginning.
Our mother made it home within minutes and went for the heavy clothing iron extension cord and beat Kirk without mercy.
Then she turned her attention to me and beat the brakes off of me bigtime.
Can you imagine the late great Dr. Guy Robinson with his thick unibrow or Dr. Walter Rose taking his glasses off telling my mother “Marva your child is healthy, but he has no brakes.”
Well now you all know why I walk 20 miles a day. Unlike everybody else I don’t have any brakes.
