June
“Okay, son, what’ll it be, breakfast or lunch?” The words spoken by Policeman Condos were kind and meaningful to ten-year-old June. It was eleven a.m. and the boy hadn’t eaten for eighteen hours. Already, Mike, the diner proprietor, was mixing a cup of warm milk with strawberry flavored powder which he knew would sit well in a hungry boy’s stomach. June recalled as he stirred the granules that his six-year-old twin sisters referred to it as ‘pink cocoa.’
Yes, it did taste delicious and that was a little strange because he considered ‘pink cocoa’ a sissy drink. In fact, it was the thought of being a sissy that had gotten him into all the difficulty in the first place. It was the last week of school and his room was going on a hike into the nearby hills. June had anticipated the fun he and his friends would have. And then it happened: his teacher, Miss Bruce, always friendly and understanding, was taken ill and a substitute would replace her for the remaining few days. Even at first glance, one could tell that old bespectacled Mrs. Beal would be a definite drawback on a hike. But here she was, going down the roll picking leaders for groups.
“June Asbury,” she read without looking up. “You will take your group of girls around the point to Crow Spring.” Quiet titters were heard. “John Bart, you and the boys will climb the hill and come down the shale slide to the spring.” When the soft giggling continued, Mrs. Beal inquired and was told that June was a boy. Although she quickly corrected her mistake the students didn’t let it drop there. At recess they teased June for being “one of the girls” until he was more angry and distressed than he had ever been in his life. His resentment was growing to include his parents who were the cause of this disgrace for calling him June.
After supper, he went to his room intending to work on his rock collection, but was uninterested. Still smarting from embarrassment, he put a few clothes into his bandana and decided to leave, have a hike of his own, and maybe never return to his home town.
He was chilled when Officer Condos, one of a search party, had rescued him, but spending a night alone on a ledge unable to get either back up the mountain or down had given him a lot of time to think of the school situation. He would have laughed, too.
However, he was relieved with the knowledge disclosed by Sgt. Condos that his parents had decided it was time he should be called by his given name, George Edward Asbury, even though it had seemed to them such a clever idea to call him June, both for his birth month and Junior after his father. It was also time he answered Officer Condos. “Would it be all right if I had some ham and eggs and a piece of that lemon pie?”
An Unfinished Story
“Come back here, you damn dog!” The words were shouted by Dad B. standing barefoot in the doorway with only his wool logger breeches on. There was no malice or hate in his words, though they sounded bad. The sight before him was funny and unbelievable. Around the house bolted a young doe deer. Right on its heels was Boots, the mongrel dog. Making a wild dive for Boots was Mother B. trying to catch the dog yet stay out of the path of the deer.
It had all started when 8 year old Alan excitedly shouted, “Mother! Come see the deer! It looks like it’s caught in the fence.” He came two steps at a time downstairs one early morning in January. It was a bleak, crisp and cold morning in Wyoming. The thermometer had dipped to 20 below zero.
Slowly and steadily Alan’s brother, Ron, made his way to free the stranded doe. Pushing a wire down and holding the other up, he carefully released the frightened animal, which, instead of going up the nearby hill, started for the house on a slow trot. It was just beautiful with those big ears cocked forward and the graceful legs hesitantly jumping through the deep snow.
Just about the time it got to the trail the dog saw it, too, and started for it. Ron yelled but Boots wouldn’t mind. He wasn’t going to be denied that chase when his prey was so close. The cabin being so close to the mountain, you’d naturally think the deer would climb up away from human smell, but around the house it sprung, jumping ten or twelve feet at a time. That doe went around the house three times, the dog right behind it and Mother B. trying to grab the dog every time it passed. The kids had jumped out of bed and with noses pressed against the windows were watching the excitement.
Why I Am Studying Writing
Thoughts of why I’m studying writing have been crowded out constantly by thoughts of doubt and questionable talent; but then I’m reminded of what someone said, that “A man is no greater than his thoughts, decisions, and faith.” Could this also apply to a fifty-three-year old grandmother?
When in high school, my favorite subject was English, especially literature, and for several years I read at least three books a week. Then as I was married and my family was growing, I was unable to continue reading, except for children’s stories—of which I have a great store—and my reading was limited.
Now, with my family mostly grown I am again able to spend more time doing things I have been wanting to, such as studying, reading and writing. As the family has been growing up, we have had some choice experiences, both serious and comical. I can truly testify that with a family of eight there is ‘never a dull moment.’ I have often spoken of compiling these experiences in a book. Such a book would likely be interesting to the family written in any way, but someone with training should be able to write and hold the attention of other readers. I think I have some interesting ideas to impart to others and have wanted to learn how to express these things in writing so they would benefit from my observations and experiences.
Already in this course I have been told many times to write of things I know; so with this in mind and because of the encouragement of my family and friends, as well as Joe Morrow, Famous Writers representative, who called on me and went over my original test, insisting that according to my answers I did have definite possibilities, I was persuaded to enroll and so far, as I have read and studied the course, I’m very enthusiastic. Already I’ve been inspired with several ideas for writing later on in the course and I’ve had some enjoyable hours reading and analyzing the books I’ve read for home study.
I have written several talks to be presented in church meetings and have planned and presented road show acts and programs to be given in family reunions, Christmas programs, and PTA meetings. I have neglected to keep writing, however, because as I have observed, we usually do the things requiring attention now and don’t trouble ourselves about something we may never be called on to present.
I am gaining a greater insight into what might be my own possibilities as I contemplate the lessons ahead. I am reminded of what my six-year-old son lamented on the first day of school, that “I’m afraid I don’t know enough words.” As likely has been observed, I have a limited vocabulary. But I am willing to learn and study. Otherwise I never would have enrolled in such an ambitious course.
Why I Am Studying Writing Page 2
