Yesterday I finished reading a book that I had purchased from a public library's Book Sale Bin. I purchased the book because of the title and the picture, the title of the book is "
LeRoy and The Old Man" by W.E. Butterworth and the picture is of a young black male and an older black man. I read the synopsis on the back of the book and was hooked. I began this book Friday night and finished it Sunday morning.
My feeling as I began to read the book was instant affection for "The Old Man." He reminded me of a time and place that I wish we could go back to while keeping most modern technologies. He reminded me of my grandfather, not the grandfather of my adulthood, but the one of my youth. The one that could do no wrong could slay every dragon and demon imaginable with one mighty blow.
This was the same Granddaddy, that when he died at his funereal I got up and spoke about him, and when I mentioned a little song he used to sing as he bounced me on his knee, my sisters and cousins, all began to recite the same song, (“Granddaddy, granddaddy where you been, round the world and back again.”) because he did it with us all. I can remember it just as plain as if it happened yesterday, I had to have been about four or five (maybe younger) and he lived in the wooden house on the hill.
Oh what a glorious time we had, my cousins and my sisters and I, as we jumped and played in the big ditch in front of his house. I don't know why we weren't bitten by snakes, because we never looked, we just jumped and played. I still see my mother and her sisters sitting watching us having the time of our lives in that same old ditch. I thought that this ditch was as deep as the deepest ravine, but now looking back, it wasn't deep at all, only in the imagination of children. Oh what a carefree time!
Back then, life was simple and neighbors were friends and looked out for each other and their children. During this time, the Village did raise the child. And in this book it is so evident what time has forgotten. LeRoy's grandfather is a man of honor. He works hard and is respected by everyone. What LeRoy finds amazing (one of many things actually) is that his grandfather is respected by a white sheriff and an Austrian chef in a small Mississippi town. LeRoy has left Chicago because he is a witness to a mugging that turns into murder. His mother sends him to the grandfather he has never meet in a small Mississippi town not far from New Orleans.
Imagine LeRoy's surprise when he finds that he actually likes the life he makes with his grandfather, and see how he treats the father that abandoned him and his mother when he comes to help him. The lessons LeRoy learns in this book are inspiring, as I read this book, I was thinking of ways to incorporate it in my "Back to the Village" movement.
I feel sorry for the children today who are forced to grow up too soon without the carefree days of years gone by. Will they have memories of lazy days spent just watching grasshoppers or eating sour grass, drinking nectar from honeysuckles or going from house to house asking to pick plums from neighbors trees? No! I don't think so, these days are lost. We really need to
"Return to the Village!"
