The Poignant Years

Times of Fun and Feeling

Robinson

• Editore: Resource Publications
• Anno: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781498289474
• Argomento: Littérature
• Categoria: Critique littéraire

Here is Americana at its best--the WWII years. America is doggedly hanging on, awaiting the return of her heroes, knowing there will be parades for some and processions for others. The author, an accomplished rhetoric instructor, lived these poignant years and is in early sync with the reader through interesting insights into each poem. He takes the reader on a heartfelt, personal tour of small-town America, using real people coupled with poetic imagination.The Poignant Years is historically accurate, but, more importantly, it reveals what lies beneath major historical events. This is where people live--where they laugh and cry, where they struggle and sympathize, where they huddle together for warmth when fear is rife.For small town America, it was a slower time--a time of deep relationships where the ritual of life was sharing. It was a time of paucity--dealing with harsh winters in clapboard houses, but a time of morality when locks were not needed for security.Hear the voices of the school children who fear Hitler's bomb; laugh at the awkward expressions of the newly pubescent boy, and empathize with the tender murmurings of the Gold Star Mother. These are the voices of the admirable Americans who could only "stand and wait."

Section 1

Through the Eyes of a Child

Insights into “Why?—1943”

Convoys of soldiers roared down the narrow highway in front of the elementary school. Tanks followed on massive trailers and well-secured bombs on flatbeds.

The soldiers were headed to battlefields unknown and the munitions to the supply line on the sea coast of south Texas.

An adult could understand the life and death struggle of the war and the one hundred flag-draped caskets that had already come home to our small Oklahoma county.

But to a second grader, the trappings of war and the deep emotions that tinctured daily life added up to one big question, “Why?”

Through the Eyes of a Child

Why?—1943

“Second Grade, listen to me—stay on the curb—do not step into the street, understand? The convoy is coming.”

“Teacher, can I wave our little flag? Jasper did it last week and it’s my turn.”

“My name is Mrs. Miller and yes you may wave the little flag. I wish we all had one to wave.”

“Teacher—Mizz Miller,—I got some questions.”

“Not now Skippy, I can’t hear you well; we’ll talk about it after the convoy.”

“OK, Mizz Miller.”—

“Teacher—why are the soldiers always nervous and smokin’—but they always smile and wave?”

“They’ve come many, many miles, Skippy.”

“Teacher, why was the Kool-Aid bitter at Mary’s birthday party? It was red but it was bitter. Her mom said, ‘Wait till next year when the war’s over—It’ll be sweet I guarantee you.’”

“Sugar is rationed.”

“What’s rationed?”

“You can’t have everything you want.”

“Mizz Miller, why do we have bomb drills and hide under our desk with our notebook on our heads? Is Hitler going to drop a bomb on us? That scares me.”

“He doesn’t even have a bomb, Skippy.”

“You sure, teacher,—that scares me.”

“Mizz Miller, why do people get real quiet when they talk about Mizz Vest?”

“Mrs. Vest is a Gold Star Mother.”

“What’s a Gold Star Mother?”

“It is a mother who has lost a son or daughter in the war.”

“Teacher, what does loose lips sink ships mean?”

“It means don’t tell secrets, Skippy.”

“Mizz Miller—why does that old man who prays at church always start cryin’ when he gets to the end and prays about the soldiers?”

“All of us need to pray—and pray hard.”

“What does bombs away over Tokyo mean?”

“Tomorrow—Skippy—wait till tomorrow, please!”

Insights into “Granddaddy Lamb”

He was the granddaddy of all granddaddies. Suckled in the Civil War, he was already an old man when he suffered through the Great Depression of ’29.

He sat on his porch in a white, homemade wooden chair fluffed with pillows most of the day, except when he ventured out into his garden late in the afternoon. His shiny white beard was half as long as Santa Claus’ and his mustache resembled his contemporary’s, Mark Twain.

His voice was muffled at 95, but his hand was always ready to wave at passersby, especially if you were a kid on a bike. In fact, most kids had been instructed to “be sure to wave at Granddaddy Lamb.”

Granddaddy lived with his daughter who took in ironing and with his special granddaughter, Nellie Rose, who would never be able to leave their neat, two-bedroom house.

Through the Eyes of a Child

Granddaddy Lamb

It was a good summer day and Skippy looked for his buddies Jacky and Jasper. Jacky was helping his dad mow the lawn, but Jasper was just sitting on his bike, doing nothing.

“Hey Jasper—want to go to the store and get a sodie pop? Grandma said we couldn’t afford one ever’ day, but today is sodie pop day.”

“Yeah, I got a nickel—let’s go. Want to walk or ride bikes?”

“Let’s walk. It’s always fun to talk to Granddaddy Lamb. He is always laughin’ under his big beard, even though you can’t see it. Him and Nellie are always sittin’ on the porch.”

“Well, I can’t understand him too good. He’s awful old.”

“I can because when I mow his lawn he follows me around and talks to me all day. But it’s a good job—they pay $1.50 and Nellie cooks peanut butter cookies and gives you all you want. —There they are, just like I told you, him and Nellie on the porch, and there’s Granddaddy already wavin’ at us.”

“Whir go?”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Where are you goin’?’—Goin’ to get a sodie pop Granddaddy.”

“Brang me one.”

“I understood him that time.”

“Got Grr friend?”

“No, Granddaddy—we are not old enough to have girlfriends.”

“Ye got wrts?”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘You got warts?’”

“What difference does it make if you’ve got warts?”

“Jasper, I ain’t kiddin’ you—if you got warts he can take ’em off. He took mine off.”

“How does he take ’em off—cut ’em with a knife or somethin’?”

“No knife, he just mashes on ’em real hard and then tells you to go bury a dirty dish rag and forget about ’em. Look at my arm—see any warts?”

“I don’t believe it but I do believe he’d make a good Santa Claus with that big beard, if he could just talk good. Say Merry Christmas and Ho, Ho, Ho, clear.”

“You’re right, Jasper,—Hey let’s get our Pepsis and go to your house and pump up our tires and go spin out in the sand on 10th Street.”

“Yeah, le...