Entries by Helen Person

“There are eight million stories in the naked city...” — epilogue, The Naked City, 1958

Southerners have a story for every situation. Teaching opportunities while refereeing kid battles. Passing time waiting in line at the grocery store. “Remember when” at a family get together. Whiling away the hours at the funeral home. Seeing whether — after 32 years — you still have the ability to perfectly time the delivery of a punch line so your brother will shoot milk through his nose at the dinner table .

We are taught the value of a good story before we’re knee-high to a grasshopper. Our mamas, grandmamas, aunts, great aunts, and best friend’s mama used stories to help us remember the life lessons that are just too painful to experience ourselves. With prayer, we’ll recall the outcome before putting ourselves in the same situation somewhere down the road. Reality being what it is, too many of us just cannot make it to our next birthday without doing something incredibly stupid that not only leads to our experiencing said a situation ourselves, but improving, embellishing and embroidering the story to epic proportions. [Full Story »] 

Most of us would like to think that when our days on this earth are completed, somebody will remember good things about us. My father was certainly no exception.

C.H., as we affectionately called him, was a most unique person. He was “the glass is three-quarters full,” an optimist tempered with a healthy dose of reality. Daddy had a joke or story for every situation and, typically, could make his point with humor. While he got a charge from anecdotes leaning to the naughty side, his was an equal opportunity sense of humor that sought to make a point by using anecdotes we would remember. Oftentimes, though, his jokes were simply told to have fun.

Daddy loved people. Having been a pharmacist for over 60 years and a lifelong Barrow County resident, he knew a lot of people. For the most part, people loved him, as well. Oh, I’m sure there were a few around that he’d rubbed the wrong way, but he had earned a widespread respect for his giving nature, his sincere caring for others, and his deep and abiding Christian faith. [Full Story »] 

The race is on, the claws are out, and the Presidential contenders have suited up. On every level, the emphasis is on economic recovery. In fact, there is such a strong emphasis on generating jobs and dollars that I fear every other issue facing our country has been shoved behind giant dollar signs. Believe it or not, there are other issues percolating beneath the surface that the very fabric of our nation is threatened.

We talk a lot in America today about diversity and inclusion. As we become more and more aware of the various ethnic groups that have settled within our borders, we see many proud demonstrations celebrating various heritages. America is a melting pot – always has been. With great zeal, we seek to define our individuality through our cultural, ethnic, religious or racial heritage. We forget that demanding to be seen as unique can work against us when we demand inclusion with the masses. [Full Story »] 

A few months back, Mr. Fix-It and I took a little tour of the eastern seaboard of these great United States. It was one of those working vacation things — a couple of vacation days tacked onto each end of a work event.

I used to love working vacations when I was in sales. When the togetherness got to be a bit much, there was always a customer I needed to go check on for an hour or so. I learned that from my daddy who spent many a tail end of a family hoo-ha going to the drug store to take care of something that just had to be done before morning.

Now that I reflect on it, he went on a lot of Saturday nights when the store wasn’t open again until Monday. But he HAD to get that paper work done on Saturday night. But I digress... [Full Story »] 

The decorations are nestled in their boxes in attic and basement. Leftover meals have been rehashed, casseroled and retired. The New Year has begun. It’s a year we pray will find prosperity making its way to our door. [Full Story »] 

We were on the way to yet another meeting when — out of nowhere — Mr. Fix-It said: “Wouldn’t it be great to go into Christmas with nothing to do but decorate, bake cookies and go to parties?”

It’s been years since I had that privilege. My daughter was a little girl and the temperatures had plummeted to below zero for several days the week before Christmas. We stayed indoors, played Christmas music, baked cookies, made candy, and watched the pile of gifts under the tree grow larger. We talked about the Christmas story — the real reason we celebrate Christmas — and prepared for the Christmas Eve services for which I would be singing in our choir.

It was a joyous time. Stephanie was only five years old bursting with the excitement of the season. We had fun. We celebrated the traditional anniversary of Christ’s birth and prepared for a new year filled with hope. [Full Story »] 

It’s a good thing when we decide to make friends with our childhood fears and phobias. They can cause us to miss out on some really good stuff.

If you know any kids — or ever were one — you know that little folks have a funny way of deciding for no particular reason they don’t like something. My oldest nephew had an aversion to people with anything on their heads. He didn’t like hats, caps, hoods, bonnets or hair curlers and not just on his head. He didn’t like them on anybody else’s head either. And if you were wearing any of them, he wouldn’t have anything to do with you until you had removed the offensive items. [Full Story »] 

Mr. Fix-It and I were with a group of folks recently when somebody made the comment:
“I don’t see what is the point of keeping a bunch of old stuff around. It’s all in the past anyway. Get rid of it. Put something new there. Besides — who cares?”

When my fingernails stopped curling, I cleared my throat and ventured into the arena:

“Do you have family photos from your childhood?” to which the speaker answered, “Of course.” [Full Story »] 

Sometimes it seems like at least 150 years since my high school graduation. When the 178 of us graduated in June of 1972, we were the largest graduating class up to that time.

Of course, when one factors in a few years of chicken wings, barbecue pork, cornbread, and chocolate cake, we may — literally — be the largest senior class bar none. But that’s a topic we’d just as soon not cover at all, much less right now. So we’ll just leave it there, shall we?

During our junior year, Glenwood and Winder-Barrow High Schools were consolidated. The sad part of the move was that nobody was happy about it: neither group of students wanted to give up their identity. For the kids over at Glenwood, they lost their building, their mascot, their alma mater — everything. It was a difficult transition for everyone involved. But the Supreme Court didn’t give us any choice in the matter. [Full Story »]