2007 Essay Contest Second Place winner

MEMORIES

Submitted by Helen Atkins Downs of Hope

My brother, Kennie, and I lived in a small rural community until we started to school. When I was in second grade, my daddy built us a house within walking distance of the school. Since my brother was older (17 months), he was my protector. He did a good job of it, although we did have our disagreements from time to time as most siblings do. The fact is, I had a terrible temper—and he could make me so angry that I would lash out at him with any object I could get my hands on. I felt I had to do that, because I knew he could beat the socks off me.

In the community where we lived was a one-room church. One Sunday a Baptist preacher would hold services, and the next Sunday a Methodist preacher would hold services. It really didn’t make any difference, because everyone in the community attended services. On Wednesday evenings, we attended Prayer Meeting.

There is one Wednesday that I have never forgotten and never shall. Kennie was teasing me, made me mad, and I struck him hard on the head with a little tin stove rake. (I know that everyone who has had a wood-burning stove knows what that is.) His head was instantly covered with blood. He was screaming and I was scared. Mama couldn’t punish me because she was too busy trying to stop the bleeding on my brother’s head. As she applied pressure to the gash, she kept reminding me that, “just wait until your Daddy gets home.” That really scared me because Daddy had never whipped me. I took refuge behind a large trunk in the bedroom and was not about to come out.

Finally, Daddy got home, but I would not budge. Mama acalled and called to get me to show myself, but I felt safe where I was. Mama would say, “Come on so we can get ready for Prayer Meeting.” I still wouldn’t relent. Finally, she yelled, “If you will come out, I won’t tell your Daddy.” That did it—I came out and eventually we got ready and went to Prayer Meeting.

I don’t know how it happened that my brother sat on the pew in front of me. God must have arranged it. All through the hymns, I had to see that ugly gash I had put in Kennie’s head. I was already feeling terrible when the preacher stood up and started the sermon. His subject, ”Am I my brother’s keeper?” That brought bitter tears to fall from my eyes as I sank farther down in my pew. I felt that the preacher and everyone in the church knew what a terrible thing I had done.
Do you see why I can never forget that? Although I was not physically punished, that night at church I was convicted of my crime. It felt worse than if I had been spanked. My brother lives not far from me today. He doesn’t remember most of the things that I do, thank goodness. My mama and daddy have been gone for years, and Kennie and I are very close.