Can you tell the little boy pictured was a hand full? Here he had every intention on clocking his sister with that rake. I can’t tell you how many whoopin’s that little boy got. Of course forty years ago whoopin’s was just one of the means my mother used to discipline us. She was born and raised in Smackover Arkansas, good luck finding that on a map. Her parenting style was hardly conventional. She was old school. Her belief, “spare the rod, spoil the child.” My story titled “House fires”, will show you just some of the mischief that little boy would get into.
Our family consists of two girls and two boys in that order. During our childhood, the girls shared a room, as did the boys.
When you’re young, one house fire can be a traumatic event to live through, so imagine trying to cope with three, and of those, two occurred in the same day.
My youngest brother Mokey, which was his nickname, pronounced Mo-key, at the young age of four or five, developed a curiosity for fire.
One day Mokey decided he would play with some matches in my bed. He was fascinated with striking the match and watching it burn down until the flame almost touched his fingers. He did this several times until one match burned down so far his little fingers felt the heat. He quickly dropped the match onto my bed. What he had not expected was the flame had caught the covers on fire. In a state of panic he ran and got a broom, a straw broom of all things and began to beat at the flames. Well much to his surprise, rather than the broom putting out the fire, it caught fire.
My mom called the fire department. They came, put the fire out and had us leave the windows open, to let the house air out.
Remember that straw broom? Well it turns out Mokey threw the broom in the attic, so it was just a matter of time before the fire department was back, only this time they were putting out the whole upstairs.
This was a very trying day and in the end, my mom was just glad that everyone was okay. The words my mom spoke to Mokey must have put the fear of God in him because he decided to take a break from playing with matches. Knowing my mom she probably told him she would beat him within an inch of his life if she caught him with any more matches.
A year goes by and now we have moved into a new house. Mom was gone and I was babysitting. Mokey was alone in the living room. Maybe he was bored, I don’t know, but at that moment he decided to play with matches again. This time he dropped the match in front of the sofa. He tried to blow the match out, but it blew under the sofa.
After he came and got us, we saw that the sofa was on fire. Instead of calling the fire department, we thought we could put out the fire. The four of us ran back and forth from the kitchen with bowls and cups throwing water on the sofa. We were just kids, what did we know. When I look back on it a pot full of water could have helped. After several trips, the fire just kept getting bigger and bigger. Once the curtains caught fire, we knew it would be a good idea to get out of there.
This time my mom was not as understanding. She knew if she didn’t take her discipline up a notch, Mokey just might burn all of us up. Now this all took place during a time when we could burn our own garbage.
Mom took Mokey in the back yard with a cigarette lighter and some newspaper. She wrapped him in newspaper, placed him in the garbage can, and asked him to stick his hands out. She held the flame from the cigarette lighter close to his fingers. She told him if she ever saw him with any matches, she would put him back in that garbage can and set his ass on fire. You may not agree with how my mom handled this situation but after that day, Mokey’s match playing days came to an end.
