Return to Innocence by Frazier G. M

Author:Frazier, G. M. [Frazier, G. M.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery & Crime
Publisher: G. M. Frazier
Published: 2011-07-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Uncle Ben

We are finally headed west on Interstate 26. We will take I-95 north in another twenty miles and then it’s pretty much a straight shot to Virginia.

Suzanne, Benjamin, and I are in my Impala SS. Jim and Joyce, Nick and Peter are in Jim’s Bentley Continental R. Peter told me this morning that Nick said that car cost almost four-hundred thousand dollars. I can’t believe anyone would pay that much for a car. But, I guess if Jim can lay down that kind of cash on a car, he really didn’t have any problem paying off my house and giving me fifty grand to hold me over. Over until...what? I try not to think about what’s facing me when we get back. I’m hoping this trip home to Virginia will help me do just that.

I grew up in Southampton County, Virginia on land that had been in the Erskine family from colonial days. My father, Philip Michael Erskine, was the pastor of the only Presbyterian church in that part of the county. It was a small church and his salary from it was small. The farm was our primary source of income. Dad farmed during the week with his father and preached on Sunday. Some of our seven hundred acres were rented to other farmers, who planted peanuts, corn, or soy beans and then paid us from the profits of their harvest.

Growing up as an only child in rural Virginia, I tended to lead a somewhat sheltered existence. Up until I started school, my life revolved around the cycle of labor that sustained the farm. Cows, hogs, chickens, and crops; winter, spring, summer, fall, there was always something to be done. My father and mother were up before dawn every morning and by the time I was old enough to help, so was I.

My earliest memory of my mother is of her in a blue and white apron fixing breakfast in the kitchen. I could not have been more than three. My favorite playthings were pots and pans. I was on the kitchen floor playing while she fixed eggs and ham and biscuits. My father would have been at the table drinking coffee and reading the paper. I don’t remember him doing that, I just know he did. He was not a part of that memory.

Up until I started school the only thing that broke the routine of my childhood was visits from Uncle Ben. I don’t believe I consciously compared my father to my uncle then. I just assumed fathers acted as mine did and uncles did likewise. My perspective changed once I reached school age and my circle of friends grew. I would go to their homes and see the way some fathers played with their sons, touched them, hugged them. It was as if these men actually liked their sons. And that, I guess, is my earliest fixed memory of my father. Wondering if he liked me. Wondering if he liked me as much as Uncle Ben liked me.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.