Part two of A Home Visit

Continuation of previous column

Southern Hospitality

 

By Elton Camp

 

(From my weekly newspaper column)

 

            “You actual came t’ see me,” the youngster said with an excited voice.  “I didn’t really think y’u would.”  The child gave each of the three a quick hug.  “Maw, here they is,” he called to his mother at the woodpile.  He welcomed teachers who had been assigned to visit each child’s home. 

 

            As her son beckoned to her, she ambled over to the car to greet the company.  To do otherwise would be a violation of deeply ingrained tenets of southern hospitality.  She wore a faded blouse and a skirt that extended to the top of her shoes.  Her hair was clean, but long and pulled straight toward the back of her head.  The mother’s wrinkled face and neck had been exposed to the sun for too many years.  She squinted her eyes in the manner of a person who needs glasses. Lucas was the last of her large brood of children.  The difficulty of her life showed in her face, but she managed a smile that showed missing and decayed teeth

 

            Yet, she was surprisingly articulate and appreciative.  “I thank you for coming,” she said.  “I’m so proud that Lucas has that fine school to attend. 

 

            At her invitation, the group accompanied her into the house.  “Let’s sit in the kitchen,” she said.  “I’m finishing up supper and need to add a bit of wood to the cook stove.” 

 

            “Can they stay fer supper, Maw?” the boy asked. 

 

            “Why for certain they can, son,” she replied without hesitation.  “We got plenty such as it is.  It’d be a honor to have them.”

 

            The lady opened the door to the stove’s firebox and thrust a few sticks onto the red embers.  They immediately flamed up.  She donned a long apron before she turned the slices of ham that were frying in a cast iron skillet.  The aroma was enough to make anyone feel hungry. 

 

            A large pone of cornbread rested on a plate on the kitchen table, a bows of green beans and another of corn were alongside it.  A mixture of sliced cucumbers and onions lay on a plate.  The meal also drew nonhuman attention:  flies buzzed across the table and a few crawled on the food.  The woman seemed oblivious to their presence. 

 

            “I felt my stomach do a flip,” Mother later told my Father when she related the adventure.  “It’d have made me sick to eat a single bite, but I didn’t want to hurt their feelings.” 

 

            The group managed to decline the invitation courteously on the pretended basis of having eaten only shortly before beginning their visits and needing to make some more calls.  The elated Lucas bragged at school the next day about the distinguished visitors to his house.                 

 

            Friction developed at the school.  Some seemed to think that teachers surrendered their Constitutional rights when they signed an employment contract.  At a faculty meeting, the principal issued instructions to the teachers as to how they should vote in an upcoming election. 

 

            “Do what I say if you expect to hold your jobs,” he blustered.  “And this is coming from a higher level than me.”

 

            At the next faculty meeting after the election, he stalked boldly to the front of the room.  “You all knew how you were told to vote,” he commenced.  “You also knew what would happen if you didn’t.”

 

            The man then called out each teacher’s name and announced how he or she’d actually voted.  The principle of secret ballot obviously meant nothing.  When a big portion of the faculty, including my mother, resigned in protest at the outrage, the principal himself was forced from his position. 

 

            “I just did what they told me to,” he protested.  “I didn’t expect nothing like this.” 

 

            His face turned red and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he proclaimed his innocence.  He felt that he’d done no wrong.