Olga and Papa's Day Off

Based on a story told to me by my mother (Olga.) She was about eight years old at the time. Copyrighted story; all rights are reserved.

 

Olga and Papa’s day off

A small coal mining town in Western Pennsylvania - 1925

 

I was running like the wind. I always ran like the wind. No other girl or boy in the third grade could run like me! Only Gina was ahead of me, and I always beat Gina, even when she started faster. The other kids started shouting at us: “Run, Gina! Go faster Olga!” The other three were falling behind. But I smiled through my gritted teeth as I saw her getting bigger, but the finish line was closer, too. I couldn’t let her beat me this time! It was the last race of the school year! This was the one the kids would talk about all summer!

The little puddles from the rain splashed up into my face. Was Gina trying to splash me?  She was! Gina was my best friend, but not during a race. But I didn’t like her a lot either when I wanted to win. Then, I found myself right behind her left shoulder, but Miss Brown and the finish line were getting closer. I pushed my way past her. (Did I really have to do that?) Gina stumbled.

“Olga, wake up!” Somebody whispers in my ear. Gina and Miss Brown aren’t there anymore, and the light is now dark. 

My eyes struggle open, and a kind of gummy thing tries to hold them shut. My papa wipes my face with a warm, wet cloth. He kisses my forehead gently.

“Olga, get up now, and don’t wake up the others. This is the special time I told you about,” he whispers into my ear. I remember. It is Sunday morning.

“Yes, papa,” I whisper back. “Where are we going?” I sit up and climb out of bed, smoothing the covers. I don’t wake up my little sister, Micky. “Where are we going?”   Papa says nothing as he starts downstairs to make a slice of toast. I pull on my trousers and shirt and slip into my Buster Brown shoes. I head downstairs, too. 

“It will be a nice day, Olga,” he assures me. “And it is starting to get light now.” I munch my toast with butter and grape jelly quietly as I listen. I love grape jelly on my toast, especially with milk, and I always will! “Wipe your mouth, Olga,” he laughs. You look like a clown in the circus with that face!” I wipe the jelly and butter and crumbs off. 

Papa closes the door quietly behind us, and as we start on our walk I look back. Our little store is all dark again, and so are the windows upstairs. As we walk down the dusty road I notice a few lights on in the houses. Mrs. Ferraro steps outside and stoops to pick up her bottle of milk from the doorstep. “Hi, Mrs. Ferraro,” I whisper. She smiles and tells me hello as she straightens up to go back inside. Her husband works the day shift in the mine and he will be leaving soon. 

As we walk, papa begins to talk. “Olga, do you remember when you asked about other religions?” I remember. “When you asked if you could go to protestant Sunday school with your friend Rebecca?” I nod but don’t say anything. But I remember. When the other people criticized me for going with Rebecca to her church and then her Sunday school, they complained to my papa, too. “Olga, what do they do there?” Papa asked me.  

“They sing and they pray to God,” I told him. “And in their Sunday school they teach Rebecca and me about God and the Bible.”

“There is nothing wrong with that,” papa said. He told the other people, “If Olga wants to learn about God there too, she can do it. But she will still go to Catholic mass and learn the Catechism and she will take communion.” 

We walk on, but now we leave the road and start up through the woods. “Are we going to look for mushrooms, papa? Or berries?” I ask. But we don’t have a bucket. Papa smiles like he has a secret.  We climb to the top of the hill and start down the other side. Papa stops in a grassy place beside some blackberry bushes. “But the berries are still green, papa” I say. Papa lays his coat out on the ground behind the bushes where we can both sit on it

Papa says in a whisper, “we are not here for berries, my little girl. Now, we wait.” Papa doesn’t say anything more. I let my mind think about the race. I never pushed Gina or anybody else, so why would I dream that I did? And then I think about my sisters and my brothers. We are 8 all together, 4 boys and 4 girls. But the others are still home in their bed while I rub my eyes sleepily out here in the damp morning! But at least the sun is bright now. It warms my face.

            “Shhhh…” whispers papa. “Stay quiet. They come now.” 

            I wake up. People are coming from the other side of the creek. They are all colored! I look at papa. He says for me to wait and be quiet. One man is holding a big bible and he has on a black suit. Another man looks up toward us and he smiles before looking down quickly. But how can he see us, hiding behind the bushes?

            Now, I can begin to hear soft singing as the people there wait for the others who are still coming. “Swing low, sweet chariot” they sing. “Coming for to carry me home.” I listen to the words and try to remember them. I never heard this song before. I close my eyes and try hard to remember them. Papa pokes my arm. 

            “That man who looked up is Tom Brown, my friend. He told me when to come here,” he whispers. 

            Now all the people are there, and I see that some of them put on white dresses over their clothes. There are seven. 3 are men and 3 are ladies and 1 is a girl. “Why are they putting those dresses on, papa?” I ask. 

            “Shhh,” he whispers. “You will see. And the dresses are called robes.” 

            The man with the bible walks into the creek, right toward us! I squeeze down behind the bushes. But he stops in the middle. The other people begin to sing again, but so softly I can’t tell the words. “The man with the bible is the preacher, like in the protestant church you went to,” papa says, so softly I have to listen hard to hear. Now, everything he tells me I have to listen hard. Another man in a suit goes out to be with the preacher. 

            “Papa. What are they doing?”  Now, I’m getting a little bit scared and I don’t understand why. 

            Papa holds my hand and smiles. “This is a baptism. The people are Baptists. Do you know how we sprinkle water on the heads of babies? This is like that.” 

The people in the robes come out and stand by the preacher. He talks loud for a while and he hits his hands on the bible. Then he talks very quietly to the people in the robes. The people on the bank are very quiet, listening. Now, he hands the bible to the other man.

            He walks over to one man and takes him behind his head and his back and lays him back in the water. I gasp out loud. Tom Brown looks up and smiles. “Shhhh,” papa says again. He holds me around my shoulder with his big hands. I become quiet again. The preacher brings the man up out of the water and says something to him. He does the same thing to another man and then to all the rest. The girl is last. She is older than me.

            Now, the people begin to sing loudly, all together. It’s something like “You gotta march down to Jordan,” but I don’t understand the words. But the singing is beautiful.

            Papa squeezes my hand as the people walk away, singing. “Do you see that, Olga? Those people know how to worship God.” 

            "Yes... Papa," I stammer as I wipe my face with my sleeve. We get up to leave, too.

Reviews

[Kimberly Davis]

Joe B,
Yep, another endearing short story, dude. A much simpler time spent between a little girl and her papa. I really felt the closeness they shared and the trust she had for him. What a wonderful memory of your mom's and how thoughtful of you to make it permanent by putting it in writing. I always enjoy a piece of writing where I, as the Reader, am plunged right into the story through action at the very beginning. "I was running like the wind. I always ran like the wind." One of those opening lines where it compells the Reader to keep going because it makes them curious as to why she's running like that.

I liked the setting, the descriptions you used, the tender exchange of dialogue between the two characters, the present tense. It's well executed! Good writing piece!

Okay, my suggestions...
Generally when a number is referred to in a story and it's under ten, it's spelled out rather than stated in actual number. And I noticed that Papa isn't capitalized in places where it's still used as a proper noun.

A couple of places where a conjunction might be used too frequently. 2nd paragraph - Instead of "Then, I found myself right behind her left shoulder, but Miss Brown and the finish line were getting closer." How about, "Then I found myself right behind her left shoulder with Miss Brown and the finish line nearing quickly." You've already said 'finish line getting closer' in the previous paragraph. It just makes it smoother reading.
Toward the beginning, somebody whispers in her ear and then Papa whispers in her ear a few sentences later. This is one of those whispering scenes where it's implied through description and logic that the dialogue exchanged is quiet. I don't think you even need to say 'Papa whispers in my ear' because there was no other dialogue after 'somebody whispers'. The Reader will know that it's the same person whispering. That way Olga can whisper back and it's not overly done. Does that make sense?

About halfway down, "Olga, do you remember when you asked about other religions?" I remember. "When you asked if you could go to protestant Sunday school with your friend Rebecca?" I nod but don't say anything. But I remember."
What if it's this instead. "Olga do you remember when you asked about other religions? When you asked if you could go to protestant Sunday school with your friend Rebecca?" I nod but don't say anything. I remember."
Even though 'remember' is only used three times, it just makes it smoother to take one out and then a sense of urgency is felt. Olga respects her Papa and it's a direct question. Then it's an exchange of remembers, one from Papa and one from Olga. (Note that I used Papa as a proper noun and it should be capitalized. That's what I was talking about earlier.)

End of 12 parapgraph needs a period. "...where we can both sit on it."

Toward last few paragraphs, the word quiet or quietly might be used too frequently.

And third from last paragraph, "Now, the people begin to sing loudly, all together. It's something like "You gotta march down to Jordan," but I don't understand the words. But the singing is beautiful."
How about ending it after Jordan to get rid of that 'but' and combining the two sentences. Also I don't think you need 'it's something like'. I think you can just say the lyrics and still get the same meaning.
"Now the people begin to sing loudly, 'You gotta march down to Jordan'. I don't understand the words but the singing is beautiful."

Good show, Joe!!