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From The Nethermost
It was a family tradition in my wife's family to save every issue of The Clarke County Democrat. However, our family's occasional moves provoked changes in that imprinted behavior. As a result, from time to time, yellowed copies of the newspaper have been discarded. At this Grove Hill house, the weekly issues of The Democrat have been stored on one shelf in a kitchen cabinet. You might guess that this shelf had become filled to the point that the cabinet door would not close. I have found that some stress is provoked when there is a break with imprinted behavior. Nevertheless, we decided to throw away all our copies of The Clarke County Democrat which were published in the last century. I could regale you with memories that these old issues provoked as we reviewed them. Instead, let me tell you of the treasure found buried beneath all that. There, we found a notebook which I started back when I was young and lived in Atlanta. Back then, I called it my garden diary. It is true that I recorded such things as the date of the first frost and when I planted various vegetables in my garden. But there was more. I recorded family events. The only entry for October 25, 1973 is two sentences. The first is that my oldest son got a spanking at school and the second is that he got another one at home. It was his first spanking at school and, as far as I know, it was the only one. I remember that when I got home from work that day and heard this news, I had the awareness that I had a family tradition to uphold. For generations back, a child getting a spanking at school always resulted in the same behavior by fathers: take the kid to the woodshed. I was sure that I had the ghosts of Great Grandfather Henderson Edward Herod and Grandfather Wade Preston Herod looking over my shoulder. Indeed, I would call my father later that evening to tell him that the deed was done. There was a little problem. Time changes things, you know. I didn't have a woodshed. Thus, the garden house would have to do. My oldest son must have thought it strange that while we lived in a two story house, we had to march out to the garden house in the fading light of that warm October evening for me to carry out the ritual. Maybe I explained to him what this was all about: traditions, Son. Maybe he felt a connection with his ancestors. Maybe he saw a little merriment in my eyes. Certainly, he did not get a whipping that October evening. Neither he nor his brothers ever did. Spankings sometimes came simply from my exasperation and sometimes came after a warning. That spanking in my version of a woodshed was more like everyone sitting down at the dinner table together: it was the way our family behaved. Alas, time changes traditions. One of these days we will all pay to get an electronic subscription to The Clarke County Democrat. Then, we will save the issues in an e-folder located on some miniature plastic card. Diaries will get lost on computer disks, instead of under old newspaper stacks. Woodsheds will have gone the way of hitching posts. Mrs. Hester Hall was both a favorite teacher and the first teacher to dust my pants. She's gone too. I expect to never get a call from one of my sons saying he has taken a son to the woodshed, or needed to for that matter. I understand all this. I try to be a thoroughly modern man. Yet, somewhere inside me, there is a deep genetic rumbling. Never mind. I'll live with it. After all, we have free will. Remember?
Jim Herod is a retired Georgia Tech professor living in Grove Hill.
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