The Fourche
Valley School reunion is always a fun day every October. If you ever attended
Fourche Valley school, or if you are a Fourche Valley lover, come on out and
join us. It will always be posted on the Fourche Valley page. Cindy Buford will
just see to that.
I’m often surprised to see how much so many
people have aged in 50 years or so. Glad I’m not like that. I always look just
like I did yesterday. But I must admit, I never seem to look like I visualize
myself looking, if I ever run onto a mirror, by accident. One thing I always
seem to relish is how many old memories it gets to
rattling around in my head.
I saw Jim Roberson. He had such a strong
handshake, It made me feel a little better about what happened to me 47 years
ago. I was in the sixth grade, tallest boy in grade school, I could run longer,
if not faster, than anyone else, Just generally, one of the big boys.
A couple of the younger, shorter guys got in a tussle at recess one day. I just
sorta felt it was my obligation, as a big boy, to straighten these little guys
out. I started pulling them apart. Well, Jim already had his adrenalin flowing,
and he turned all his attention on me. It didn't take long to realize I should
have minded my own business. Jim got me in some sort of hold that was just
squeezing all the air out of me, and as a crowd gathered around us, he said,
"Are you going to leave me alone?" I didn't want anyone else to hear,
and my wind was gone anyway, so I whispered, in his ear, "Yes." He
let me up. The next day, he brought a bunch of his friends around, pointed to
me, and said, "There. That’s the guy I whipped yesterday." I told
them I didn't remember that at all.
Life lesson # 1: Being older, and taller, don't necessarily mean you won't get
your butt whupped'. And being able to run farther is no help at all. Although
It might help you put some distance between you and him, Minimize the damage,
and put some distance between yourself and all those kids laughing at
you.
A funny thing about memory. I didn't remember a thing about it the next day,
only to have it crop back up, 47 years later, when that strong hand started
squeezing me again.
A REALLY young kid got really mad at me one day, I don't even
remember why, but he just waded in on me with both fists flying, hitting me
about the waist. He just kept on, wouldn't quit. Well, again a crowd was
gathering, and I was not about to be seen hitting a really little kid. I was
getting real embarrassed. Finally, Monty said, "Pat, just get him in a
wrestling hold." I did, and I had to hold him until recess was over.
Life lesson # two: Looking at the size of the kid tells you
nothing about the size of his heart. And he may come after you tomorrow. And
the next day.
I had a friend that was dirt pore', wore ragged, old patched clothes, the kind
of guy a lot of kids shied away from. Lived over at Scrougeout. I went home
with him one night. His mom was tickled, saying no one had ever done that
before. She wrung the neck of her best hen, and we ate it for supper. All their
beds were filled with hay, but they gave me the best one.
In the middle of the night, car lights hit the house. The whole family ran to
the front window, yelling, "company! company!" Car was just turning
around.
Life lesson #three: Buddy up with the down and out kid. Sometimes, they will
just give you the best they've got.
That kid had needed glasses for a long, long time. One day he came to school
with a brand new pair. We were wrestling, as kids do, at recess. I threw him
down. As he got up, he reached in his pocket and pulled out his new, now
broken, glasses. He just turned, put his head down, and headed back to the
classroom.
When I went in, after the bell rang, he was at his desk, head down, looking at
those broken glasses. His glasses were soaked with his tears.
After I got home, and off to myself, I shed some, too.
Life lesson #four: Go easy with the pore kid with glasses. The will have to
last him a long, long time.
Maybe I can pass one or two of these along to my grandsons. Maybe, just maybe,
you can too.
Sadly,
after a long, hard struggle, Fourche Valley School closed a few years ago. But
our reunion is very much alive.
When I was five
years old, I was surrounded by older siblings and neighbors like Cindy Buford,
who were full fledged Fourche Valley warriors, and they all bled blue and gold.
If someone had asked me to sing the national anthem at that time, I would
probably have started it like this: “Oh, when the Fourche High Indians fall in
line, we’re gonna win this game another time, for the dear old school we love
so well - - - -“
When I witnessed how hard so many fought,
for so very long, and so very hard, for the school we all loved so well, I was
proud. And, I knew. The spirit of the Fourche Valley Indians is alive and well,
and will remain so as long as a single one of us who proudly call ourselves
Fourche Valley Indians continues to draw breath. Thank you, for all your
struggles, and for what you continue to do to maintain the memories of our
school, and to promote our beautiful valley.
Thanks for your time, and your attention.
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