In the Spring of 1982, I met with my APSU academic advisor to discuss degree requirements for secondary education. I was to student teach eleventh-grade history at Montgomery Central that upcoming fall.

By my calculations, I had enough credit hours to walk at the May graduation. After looking over my transcript Dr. Calhoun discovered I was short nine hours in economics for my minor. He advised me to take Economics 201, 202, and 203 triple accelerated in the summer session. This allowed me to get a year's worth of economics in nine weeks.

I attended class from 8:00 AM until 12:00 PM, Monday through Thursday. Dr. Calhoun told me it would be hard, but he was confident I could do it. We Todd Countians are strong-minded and accustomed to uphill tasks. It was time to steel my spine and show my grit. I paid my tuition and mentally prepared for summer school.

To make my day more interesting I worked at Hudson Brothers after class. That summer my extended family gathered one Friday evening at my Wix grandparents’ farm. It was located on Woodruff Road in Adams. My grandfather, Dennis Wix, sent me to the milk house to get a watermelon from his water cooler. When we were all much younger, he converted a small chicken house into a dairy with two raised stalls. He used a water tank cooler to store the milk cans until Pet Milk Dairy picked them up.

After he got out of the milk business he kept the water tank for melon storage. Upon my return with the melon, I found newspapers spread out as a tablecloth on the old white-painted wooden picnic table in the backyard. Someone brought the big metal salt shaker from Grandmother Wix's stove. It was as large as a can of 16 oz. green beans with a handle on its side.

The top had a large S that allowed the salt to pour out. My Aunt Betty Ruth took a sharp butcher knife and barely touched the melon as it burst open. You could feel the coldness rising out of the red flesh. The melon was cut and divided among the family. Betty Ruth then sat beside me and said, "So Bubba, who are you dating this summer?" With a look of puzzlement, I replied, "Dating? The only date I have is with an economic textbook."

She flashed her dazzling smile and told me, "That fancy Camaro isn't doing you much good sitting in the driveway."

I just shook my head as we ate in silence. Not to be outdone, she pressed further. "So what are you doing for fun?" I replied, "Eating this watermelon will be the beginning and end of my fun for the summer."

She replied, “Humph. Little Brother, you got to live a little and enjoy life. Life isn't all work. You're being too serious. So what are you going to do on your vacation?"

I laughed and said, “Welllllllllllll, I plan to help Ed Slack get his tobacco crop in before student teaching at Montgomery Central for my vacation."

Then in her winsome way, she said, "Stevie, you work too hard. You take life too seriously and you are only 22. You need to live and have some fun. Laugh more. Enjoy a pretty girl's company."

Boy, I wish I had listened to her wise words and worked a little less that summer. The summer of 1982 represented a time of maturing for me.

The Apostle Paul wrote in First Corinthians 13:11 (NIV), “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.” As I reflect on that time, the tasks I was asked to master or accomplish paled in comparison to what my ancestors, family, and friends experienced.

The summer of ‘82 proved to be a time of growth for me, personally and emotionally. It sharpened me for the challenges to come. I heard the motivational humorist, Jack McCall, say the following, “The reason I tell my story is so that you will remember yours. We all have a story. It’s not living in the past, but we draw from our past the best in which we have lived.”

I tell my stories because I never want to forget where I came from, and I very much want to remind you of where you have been. The land that stretches from Tywhoppety in the north to Tiny Town in the south and from Daysville in the east to Fairview in the west holds the dreams and memories that frame us.

When we stay in touch with where we have been and what we have accomplished, we are better grounded for the world of uncertainty that we will face in our future.

Steve Haley spent his childhood in Guthrie, KY during the 1960s and 1970s. He loves to recount the stories of his extraordinary ordinary upbringing in a small Southern town with his many friends. If you have any comments or suggestions you can email him at Setsof4Haley@ATT.Net or call/text him at 615.483.2573

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