When our son was born, I knew that it would be a challenge to raise him without prejudice especially around here where prejudice seemed to be the norm. I know that sounds like an unkind statement to make about the place I call ‘home’ but it was true and I would come to realize later just how deep it runs.
When Ben was around three or four years old, we took him to visit our closest neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Davis Moore, who lived a mile or so from us. We had visited with the Moores before but on this day, we decided to spend a little more time. Big Daddy and Big Momma is what their family called them. And they insisted that we called them that, too. It was not unusual to drive by and see Big Daddy and Big Momma sitting on their front porch waving at passerbys. We decided to stop by one Sunday afternoon. We drove up and joined Big Daddy on the front porch. Big Momma was still in church. There were only three chairs on the front porch. I took the seat next to Big Daddy and Rick sat next to me. Ben instinctively climbed up on to Big Daddy’s lap. Big Daddy seemed to be pleased with that.
Big Daddy was in his eighties at this time. He was a big man. He had the sweetest nature and we always felt comfortable around him. While Ben was fiddling with Big Daddy's bluejean overalls, we began to visit like we always had but our conversations seemed to include more questions about his past and his life. He shared with us that day that until recently he had never ventured out of the parish or the area for that matter.. He told his stories about picking cotton in the field across the road from his home. While he was sharing the details of his younger days, we noticed that Ben was focused on Big Daddy's face. I saw how Ben was looking at him and I worried that he would say something inappropriate. Then it came. “Big Daddy?” Ben asked. “Yes, sweet baby boy.” “Why do you have seed ticks all over your face?” We all just busted out laughing. Big Daddy laughed harder than anyone. He laughed so hard his belly shook up and down and the motion of his stomach lifted Ben up and down. He finally caught his breathe and said. “Oh chil, you are precious. Those aren’t seed ticks.” Big Daddy paused and said with such kindness, “those are little moles on my face. You get ‘em when your old.” Ben seemed satisfied with that.
We would visit with Big Daddy over the years and he would always bring up that time when Little Ben asked about his seed ticks. It would always make him laugh. We didn’t visit as much as we wished we had over the years. We watched them grow older and we watched their children and grandchildren grow up and grow older.
We came to realize that the Moore's were foster parents to more than 24 children. They raised their own and found time to help others in need. Many of their children and foster children grew up to become college graduates and many if not all live successful lives as educators and professionals.
Big Daddy died in January of 1998. He was 92 years old, just one month shy of his 93rd birthday. Rick and I both attended his funeral. And like every other time we were with him, it was a moment in time that we would look back on and feel privileged that we knew Big Daddy and Big Momma. We miss seeing Mr. Moore cross the street to his vegetable garden with his rake in hand. We miss the slabs of ham and bacon they would send over to us everytime they 'rendered' a pig. We miss seeing them wave at us from their front porch. We loved them and they loved us.
When Ben was around three or four years old, we took him to visit our closest neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Davis Moore, who lived a mile or so from us. We had visited with the Moores before but on this day, we decided to spend a little more time. Big Daddy and Big Momma is what their family called them. And they insisted that we called them that, too. It was not unusual to drive by and see Big Daddy and Big Momma sitting on their front porch waving at passerbys. We decided to stop by one Sunday afternoon. We drove up and joined Big Daddy on the front porch. Big Momma was still in church. There were only three chairs on the front porch. I took the seat next to Big Daddy and Rick sat next to me. Ben instinctively climbed up on to Big Daddy’s lap. Big Daddy seemed to be pleased with that.
Big Daddy was in his eighties at this time. He was a big man. He had the sweetest nature and we always felt comfortable around him. While Ben was fiddling with Big Daddy's bluejean overalls, we began to visit like we always had but our conversations seemed to include more questions about his past and his life. He shared with us that day that until recently he had never ventured out of the parish or the area for that matter.. He told his stories about picking cotton in the field across the road from his home. While he was sharing the details of his younger days, we noticed that Ben was focused on Big Daddy's face. I saw how Ben was looking at him and I worried that he would say something inappropriate. Then it came. “Big Daddy?” Ben asked. “Yes, sweet baby boy.” “Why do you have seed ticks all over your face?” We all just busted out laughing. Big Daddy laughed harder than anyone. He laughed so hard his belly shook up and down and the motion of his stomach lifted Ben up and down. He finally caught his breathe and said. “Oh chil, you are precious. Those aren’t seed ticks.” Big Daddy paused and said with such kindness, “those are little moles on my face. You get ‘em when your old.” Ben seemed satisfied with that.
We would visit with Big Daddy over the years and he would always bring up that time when Little Ben asked about his seed ticks. It would always make him laugh. We didn’t visit as much as we wished we had over the years. We watched them grow older and we watched their children and grandchildren grow up and grow older.
We came to realize that the Moore's were foster parents to more than 24 children. They raised their own and found time to help others in need. Many of their children and foster children grew up to become college graduates and many if not all live successful lives as educators and professionals.
Big Daddy died in January of 1998. He was 92 years old, just one month shy of his 93rd birthday. Rick and I both attended his funeral. And like every other time we were with him, it was a moment in time that we would look back on and feel privileged that we knew Big Daddy and Big Momma. We miss seeing Mr. Moore cross the street to his vegetable garden with his rake in hand. We miss the slabs of ham and bacon they would send over to us everytime they 'rendered' a pig. We miss seeing them wave at us from their front porch. We loved them and they loved us.
