They Say

They say he drank six days a week, but he couldn't drink on Sundays because his mother once asked him how he would know what day it was. They also say he is usually shaking by Monday morning. They say life is unfair sometimes. They say some people get what they deserve.

They say he traveled from hay loft to hay loft, never one for staying in the same place, but yet, he didn't want to ever be too far from his hometown. Like many people and their hometowns, it was the place of his greatest successes and failures too. He simultaneously wanted to escape and never leave, to start over and pick up where he left off.

The hay lofts reminded him of his childhood. He would often swing from rafter to rafter in his grandfather's barn with hay only a few feet below him. At that time being a landowner had its benefits, and his grandfather and grandmother were quite wealthy. By the time the farm came to his father, grain was not worth the seed needed to grow it. The cattle grazed on grass and alfalfa, while most farmers struggled to feed their families.

Sometimes struggles open us to the good in life. In some families, struggles break the few bonds that remain. He stretched across a few hay bales and thought about seeing his mother. It had been quite some time. He walked over to the door at the top of the loft and jumped out. The barn belonged to a neighboring farmer who had recently piled all of the newly fallen snow next to the barn so he landed with a soft thud and began his walk back to the home place, longing for a warm meal with welcoming faces.

The snow covered ground made for tough trudging. As he crested the hill, it all became worth the trip. His boyhood barn was at the bottom of the valley and in various states of disrepair. Between peeling paint and loose boards were many great memories. Broken relationships and shame had kept him away too long. He could see places of good and bad. The place of his first kiss was too close to the place of his first drink. The place where he and his brothers played was near where his father had passed away.

The barn was also the place his father went in good and bad times. When his father thought he couldn’t make ends meet any more, he went to the barn for the last time. His son was back again, the thought of returning the farm to glory always in the back of his mind.

He rounded the barn and stopped mid-step, not even realizing his left foot was hovering lightly on the snow. The real estate sign seemed quite fresh with footsteps still in the snow around it. His mother was selling the acreage.

Saying goodbye to our childhood home is difficult. When the home has been in the family for generations, it is nearly incomprehensible. He suddenly wanted a drink. His mother hadn’t even told him. Then again, he was often hard to track down.

A few years later she passed away unaware that her son had amassed quite a savings during his drunkenness. More importantly, she passed away in the family home her son now owned. He hadn’t had a drink since the day before he saw the for sale sign at his childhood home. They say miracles happen. Sometimes they are hard to see when they happen over time, but they are no less real or important. They say, well they hardly say anything but good things about him now.