“Southern Reflections” There was a presence in my young life that was like another kindly grandfather. He came early and worked late as needed. His speed was slow to stop. He was tall and elegant, black man with tufted gray hair, always combed and smoothed. He had a slight limp and I knew he was old, just not how old. His clothes were always clean and pressed; his shoes though worn were polished. While he worked in the yard, he kept an eye out for my sister and me, like his own. He warned Momma that he believed a Popsicle man pushing a cart was being too familiar with we girls. She watched and came dashing from the house with her broom raised, threatening him with things of which my child’s mind could not conceive. That man never came back to our neighborhood. He, Moses, was our hero, according to Momma and Daddy. His name was Moses Cotton. He said he was named after the biblical baby Moses hidden in the bulrushes by his mother who was trying to save his life. Our Moses was born in the dirt under a scrawny tree at the edge of a cotton field where his Momma worked picking cotton. Those were the only names he ever knew. I went with Momma once to take the family some things as there was some illness. I met his wife a short, small, frail little gray haired lady, with one of the strongest wills. She had to give up her housekeeping job to care for her elderly invalid mother and their only son, a teenager, who had Down’s Syndrome. Her smile lit up the room and I felt a warmth radiating directly at me, or so I thought at the time. I never understood why Moses never came inside out house to use the bathroom or come to the table at Momma’s invitation. He preferred his sandwich at the wooden barbeque table under the big oak tree in the back yard. He said he liked listening to the birds singing to him. Later the sad truth of “the why” intruded into my innocent world. After his passing and some research I found that he had been the head custodian at a big church for many years, until he slowed so much that a second helper was hired and he was formally retired. Then he went to the home of a wealthy older homebound gentleman as his caretaker until the man passed. He never raised his voice, was never angry or complained, never said anything unkind in anyway. He was a gentleman and a hero who touched my life. Long gone but, not forgotten on this day that would have been his birthday.
Posted on: Sun, 21 Jul 2013 21:21:58 +0000
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