Some things might soon become a thing of the past, like the writer of this column. Well, at some time, we all will. As my aunt often said, “Baby, we are all just penciled in. Let’s try and enjoy ourselves until the eraser comes out.”
Speaking of special things that are almost a part of the past:
Not too long ago, I received a beautifully written note (written in very legible and clear cursive I might add) from a friend expressing appreciation for a recent newspaper article. I put that note in my “treasure chest” (Captain Kangaroo wasn’t the only one with a treasure chest), for treasured items.
When I am no more, I am sure my niece or someone will go through my treasure chest, a sizeable one, which is almost full and wonder, “what in the world?”
I went through some of its contents about a week ago and many of you may have a special keepsake or treasure box where you keep special letters and cards. Here are some of the things I found.
In third grade, October of 1966, my third grade teacher Mary Ann Grace was teaching us how to write a letter. We had to write a letter, read it to her and ask for a response and share the response.
Here was my letter to a friend in Lanett, Ala.:
Oct. 7, 1966 Dear Shelby,
Today is my birthday. I am eight years old today. My Mama made my birthday cake and it is my favorite; a pound cake. It’s really good with vanilla and chocolate ice cream. Some of my friends are walking to my Grandma Bullards’ house after school with me. We are going to eat cake and ice cream and just have fun. I hope Daddy and Mama bought the Monopoly Game for me and a new copy of Tom Sawyer. My old copy is kind of tattered.
I have a new dog. A Boxer Bulldog named Mitzi. She is a pretty dog. How are you? How are your parents? Are you still enjoying high school? Write me soon and you are a good friend.
Your friend always,
Johnny Bullard
In the treasure container, I had birthday cards from my maternal and paternal grandmothers, from my parents, from several aunts and uncles. I had a letter from the late W. A. Saunders, Sr., of White Springs, written to me in the summer of 1975, when I was at Boy's State in Tallahassee. I had a roommate from Marathon, Fla. and I made some extra money there pretending I could analyze handwriting. I had seen it done at the Florida Folk Festival.
I had several notes and cards from former students and parents of students, including one mailed to me by the parent of a child I tutored.
"My son finished high school and went on to pursue a career in the military, because of you and your encouragement. I was a single mother and you gave him the confidence he needed to move forward," it said. Another one reads:
December 2003 Dear Johnny,
Christmas is coming, and I do believe in Santa Claus, but I believe in you too. When are we going Christmas shopping? I love you.
Laura Leigh Bullard (my niece)"
"Mr. Bullard, you were the only teacher who ever paddled me and you paddled me for talking too much. At the time, I didn't think it was fair. My wife says you should have paddled me harder. I do remember you gave me three swats and I thought the first two, because they were kind of light, were a joke, but that last one was memorable. You told me you were a talker and received several swats for talking too much," another letter read.
Another one from someone dear to me, a great educator, recently deceased, reads:
Dear Johnny,
Congratulations on the publication of your recent book "Black Runs the River" and thank you for the dedication of your book to me. You were always a good writer. Keep writing and remember, "Good, Better, Best. Never let it rest, until your good is better and your better is best."
Your friend always,
Dorothy L. Bryant
And the final one is from my Daddy, the only note he ever wrote me:
September 1980 Dear Johnny,
I am proud of you, son. Finish school and when things get tough, remember this (Attached to a piece of brown paper bag was sizeable piece of cured tobacco).
I love you,
Daddy
Many of you have been readers of my column for years and, deserved or not, you have been very kind and encouraging. Thank you and God Bless you. Please do keep writing and calling me. I appreciate it.
From the Eight Mile Still on the Woodpecker Route north of White Springs, wishing you a day filled with joy, peace and, above all, lots of love and laughter.