The Harder Life Kicks You The Higher You Climb

“You just going to stand there, or are you going to pick up those bags and take them in the house?” I turn to find out where the voice is coming from. At first it’s hard to see because the sun is in my eyes, but as the man behind the deep voice moves closer his outline becomes clear. Standing over me by at least a foot is the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He has to be all of six foot seven, and he has to weigh at least three hundred plus pounds. He is so big it looks as if the sun is setting on his huge shoulders which in it’s self is not special. However his shoulders are so wide he not only looks as if he can carry the sun but from my vantage point the sun actually appears to belong on his wide shoulders. As if God placed it there and said, “You will be the bearer of my light.” He notices me squinting in the sun and moves closer so that the sun is totally behind him and I can see his face clearly. He is as black as any man I have ever seen, a deep, dark, powerful, noble black with the posture and stance of someone born of royal lineage. Something about the way he stands seems to say, “Here is what your ancestors looked like in their native land.” He is a most impressive sight, standing there with sweat rolling down his chest and arms. He looks like someone has polished him to a high gloss and left him in the sun to harden as if he were a black diamond. His arms are as big as my legs, and his legs are as big as a Mississippi tree. He is by far the biggest, strongest man I have ever seen in my life. The only thing bigger than his muscles is the smile on his face. At first glance my eyes are locked into his. There is a fire in his eyes, a very intense tangible fire. He seems to be looking into my soul and finding all the things I don’t want anyone to know. I turn my head from him to stop him from reading my soul but I can still see his face. He has the kind of face that automatically makes you think he’s someone’s grandfather. It’s a strong face with age lines in it like an older man who has been working in the sun all his life. His head is covered with a mixture of gray and black hair. The gray hair almost looks white especially against his black skin. He has it cut in the short style old men wear, but it’s still thick and wavy. He is indeed an awesome sight. Even for a hard headed teenager like me his image is a lot to take in. The combination of his black skin, his height, his wide sun bearing shoulders, intense eyes, stern rumbling voice, and stark gray hair bring to mind images of my youth back when my family went to church. My Sunday school teacher Mrs. Houston would read us stories from the bible. One of my favorite stories was about Moses and the Israelites. With their backs to the sea and Pharaoh’s men coming after them Moses used the staff of God to part the water allowing the Israelites to escape. Right here, right now, with this strong old black man standing in front of me, I feel as if I’m in the presence of Moses. The only thing missing is the staff of God. If he had been standing there with God’s staff in his hands I would have expected to look to either side of us and see water standing high above our heads. I stood there frozen to the spot trying to take in what I was looking at. I was truly amazed by the sight of this huge man but then he spoke and the moment was lost. “Son, did you hear what I said?” I snap out of my trance, and return to my stupid teenage attitude. “Yeah I heard what the hell you said ole man.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, he leans down and places his right hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. His hand is so big it covers me from my neck to the end of my shoulder. I try to move from under his hand but he grips me tighter. “Ole man you need to back up off me.” “Son let me explain…” I put my elbow in his chest and try to push him away as hard as I can. “Dammit ole man I said back the hell up off me.” Ole Pop doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even appear to notice the push. He tightens his grip on my shoulder and pushes down on me so hard that my butt hits the ground with a plop and I can’t move an inch. Then Ole Pop leans down until his face is directly in front of mine. It is at this point that I realize saying anything else could get me hurt. So I shut up and listen as he talks. “Now that I’ve got your attention let me explain something to you. My name is Buford Jefferson Anderson. You can call me Buford, or Jefferson, or BJ, or Ole Pop, or even Ole Man as long as it’s done with respect. I will respect you and you will respect me. If you don’t, I’ll get one of these switches off one of these trees and whoop your butt with it and I don’t care how old you are. Don’t ever make the mistake of cussing me again. Do you understand me?” I sit there and look at him the way I do my mother when she says something I don’t like. He presses down a little harder which causes me to bend at the waist and let me know that he still hadn’t put the pressure on me he could put on me if he wanted to. Then he speaks slowly as if I am either hard of hearing or a little slow. “I-said-do-you- understand-me?” With the little air I still have left in my body I answer him. “Yes sir.” As soon as he hears that he lets me go and smiles. “Ole Pop will do son.