When I was a little girl of five or six growing up near Lamkin, I spent a lot of time at my grandmother ‘s house. She lived on the main street in Lamkin proper right next to the postoffice/grocery store. Whenever I would walk with my grandmother to the post office/grocery store, we’d be greeted by three or four very elderly gentlemen well past their productive years who were sitting on an old wooden bench on the porch outside the store. Their skin was leathery and they had old, crooked smiles. One wore overalls and the others wore khakis. All of them donned worn, stained hats. These same old men played dominoes every day in a little room attached to the back of my grandmother’s garage. It was known to the locals as the Domino Hall. Because they knew my grandmother well and had known my mother all her life, they felt at ease picking at me. At that age, I wasn’t very shy. I had not yet learned that there were mean people out there. I thought that the whole world was safe and comfortable just like Lamkin.The old gentlemen had kind eyes and soft, gravelly voices and would engage me in some interesting conversations. Typically, we spoke about my cute little rompers or my newest jumping tricks. I would bask in all of their compliments on my hair and my eyes. They’d chuckle at some of my answers to their off-the-cuff questions. That made me happy because I knew that I had entertained them a little. Before my grandmother and I would go inside the post office/grocery store, the old gentlemen would reach their wrinkly brown hands into their pockets and retrieve whatever change they had. Generally, each one would give me a nickel. Having acquired three or more nickels, I would rush inside to spend them. I’ve never been one to let money rest. It has always seemed to burn a hole in my pocket.
Once inside, I’d rush to the coke box to make my pick. I’d peer through the glass into the candy counter to marvel at the numerous selections. I don’t know why I would agonize over my selections. I always ended up with the same thing. I’d buy a soda, a candy bar, and an ice cream sandwich. Every now and then, I’d opt for gum or wax soda bottles or pixie sticks instead, but not often. Sometimes, there would be more old men on the bench outside and I’d have even more nickels to spend. That’s when I had a field day in the little old store. Always going against my grandmother’s suggestions, I’d spend all of the nickels. She would try to coerce me into saving some of it. What she couldn’t discern was that I didn’t know where I could possibly hide it so that my brothers wouldn’t find it. I would have just died if I’d put my money away where I thought it was safe and those two boys found it and took it. Brothers are like that, yeah they are. So, it’s their fault that I became a spendthrift at an early age. At least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
