Memories of an Oklahoma Farm Boy

I need to begin by saying I had a pretty peaceful and happy life as a child. There were times when my dad spanked me or, when I was older, with his tongue between his teeth, he would take a swing at me. But I was never afraid of my dad. Mom spanked me pretty hard one time when I was about six, and I may never have forgiven her for that. Even at an early age, we kids had responsibility at chore time each evening. I had the whole day to roam and play with my friends, but too often, I would forget when it was time to come home. Mom finally had enough, probably after a very difficult day for her, and that's when I got it.

Looking back, I must have been a hyperactive child and caused some exasperation for my mom and dad, Leon and Merl Chappell. I remember during early days of childhood it seemed I was very often on the run and accidents would happen. One problem was, those accidents sometimes ended in someone else getting hurt. When I was about five years old, I was pushing an old piece of machinery which had disks to turn the ground in the field. I ran over my sister, Dessie's, toe and cut it. She carries the scar today. Another time I thought I was a train and was running around in the yard blowing my whistle. Everyone should know when a train blows it's whistle, they should get out of the way. Well my "dumb" sister (two years old) didn't move, and I ran over her. Dad gave me a spanking for that and I ran behind the house to cry. He came and knelt down beside me and tried to help me understand I shouldn't run over my sister, even if I was a train. One day, several years later, I reported to mom with my pants ripped. A stupid nail was sticking out as I ran by and had torn them. Mom fused at me for "always" being so careless, and I made some smart reply. Well, I shouldn't have done that. Before I could get away, I'd felt her displeasure, but I didn't cry.

As a child it seemed I always had a nose bleed. Especially during the hot days of summer and playing so hard, my nose would begin bleeding and I would run to mom for her to get it stopped so I could return to whatever excitement was at hand. She'd pour cold water on the back of my head and give me a cold wash cloth to soak up the blood (and probably to cool me down). I've told you all this to let you understand why a child of 7 years would feel it necessary to run away from home.

I don't really know what started me thinking of running away from home. The one incident which was my only justification was the spanking my mother had given me at least three years before, so you can see I was really hard pressed to identify my problem. Probably the excitement of being on my own was the major compelling force for a new adventure.

Several weeks went into planning and preparing for the great adventure. I don't remember ever wondering how my parents would feel about the whole thing. Some time before that I had gone with some friends to an old bachelor's "hermit" place a few miles west of where we lived. He did not live in our community, so to me, it was far enough away to be in a different world. It never entered my mind whether he would want a boy living with him, but I had visions of living where there was no responsibility and nothing would ever need to be put away.

I would need some weapon for protection, so I found an old knife which I spent several hours honing so it would be especially sharp. We lived in a two story house and my brother and I had a bedroom in the upstairs. I placed a ladder by one of the windows so I could leave through the window after everyone was asleep. All was finally ready so the date was set.

Nothing goes the way it was planned, but I didn't realize that. Some of our neighbors came over that night and the folks stayed up later than usual, probably playing cards. I waited and waited but it seemed they would never go home. Finally I told dad I was going to bed, which must have been strange, as I never had done that before. I went upstairs, got some clothes and the old

knife and climbed down the ladder to my new freedom. The night was sort of dark so I decided I would go to another neighbor's house and ask one of my friends, Roy Wilson, to go with me. I didn't go inside their house but my friend went to ask his mother if it would be O K for him to go. Mrs. Wilson came to talk with me and suggested it might be best for me to sleep there that night and go on the next morning, which sounded like a pretty good idea to me.

The next thing I knew, dad was picking me up from the bed and taking me home. Mom was in the living room, crying, when we got there, but I didn't understand. She tried to get some explanation from me concerning my actions, but really I had none. I guess I was glad to be home again and ready to get in my own bed.

I think parents often try to get adult reasons for kids actions, but that kind of thinking is really not present in the mind of the child. I have thought back over this experience many times as an adult and have not found any sufficient "cause" to run away from my home and family. If I have any explanation it would simply have been the excitement of the experience and perhaps the glamour in what I thought could be.

As I think back over my early childhood years, my thoughts often go to my little namesake grandson (Sonny, we called him) who did not have the chance to make all the mistakes and enjoy growing up as I did. He, too, was hyper active and more like his grandfather than anyone should be. He looked so much like me there was even an identical birthmark on his shoulder just like mine. The only difference was his was on the back of his shoulder and mine on the front. But, one day, that hyper activity brought on a situation which cost him his life. Where my hyper activity had often been at others expense, his had cost him his growing up here with us. We miss him so.

Perhaps God has said, "Rest here for the night and we'll go home in the morning.".

Virgle L. Chappell