Listen While You Can

Chapter 1

Always Start with Home Base

Ihad mulled over the things Daddy had said about the shipwreck all week. It was hard to concentrate on work. I thought of scenes in Titanic , how freezing cold the water would have been. How could anyone survive something like that for twenty-two days, lost in the North Atlantic in December? What would make someone strong enough to beat those odds?

Then I thought of that word, home. It is a powerful word. I know that from personal experience. Could that have been what he held on to so tightly? Visions of what he had to get back to? When I think of home, I feel a warmth of love, safety, and belonging. I have to admit, it has helped me through times of trouble.

I remember as a kid being bullied at school. I was scared to death and dreaded going every day. Our, meaning my mother’s mainly (definitely not Daddy’s), religion was different. That fact seemed to put a target on my forehead for teachers and students alike. The thing they did not understand was that we kept the Sabbath. We also kept the Old Testament holy days, which meant I had to miss school for religious reasons quite often in the fall and spring.

I seriously doubt the kids would have noticed or cared if the teachers had not been so eager to show complete disgust. When things got really scary, I would close my eyes and think, Soon I will be home. The very word warmed my soul. I knew I would be safe there, loved. It gave me the strength to hold my head back up and keep pushing through. Could that be what Daddy had held to so tightly? Everyone has a mental life raft. I really wanted to understand what his was.

Not that being bullied in elementary school in any way compares to fighting a war thousands of miles from home or hanging on to a sinking ship. But in the end, perhaps what gets us through any level of life’s most terrifying moments is not all that different.

I turned right at the Cumberland Mountain Retreat entrance sign. Daddy had sold much of the land to developers that promised to make a resort out of it. They eventually went bankrupt, leaving us with a half-done resort and a few small lakes. Fortunately, we also had Cumberland County’s first swinging bridge going across one of them, a spot where my friends and I would sit and talk and sing for hours.

I remember us singing Heartbeat, It’s a Love Beat by Tony DiFranco, one of my teenage heartthrobs. When it came to the part of the song where you hear a heartbeat, we would throw rocks into the water for sound effects, more of a plop, plop than a thump, thump. I can’t wipe the smile off my face.

I pulled up to our ranch-style home with a basement, a house Daddy and our family built in the early seventies. I was small then, but I do remember being on the roof, laying tiles with the rest of the family.

What I remember most is the sadness laying heavy in the air as we worked on it. Larry had been drafted and would be leaving for Vietnam. Momma and Daddy tried to talk him into moving to Canada. Daddy said we could all go. We could start over. We would do fine, I’d heard him say. I cannot imagine how he felt watching his son march off to war after his own experiences. I totally understood the desperation, the willingness to pick up and leave, come what may, to protect his child.

Larry would not hear of it, though. He was as stubborn as his father, determined, always, to do the right thing. He said his friends were all being drafted, and he felt it unfair for them to go and him not. Besides, he thought they might need him, and he wanted to be there for the boys who had nowhere else to go.

I pulled around the circular driveway and parked my SUV just under the big oak tree that had provided shade for many a horse as they stood patiently getting new shoes on their feet. Well, not always patiently.

When I walked in the door, I heard the familiar sounds of Gunsmoke. Daddy loved TV Land and all those old shows. Momma had something cooking, and it smelled amazing. My nose led me straight to the kitchen. What ya got cookin’? I asked her in a singsongy style in remembrance of one of her favorite Hank Williams tunes.

She replied that she had a beef roast, mashed potatoes, and some of her famous homemade rolls almost done. Now, Momma was a smart woman, but in that moment, she must’ve had a lapse in judgment. She asked, Are you staying for dinner?

Yes. Definitely yes.

I actually was not sure when Daddy would be ready to delve into our project, this dredging up a past that he had worked so hard to forget, obviously failing to do so. I worried he might just change his mind. I left it completely up to him as to when and how, or if, we would proceed.

After a really exciting episode of Gunsmoke, he made his way into the kitchen and sat on a stool beside me at the island. So where do you want to start? he asked.

I have to admit, I breathed a sigh of relief. Why don’t we start at the beginning? I asked. I felt pretty sure his unrelenting desire to survive might have been due to what he had left behind. I wanted to know what kind of life he had prior to the war. To find out what made him so strong and tenacious and, in the end, return from so many horrific experiences and still be this calm, loving man. On the surface, he showed no signs of damage. I had heard of so many who were unable to escape the ghosts of war.

I started by asking, What was it like…your childhood, I mean? I know you have twelve other siblings. I know you guys lived and worked your own farm. I’d like to hear about your life before you were called to duty.

He thought a minute and then said, You know where our old homeplace is, in Vandever?

I shook my head yes. I was familiar with it. They had moved away from the farm and lived closer into town by the time I was born. However, I had driven by it several times.

That grin of his was wide across his face as he recalled a particular day in his youth. I always liked to play pranks on the younger ones, he admitted. It kept things more fun. Still grinning slightly, he said, I remember hearing Momma yell, ‘What’s goin’ on up there?’ Then, right away, she knew I was up to somethin’, so she hollered, ‘What are you doin’, Marshall Tabor!’ He turned to face me. Your grandma heard the girls threatening to do all sorts of harm to me.

We were both laughing as he described the scene. I had heard about some of his pranks a time or two at family reunions.

Then I heard her yell again, closer this time, he said. ‘Marshall Perry Tabor, what have you done now?’ She was at the bottom of the steps looking up at me. I was at the top, holdin’ a big ol’ black snake, chasin’ the girls with it. Momma just stopped and stood there with that look on her face. I was doubled over laughin’ as they ran and screamed. ‘Will you please get that thing outta here,’ she said calmly, putting both hands on her hips, tryin’ to look stern. Momma wasn’t scared of nothin’. Toughest woman I’d ever seen. ‘Okay, Momma, I’m sorry,’ I said, still grinnin’.

I’m sure Grandma didn’t buy Sorry for one minute, I thought to myself. From what I knew about her, she was a no-nonsense kind of woman who ran a tight ship.

‘Stop scarin’ your sisters half to death,’ she had said. He tilted his head sideways as he explained. That’s when I caught sight of her out the corner of my eye. She was tryin’ to hide a grin. He looked up slyly. Then she headed back to the kitchen.

He got a more serious look on his face and continued, Your grandma had her hands full. Thirteen kids, and well, you might as well say fourteen. Your grandpa was not a lot of help once he came back from WWI. Shell shock, they called it. He got really sick and was in bad pain sometimes. There were days he just stayed in bed all day long. Then sometimes, even in the middle of the night, he would take off running out into the woods. We would find him up in a tree. He’d hallucinate, thinkin’ someone was after him. I couldn’t really understand why he wasn’t able to just pull his self together.

He lowered his head, as if a bit ashamed of something when he said, I didn’t understand then what he had been though. All I saw was how hard it was on Momma, and I hate to admit there was times I did feel a bit hard agin’ ’em for it. He took a breath of what sounded like regret before continuing, I shouldn’t have felt that. I wish I’d been more understandin’.

He paused a moment, taking a cleansing breath to wash a bit of unearned guilt away, and continued with his story. He never was able to go back to work after his discharge from the Army. He was on disability. He got a lump sum, and that was what he bought the farm and the house with. I remember hearing people talk about the Depression. We hardly knew there was one. We grew our own food and lived off the farm. Everybody had their jobs to do and, most of the time, did them without incident. Well, mostly. He grinned again. I was teaching Paul how to snipe hunt when Mom came out and gave me that look again.

He looked at me, knowing I was recalling him teaching me to snipe hunt. I, too, had stood out in the middle of the field holding open a paper bag, saying, Heeerrreee, snipy snipy. After all, that’s the way it was done, of course.

Your uncle Paul was about eight years old at the time, he continued. The way Mom looked at me this time, though, was not reprimandin’ or stern. What I saw on her face right then was worry. I could tell her heart was breakin’. I knew exactly what was weighin’ on her mind. Hershel and I were both gettin’ older. We would be called soon to go off to war. We all knew it. I had heard Momma whispering prayers, first that the war would end before we got old enough. Then that we would be protected somehow. Hershel would go first. He was the oldest. I had already made up my mind: once he got called, I would do whatever I had to, to go in right behind him. I had heard of other fellers who’d lied about their ages and got in early. Me and Hershel had never been separated. His voiced cracked with a weight of love for his older brother.

He looked down again, trying to hide from the emotion as he explained, I hated the thought of breakin’ Momma’s heart, but there was no way around it. I would just have to get back and do what I could to help Hershel get back too. I sorta made that promise to myself right then and there. I had to make sure she did not have to lose either one of us. He said it so sternly, as if he had complete control.

We kept up with all the war news by listening to our little radio every night. Things had not been goin’ so well. According to everything we kept hearin’, Hitler was all but unstoppable. Every report was about how he had taken control of some other country. We all knew if he got what he wanted in Europe, we would most certainly be next. America had not wanted to get caught up in that war. We hadn’t recuperated from the last one yet. At that point, we weren’t the superpower we are today.

That took me by surprise. I guess I had thought America had always been the most powerful country in the world. It had never occurred to me that was not so.

All the reports we were gettin’ made it pretty clear we didn’t have much choice whether we were ready for it or not, he continued. Hershel would turn eighteen soon, and I could see what your grandma was thinkin’ plain as day.

He was peering out the large window that overlooked the front lawn. Obviously, he was not seeing the grass and trees or the long gravel driveway that disappeared through trees long before it met Lantana Road. Nor did he see that beautiful snowball bush in full bloom. That is what I saw. I sat quietly, breathing lightly lest I disrupt his thoughts as he described in detail one particular day. A day that apparently had been etched in his brain, quite perfectly.

He began softly. I watched your grandma standing out on the front porch, bowl in hand, stirrin’ slowly, watching us with that look on her face. In one moment, she was just appreciatin’ where we were and what we had right then, all sleepin’ under the same roof, safe and sound. I knew she would be simultaneously askin’ God to keep it so. I’d watch her do this ever so often.

He stopped to take a deep breath. I remember thinkin’ sometimes you just gotta take one thing at a time. Learn to be thankful and not get too caught up in stuff you ain’t got no control over. Most things have a way of workin’ themselves out.

I had heard him say this often. In fact, I remember being very upset about something. He listened intently as I excitedly described why my world was on the verge of ending. Then in his calm, cool manner, he said those exact words. I felt instantly relieved. Honestly, I am not sure if it was the words he said or how he said them. I cannot even remember what it was I was so upset about now. I figured if he was that calm about it, he had to be right. It would all work out okay. Apparently, it did.

He paused again, pulling from his memory something of significance. Then he continued, I watched over my shoulder as she turned and went back in the house. I decided to follow her inside. As I stepped in, I stopped for a second and stood quiet, listenin’. Just took in those everyday noises like the screen door slammin’ followed by the familiar creak of the hardwood floors. I heard the little girls upstairs gigglin’.

I saw a hint of a slow smile. He tilted his head slightly, as if listening intently. Then I heard Momma and Christine, Willene, and Mattie talkin’ in the kitchen, the sounds of pots and bowls and clatter that cookin’ makes, the smells wafting from the kitchen. Maybe it was the first time I had paid much attention to all the natural aromas and noises of home.

As if a moment of clarity dawned, Daddy said, That’s what you carry with you, the voices, the scents, and the familiar sounds. You hold on to them, and you can get through most things all right, God willin’.

We both seemed to be pondering that thought as we sat in silence. I recalled the old farmhouse where he and all his siblings grew up. I concentrated, bringing the vision clearly to my mind. It was, is, actually, a pretty typical two-story farmhouse of that era, small compared to today’s standards. I always wondered how they all fit in it. Probably no more than 1,200 square feet downstairs, and the upstairs part would be a bit smaller.

Grandma’s favorite part, from all I have been told, was the wide front porch that stretched all across the front of the house. Every evening, the family gathered there on the cool summer nights. Of course, Grandpa would do his Bible reading. He usually managed to do that even on his worst days. When Grandma met him, he didn’t know how to read and had