DEEP SOUTH CASTAWAY FINDS COOKIES AND HOPE

In my evergreen memories of being a Deep South child of the 1940s and ’50s, I am re-living a moment in time…a time when reading a book was the best adventure imaginable.

I cannot wait to turn the next page of the novel Robinson Crusoe.

I lie on the hardwood floor of summertime, invisible to those around me, because I am cast away upon a deserted island in the middle of nowhere, trying to survive by wit and mettle.

Robinson and I dive deep into an uncontaminated ocean to retrieve all we can of supplies stowed away upon the sunken ship that stranded us here. We frantically look for food, shelter, protection from cannibals and mutineers. We witness the solitary beauty of nature and the best and worst of humankind.

As isolated as we are, Robinson Crusoe and I find a way to survive on our own for 28 years, never knowing whether we will be rescued and re-birthed into a cantankerous civilization, or whether our bleached bones will be discovered centuries hence by a society that has never heard of books and totally unplugged independence.

I can feel the sun’s heat and the ever-present mosquitoes and the sand between my toes on this island, and…

“Jim, where are you?” calls my Mom.

I am jarred into reality.

“Uh, here, Mother!” I am in my room, hoping that I won’t have to tear myself away from this engrossing tale.

“Time to take out the garbage,” Mom says, politely failing to mention the fact that the trash can overfloweth because of my avoidance of unavoidable chores.

Back in these childhood times, in this particular generation, all kids have chores and duties. We also have our books and toys and playmates. We are also allowed to let our imaginations run wild, as long as we do our part to maintain the family.

I groan dramatically, find an H.G. Wells bubble gum trading card to use as a bookmark, carefully hide Robinson Crusoe and Daniel Defoe from sight, should a sibling happen upon it.

I head for the kitchen and the duty, grab a fresh-baked cookie from the window sill, and sally forth to my next somewhat trashy adventure. Not as exciting as hiding from cannibals, but definitely a sign of hope…hope that, once chores are completed, I can rejoin my pals, Friday and Robinson and freshly-snared fish.

Later, as I swim the pages of the book, I am almost disappointed when rescue occurs, when 18th-century society snatches us up and makes us all comfy again.

Sure, I like my chocolate-chip snacks, but to this day I can’t rid myself of all the fantastic and deadly and hardy escapades that took place on that tiny bit of land jutting from an azure sea, deep in the center of a fertile imagination

 © Jim Reed 2020 A.D.