A Taste Of Honey

Today by chance I heard a snippet of a song from my childhood. Anyone remember Bobby Goldsboro? I was working at my desk and the TV was on in the next room. A commercial came on and there was Bobby singing Honey. Wow ... talk about a blast from the past. I guess not a year has gone by since 1968 that I have not thought about that song. I still remember how captivated my 11-year-old self was by Bobby's mellow voice singing the tragic ballad, and by the romance and tenderness conveyed in that poignant lyric.

Reading the story told by the song now, it seems rather treacly, if not downright smarmy. Honey is put over as more of a child than a woman. But as a kid I "saw" the doomed Honey in my mind as an angelic waif with large dewy eyes, perfect skin, a sweet smile, and long blond hair parted in the middle. A womanchild who plants trees, loves puppies, cries at old movies, and is adored by her husband. I sobbed inconsolably when I first realized what the upshot of the whole thing was. Honey dies, at home alone on a beautiful spring day! A lovely young woman who dies long before her song is sung.

I have never owned a Bobby Goldsboro album. I got my first record player when I was 12 and I went on to become a fan of Glen Campbell, The Monkees, The Carpenters, and Neil Diamond. But like an unexpected whiff of the cologne you wore when you were eighteen or the memories released by an old picture album, those songs you loved in the formative years have a strange power to bend the mind backwards.

I heard only a few bars of Honey today, but for those few bars I was 11 years old again. It was the Vietnam era; I was in sixth grade. My teacher, Mr. Brennan, one day praised a Haiku I wrote, sparking a lifelong love of poetry. If I wasn't riding my bike with the wind in my hair and cockleburs spiking my slipping-down ankle socks, I was poking through bushes behind Oakland Park Elementary School looking for huge juicy blackberries to eat until my tongue was stained purple. And the songs ... the songs ... so many of the songs made me cry. How well I remember the taste of Honey.

See the tree, how big it's grown
But friend, it hasn't been too long
It wasn't big
I laughed at her and she got mad
The first day that she planted it,

Was just a twig

Then the first snow came
And she ran out to brush the snow away
So it wouldn't die
Came runnin' in all excited
Slipped and almost hurt herself

And I laughed till I cried

She was always young at heart
Kinda dumb and kinda smart

And I loved her so
And I surprised her with a puppy
Kept me up all Christmas Eve

Two years ago
And it would sure embarrass her
When I came in from workin' late
'Cause I would know
That she'd been sittin' there and cryin'
Over some sad and silly late, late show

And Honey, I miss you
And I'm bein' good
And I'd love to be with you
If only I could

She wrecked the car and she was sad
And so afraid that I'd be mad
But what the heck?
Though I pretended hard to be
Guess you could say she saw through me
And hugged my neck
I came home unexpectedly
And caught her crying needlessly
In the middle of the day
And it was in the early spring
When flowers bloom and robins sing
She went away

And Honey, I miss you
And I'm bein' good
And I'd love to be with you
If only I could

One day while I was not at home
While she was there and all alone
The angels came
Now all I have is memories of Honey
And I wake up nights and call her name
Now my life's an empty stage

Where Honey lived and Honey played
And love grew up
And a small cloud passes overhead
And cries down on the flower bed
That Honey loved

And see the tree how big it's grown
But friend, it hasn't been too long
It wasn't big
I laughed at her and she got mad
The first day that she planted it,

Was just a twig ...

The Road Is Long ... Sometimes

A depressing day. The rain moved in around midnight and thrashed against the windows enough to awaken me in the night. Although I love rain, I prefer to watch it fall from the cozy confines of my home. Even so, I was up early to get ready for depositions across town. As I headed out it was still raining, but clear skies were promised for later in the day.

The case at hand revolved around a catastrophic 2006 traffic accident that resulted in the death of a young man not much more than 20. The first deponent was one of South Carolina's finest state troopers and he arrived right on schedule as these dedicated people are prone to do. Sadly however, before the deposition got underway and we settled in to talk about old bad news, there was some new bad news.

It seems that another state trooper, an 11-year veteran of the South Carolina Highway Patrol and himself a future deponent in the very case we were assembled to discuss, was killed this morning as he drove to assist in the investigation of yet another traffic calamity. Trooper James Haynes's death is being blamed on the heavy rain, which caused hydroplaning just before he lost control of his vehicle. He was 38 years old and is survived by a wife and two young children.

We finished our depos around three o'clock. The sun had emerged and was twinkling on puddles as I steered my car toward home. I called The Gregory to see what kind of day he was having. He asked me what I was doing and I said I was about to do a bite-the-bullet and stop by Wal-Mart before going home, to pick up some necessities. I wheeled into the Wal-Mart parking lot intent on getting in and out as quickly as possible.

I always start in the produce department. Near the bagged vegetables a seriously elderly gentleman approached me and asked sweetly, "Could you help me?" then hastily added: "I'm not flirting with you." I figure this fellow has seen at least fifty more birthdays than Trooper Haynes was granted on earth. "Oh? Whyever not?" I teased, feigning disappointment. He cackled and said, "You don't want an old man like me." Turns out all he needed was help locating the pre-packaged Caesar salad mix, complete with bacon bits and dressing right in the bag. When I found it for him, he was so happy he declared that if he knew me better, he would have given me a hug.

I could have used that hug. On the last leg of my journey home I thought about Trooper Haynes's two grieving children who will grow up without their dad. Whatever he wanted to say to them, whatever he wanted to teach them, time's up. My own father died in a terrible accident on a Friday morning while he was hard at work -- only instead of driving a car, he was flying a plane. He would have turned 38 a few weeks after his death, and he left four children who would never know him.

Die young, or live to be so old you need help finding your salad ... I don't know, y'all. Short or long, sometimes the road is hard.