Yesterday I received a great gift from my Aunt Nora Bennett. She is notorious for saving things and having a taste for yesteryear and things of the past. In this case, it was old pictures she had saved from my early childhood that contained photos from the old grocery store, our first home, my brother in his first year and some others from that time in my life. But there was one that really got my attention. The picture of me and my brother, Kevin, in our best clothes with our hair all perfect, (or as perfect as mom could make my curly hair, Kevin's hair was easy, his is straight!), and yes that fateful scar on my face, received by an act of disobedience.
In this day we live in, excuses are the norm, failure is accepted without a second thought, and expectations of our children are at, what I think, is an all-time low in America. Some would say that I was only a kid, but I would argue then and now that kids, most of the time, even at the age of 5 know right from wrong, and they sure know what they are doing when dealing with their parents and trying to manipulate them to get what they want. But what I did was a simple act of disobedience of waiting until I thought nobody was looking, and then doing what I was told that I couldn't do. As I looked at the picture, I began to recall what happened that day.
Early in the week, I'm not sure what day of the week it was, or even the time of the year in 1971, my father, Donald Lee, and Bill Baker, had delivered a horse to our cattle farm from Oklahoma. As I watched the beautiful horse in the holding pen, I couldn't wait until Daddy would take me for a ride on it. I had heard Chris Carden, Brett & Bartt Johnson, my closest friends, talk of riding horses, and I couldn't wait for my turn. I was so excited. I wouldn't realize it for several years, but the days that followed would shape my attitude of life forever.
My father worked at the local mobile home plant and a contractor, and on the family farm, and my mother taught piano lessons to many local students after school and on Saturday's. After we left the barn one morning a couple of days after we got the horse and went home. I remember Kelly Eoff being at our house for a piano lesson and I was outside playing on the swing set. I had interrupted my mother and Kelly at least two times to ask to go see the horse. Mom simply told me know and to either go to my room and play or stay in the yard and play. I had asked Daddy earlier if I could ride the horse and he told me, 'we can't ride that horse'. He also told me to stay away from it as to not get hurt. Dad was working on some houses he was building on the south side of town, the current houses that Vonda Akridge currently lives in and some in the area. He left for work with me playing on the swing, all the while, I was planning on going to the corral to see the horse.
For those who don't know the history of the land behind Nora's house, the green building was built there to manufacture trusses for the local mobile home plant, after my grandfather had sold his dairy cattle and converted to beef cattle in the late 60's. The dairy barn and corral was located adjacent to that green building and was partially torn down to make room for the green truss building. My parents lived where my Dad currently lives approximately 1/4 mile east on top of the hill, literally a few hundred yards away from the swing set that I was on looking down on that horse, that wonderful horse that I named Red.
Somehow, after being told not to go down there at least 3 or 4 times, I thought it would be OK to go, and furthermore as I was walking, I don't remember when it happened, but I convinced myself that I was going to get on that horse and show everyone that I could ride it. Now, this was going to be a big step for me, if you see pictures of me (refer to Facebook) next to my dad's blue Super Bee with a white top, you'll notice that I barely came up to the window on the door, and probably couldn't open it without help. And here I was, going to ride this really BIG horse! I had the key problem of getting on the horse all figured out, I was smart. I had watched my uncles, aunts, and cousins, mount horses by leading the horse near the rail, tie it up and climb up the fence rails and just like that they were on that horse. So what would be so hard for me, all I had to do was catch the horse.
As I made my way to the dairy barn and holding pen I remembered that I had watched Daddy on several occasions load cattle into a trailer or up a shoot or ramp by extending the lariat rope and waving it in circles at his side to shoo them in a certain direction. This gave me the idea of getting the bridle and reins and doing the same thing to get the horse in position to catch it. I don't remember us having a formal tack room, just a post with nails that we hung everything on inside the dairy barn, but it was adjacent to the holding pen or corral, and I went inside and got it and made my way into the corral where the horse was waiting to see what I was going to do.
It didn't take long for the horse to figure out my plan, as I climbed over the fence and into the corral which was square or rectangle in shape. This was good for my plan as I could get him into a corner, throw the reins over his neck and tie him up. Up to this point, this is what happened even though all the details aren't clear in my memory, and my frame of mind was one of have fun but don't get caught or you'll be in trouble. To this day, I don't know what I was going to do if I ever got on that horse. Dad was going to tear my butt up if he ever found out. But that obviously didn't stop what I was about to do. I didn't know it but in another 30 seconds it would all change.
As I climbed into the pen, I started waving my arms and the reins to get the horse into the corner. This was my first mistake, as I made the horse nervous and ran it round and round the pen several times before it evidently got frustrated with me and just turned away with its' head over the rail in the corner. To me this was a plan gone perfect, but in fact, it was the perfect storm gone bad. I always watched and tried to learn how to handle animals, and with a horse, they are easily spooked when they can't see something behind them, especially in a new situation. I noticed that as Daddy had walked under or around a horse or cow, no matter how tame, he would always be touching it as he made his way into the animals' blind spot. This seemed like a good idea to me, except, I forgot the important point of starting where the horse could see me.
I was calmly talking to Red, shushing him and telling him to take it easy, as I approached him from behind. This is the part that becomes foggy, I remember reaching with my left hand to touch his back hip, I see a leg pull up and a hoof, and the next thing I know is I'm laying on the ground. My world had gone dark, I'm not hurting, and I'm not afraid. I'm wondering what to do. I know I'm injured, but I'm not in pain. To realize that I have been kicked in the face by a huge horse, was bad enough. But you see, for those who don't know me well, I had also suffered a gunshot wound to the left temple of my head when I was 6 months old, leaving me blind in my left eye from damage to my brain where my optic nerve connects to the brain. And as things turned out, the horse had landed his hoof squarely centered on my right eye! The only remnants of sight I have is vague light and shadows with absolutely no detailed visions to help me home.
At this point, I began to worry, not know how badly I was injured, that my parents would scold me for not minding their instructions and staying where I was told to play. I can remember a lot of the walk home. I can remember the thought of putting up the reins in the dairy barn, but I couldn't see to find them. I crawled to my feet and felt my way to the side of the pen and crawling through the wooden railed fence. I somehow knew which direction to go, which can only be explained by the hand of God reaching down and leading me the way home. This may be a small thing to some or a coincidence to others, but I believe in God's guidance, literally! I walked and I can remember fear overcoming me as I walked to a tree that is still standing today at the edge of the hill, and calling out to my Daddy. "Daddy, is that you" as I reached out with open arms, "Daddy, please don't be mad at me". Those words will never leave my memory as I grasped the bark of that tree in my hands. From this point on, it can only be God's protection and guidance that brought me up the hill from that point.
At this point I lose memory of what happens until I stumble to the front porch of the mobile home which we lived. Inside I could hear the piano being played, and I was more afraid that ever of having to face my mom and tell her where I've been, and worse, what I've done. As I opened the door and stepped inside, "Mom, please don't be mad at me". My mom, Faye, was instructing Kelly Eoff from the right side of the piano, turned and looked at me and screamed with horror at what must have been the second worst moment in her life, (I would provide more later in life, unfortunately), the first was me being shot as my dad held me in his arms. I remember seeing them move across the room to me as it got darker when they got in front of the light and I told them what happened and where I had been, still worried that I was in trouble. We rushed out the door as Dale Langston had arrived for his piano lesson, and into our white VW Beetle mom drove.
Mom was frantic, looking to find Daddy who was at work across town, which was only about a mile. (Bigelow's population was 258 at the time, tiny) We ended up at Donald Ray and Vonda Akridge's house (next door to the dairy barn) and got a wet towel to cover the wounds to my face and head. I remember waking up in Conway's hospital and hearing my dad tell someone that he was taking me to Baptist in Little Rock (where ACH is now). The nurse said he couldn't, and to make a long story short, we took an ambulance to Baptist.
My first sight of my own wounds was several days later, when at my MaMaw & PaPaw Short's house in Conway, as I pulled my eye open just to see if I could see. I didn't realize the power of miracles then, but this was a true act of God. He had save my eyesight beyond impossible odds. This accident had caved in my upper face to the point that I can still, 42 years later, feel the indention in the bones around my right eye.
As I healed, I was adorned with well wishes and prayers of thanksgiving for my recovery. One day shortly after, my Grandpa Donald Langston took me to show me the blood stains on the wooden rails where I had climbed. He told me how proud he was of me to be strong and get out and not lay there for the horse to trample me. Several times I would hear him tell me that he would get a hold of me if I didn't mind after that day.
One of the most touching things for me to experience is when someone who was involved in my life tells me a little something of being there when I was shot (Blue Blair did this one week before he died), and later helping that day that I was kicked, and all of them always give God the credit. The most vivid account was given one Sunday night a year or two before Grandpa Langston passed away in 1986. At Bigelow Baptist Church, we used to take turns giving a testimony praising God for the good things that he has blessed us with. On one particular night, Brother Zeke Lancaster, asked if anyone had any praise, and as usual, one of the most faithful Godly women I know, Rhonda Mayo stood up first, and others followed. The thing that really got me was my mom, sitting at the piano, stood and thanked God for her family, and noted that if it weren't for God I wouldn't be here on at least 3 occasions, and my Dad stood and gave thanks also with tears of thankfullness. This was very moving, but what happened next was totally unexpected.
Grandpa Langston, stood with Granny Marie sitting next to him, and said, "Preacher" clearing his throat and choking up a little, as I sat directly in front of him, with his hands on my shoulders clinching me as only a grandfather would, said the following. "Preacher, this church has seen answered prayer through this boy right here". The rest of what he said is foggy, but he explained, with tears rolling down his cheeks, how the entire church prayed many times that God put his healing hand upon me and save me and use me for his will.
There wasn't a dry eye in that small congregation that night. What I realized at that time was that God is never-failing. We may not understand, and we may have doubt, but he doesn't, he's always there. I am an answered prayer.
I'm glad God walked me home that day, and so was Grandpa, his tears on my shoulder proved it.
