Several of you responded to the column about my summer of discontent, when I labored on my older brother’s farm for $15 a month.
But the award for the most underpaid person I know goes to J.C. Knowles, former civic leader and author of the popular historical internet blog, “North Carolina Minute.”
During his 13 years at Oxford Orphanage in the late 1930s and early 1940s, J.C. milked six cows a day for the princely sum of $1 per MONTH!
“They did not give me the dollar,” J.C. wrote. “They put it in a little savings bank and we could ask for some money every two weeks. Of course the treasurer of the orphanage was our banker.
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“If we asked for ten cents of our own money, he would almost climb the wall and say, ‘What in the world do you need ten cents for?’
“We had to have a good reason or he would sometimes only give you two or three cents,” J.C. recalled. “We could go to the movies about once in two months, which cost nine cents. What he was trying to do was help us save money rather that spend it on candy and other stuff,” J.C. concluded.
If your child is asking for a raise in allowance, you might refer him or her to this item.
Speaking of milking cows, I am one of the few farm boys who never mastered that skill.
For some reason, our cow, Marie Antoinette, and I were totally incompatible.
Every time I touched her udder she became outraged. She would kick me, the milk pail and the stool on which I sat half way across the stable.
In rebuttal to my claim that God doesn’t play politics or football, reader Jim Richmond takes exception.
“God cares about us all here on earth, even to the fallen sparrow,” he contends. “In His wisdom, He doesn’t take sides in our wars and politics. He lets us make our mistakes. He even lets us misinterpret the Bible.”
Indeed He does the latter, and we take full advantage of the opportunity to do so.
When our legislature passed the the infamous HB2 (toilet bill) I doubt many Tar Heels lost much sleep over the resulting financial losses to various businesses in the state.
But the NCAA’s removal of major sports events from the state because of HB2 has to be a low blow to thousands of avid sports fans living here. Add to that the transfer of ACC post-season tournaments out of North Carolina is like rubbing even more salt in an open wound.
Now negotiations are under way for a possible repeal of HB2, proving once again, that Hell hath no fury like legions of sports fans riled up by political shenanigans.
In lieu of flowers
In a letter, Mary Lib, my wife’s college roommate, now living in Maryland, describes a plethora of assorted illnesses with which she’s afflicted. She notes that a year ago she was at hospice, and given six months to live.
“Although I’m well past my ‘Sell by’ date, I’m determined now to last only through the election,” she says, adding that if she does not, her funeral notice is to include the instruction, “In lieu of flowers, vote for Hillary.”
Plenty of playtime
Responding to a recent column on recess, David Martin of Sarasota, Fla., who heads a home school organization with 600 members, responds to a recent column on the joys and social interaction of recess in public school that is missing from home-schooling.
“One of the most common reasons I hear families leave public school to home-school is due to the lack of recess and free social time,” he writes. “Many public schools have limited recess to 20 minutes or less, while some have eliminated it altogether.
“In our area, there is a park day or other outdoor activity geared toward home-schoolers nearly every day of the week. During these activities, children play freely for hours and hours, getting all that necessary social time and connecting with nature that they need.”
I reminded David that comparing home-schooling characteristics in Florida with those in North Carolina is like the proverbial comparison between oranges and apples.
A reader reminds me that Adam and Eve had the ideal marriage.
Adam never had to hear about the men she could have married. And Eve didn’t have to hear about the way his mother cooked.
Snow: 919-836-5636; email@example.com