Robert

On the second Monday of every month at 7 in the evening I find myself wondering, “Who is Robert?” At my very first 4-H meeting when I turned 8, Debbie’s Mom, the adult leader, explained all about Robert and his Rules of Order. I drew the conclusion right then and there that Robert must have influenced everything about celebrating the 4 “H’s”—head, heart, hands and health. My awe of him flourished, endowing 4-H with an elevated otherworldly mystique bordering on a religious experience. In time I even concocted an entire epic about Robert’s magical powers. He was my hero and assisted 4-H in sweeping me up and being my refuge.

My big brother, this year’s club President, hits the wooden gavel on the desk and calls the meeting to order. First we cross our hearts with our right hands and pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. Then we pledge our lives to the 4-H flag. The flags are about 4 inches long and stand side by side in a plastic base that is the color of metal. When they are ceremonially unfurled each month I can actually feel that I am standing taller than usual.

Do you see what I mean about the power of mystery?  The rituals, undoubtedly created by Robert and his rules, mesmerize me. It is kinda like being at church only without God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost. It’s not that they aren’t here, too. They are. It’s just that this club is about having fun and making stuff and square dancing and cooking and sewing and collecting bugs and raising vegetables and farm animals.

The Victory 4-H Club makes my heart sing, that’s for sure. It is the only place in my life where I feel I belong hook line and sinker. When I am doing something that has to do with 4-H, I feel like I am part of a community. Isn’t it odd that I live in such a small town but feel like an outsider? I may have taken on my mother’s attitude about the people who live here. She seems to almost dislike the farmers who come into the lumberyard. And among the folks who live in town, there are only a few she really trusts. Of course, she is always nice to everyone—and I don’t think they even know how she really feels. But I know. It is obvious we feel they are different from us. That makes me feel lonely and sad and afraid to admit because it means when I want to get close to people, Mom will discourage me with a few words and a glance.

When I go to a 4-H activity, however, it is like I am dropped off at the front door of heaven and set free. I can be a friend with any of them. We are all part of the same club, and even though they are the very same kids who Mom dislikes when we’re not doing 4-H activities, here it is okay to belong. I am certain Robert must have had a part in giving me this place to connect with people. I just love being part of something greater than myself and my family.

Tonight, our “order of business” is to decide on the float we are going to make for the county fair parade. Mom has been brainstorming ideas and designing floats with pencil on thin paper. The idea I like sounds like it might be the hardest to make. She asks my dad if he can make an 8-foot sphere frame and cover it with chicken wire. Then, the Saturday and Sunday before the parade, us kids would stuff the chicken wire with napkins. It’s supposed to look like the flowers used in making the floats for the rose bowl parade.

We will create the world in just one day. The continents will be green, because that is the 4-H color and the oceans will be white because that is the color of all the napkins. The sides of the lumberyard’s flat bed truck will say; “4-H Builds A Friendly World”. I like the idea a lot, even though it sounds like it is going to need a lot of help from parents and all of us kids working hard to make it happen.  A motion is made and seconded and in an instant it has been decided that this is the float we are going to make. I join the others in shouting out my “yes!”

As the next order of business is brought up I let my mind wander and my eyes fall on the adults who are sitting at the back of the room. They are not only parents but are also leaders of different 4-H activities. I really love when a small group of us goes to one of their homes. There is something about the adult attention at these times I don’t get anywhere else in my life. When they share what they love, I can really feel it. When they encourage me with their inspiring stories and relate to me individually—it feels like the whole world has fallen completely away and there is nothing left but that activity leader and I.

Take Mrs. McGuire, for instance. Last week I went to her farm just outside of town out by the cemetery to learn to make vegetable soup. First, the six of us girls put on the bibbed aprons and were given little paring knives. We were assigned a vegetable to cut up to put into the soup. I got okra. Since my mother hates okra I’d never tried it. I understood why as soon as I made the first chop. The insides were slimy and stringy. I was completely grossed out and wanted to go home. I felt envious of Gwen Griffing’s carrots that she was turning into perfect flat round disks and the green beans Debbie Stallard was happily snapping in her fingers. When the soup was done, it tasted delicious and did not, due to my instance, include okra.

My Auntie Lou is the sewing leader. She has “the patience of Job with those kids” everyone says. I don’t have any idea who Job is, but I love Auntie Lou, even though I don’t like sewing. I did feel like a grown up, though, when she taught me to thread the sewing machine by myself. You would never guess how her shinny black Singer with fancy gold letters comes right out of the top of a wooden cabinet that looks like a table. As many times as I’ve been to her house I never imagined her sewing machine was tucked away like that!

Mrs. Griffing is my favorite activity leader. I am crazy about how she can just have fun and play. She feels like she’s one of us kids. No matter what we do with her, it’s delightful and enchanting. She really takes Robert’s magic to a whole new level and shares it with us until we squeal. Her real job is teaching junior high reading and English. But her true calling is being a 4-H leader. At least that’s what I think. I especially love it when she gets us square dancing. She makes dos e does and al-a-my lefts feel like we’ve been doing them all our lives. I don’t even mind wearing a short red-checked skirt or touching hands with boys.                                                                                                              

My dad is in back of the room, too, with the other parents. He is the gardening leader. I can’t believe he has fallen asleep during the meeting. I guess the way it’s run, with all the rules about having only one person getting recognized to talk at a time, makes it quiet enough for Dad to sleep. I am embarrassed and don’t want the other kids turning turn around and seeing him. And, I hope he doesn’t start snoring!

I don’t think he does a very good job as the gardening leader. He is too forceful about the making certain you do everything the “right way”. You don’t feel any love or magic when he talks at you about gardening. I saw him one night when he was alone in the garden. He didn’t know I was behind the garage. He was talking sweetly to his tomatoes, so I know he really does understand vegetables. I learned all about loving them from my Grandma. I wish Dad would help the other kids awaken to the wonder of gardening and flowers and vegetables. I wish he would tune into Robert’s wisdom a little. He only seems able to show his gruff side. I think he’s cranky and uncomfortable when he has to be around children.

Sylvia Hartwich is a sophisticated and stylish woman. She fascinates me for 2 reasons. First, she is the only person in our town who has ever gotten divorced. And secondly, Sylvia is one of the people my mother trusts. She is preparing us for the fashion show at the fair. This is the first year I have done this so I don’t yet know how uncomfortable I am going to be in front of a bleacher full of people watching as I stop and turn left and then turn right and pause to pose with one foot at a slight angle behind the other. Mrs. Hartwich’s quiet warmth and my curiosity about her makes pushing through this useless activity seem worthwhile.

Several of the things I am interested in don’t have leaders. That doesn’t stop me from setting out on my own. For interior decorating I decide to redo my parents bedroom. I pick the paint color and spend an afternoon carefully painting—the way dad has taught me. He is so finicky about painting he almost sounded angry when he showed me how.

The biggest concern he has about painting is cleaning the brush when you’re done so you can’t even tell it’s been used. I take this very seriously when I am finished for the day and pour what I think is turpentine generously over my hands and brush. To my surprise and horror I have picked up furniture stripper that is in the identical colored can as the turpentine. The thick sticky chemicals burn and hurt my hands a lot. Running water over them only makes it worse. I am home alone, so I run as fast as I can all the way to the lumberyard for help. My dad grabs some turpentine and soon the furniture stripper is off my hands. I think what I did scared him so I overlook his scolding. I am just glad the burning stopped.

There are no adults in our 4-H club who know anything about bugs other than killing them when they bite or poisoning them when they get on the crops. I had never heard the word “entomology”. I didn’t even associate the word with the cases of insects stuck through the heart with silver straight pins that hang in my brother’s room. He had researched and then perfected the process and sometime, I can’t remember when, he taught me how to mount bugs and butterflies. I am a little surprised, as sensitive as I am about animals including bugs that I can kill them in a smelly Ball canning jar and hurt them with pins after they are dead. I guess my brother must have done a good job demonstrating how to put your feelings aside when doing entomology.

I hear A.C. Griffing move to take a break from the meeting for refreshments. Curtis McGuire seconds it. This means it is time to eat sweets and drink a bottle of pop. I’ve been thinking about this moment all day. I choose my pop, which is in a glass bottle buried among others in a large metal cooler filled with ice in the back of the room. Then I wait in line for Mr. Berges to wrench off the metal cap of my Orange Crush with a church key. I take an enormous swig, anticipating that the thick sweet orange liquid will explode in my mouth. Instead, my taste buds are inundated by a putrid, moldy, disgusting taste so awful I spontaneously spit it out, even though we are inside the building. My dad appears immediately out of nowhere and grabs the bottle away from me. He thinks I am trying to act like a smart aleck. When I tell him what happened and we look inside the bottle, there are cigarettes floating at the bottom like dead fish before they come to the surface. He tries to make it seem like it’s is not a big deal, discourages me from talking about it, quietly gets me another bottle of pop and leaves me with the other kids.  But, Orange Crush is never the same for me after that.

Soon it is time to adjourn the meeting. The flags and their base are slipped back into the box and the gavel taps 2 times--signaling the meeting is officially over. I am spinning inside with a sugar high from the pop and cupcakes and am invigorated by the experience of belonging. The room is swirling and it feels like I am inside a snow globe. People are gathering their belongings and getting ready to go home.  Parents are talking with one another while their children run amuck. Some boys are chasing each other with their thumbs over the end of their pop bottles, shaking them as they run.

I sit in the back of the Chrysler between my brother and sister on the way home. The next thing I remember is being woken up so I can walk into our house and go to bed. In that in-between time of sleeping and being nearly awake, I am so full of happiness and gratitude I think I might explode. Before I slip into bed I thank Robert for everything he brings me at the Victory 4-H Club. I am looking forward to stuffing that huge globe of the world with napkins and I can’t wait for next month’s meeting. I’ve decided I'm going to choose Grapette.