The Little Black Box

True story from my Mother from about 1932.
The Little Black Box

When I was a little girl we lived
on a farm. Hobos would sometimes stop
at our house to beg for food. One time one of these men
gave me a gift when he had finished eating
some food my mother had given him. He opened
a big black bag that he carried on his back
when he walked on the roads. He reached in the bag and
took out a lovely black metal box with gold flowers
painted around it. I felt so special,
because I was the only one in the family
to be given a gift. Soon after, he left by way
of the back door. My mother said she would keep
the box for me and she put it away somewhere.
As the weeks went by, I would
ask my mother if I could play with my little black
box and always she would say, "No, I am taking
care of it for you." Over the years, I would
occasionally ask if I could play with it,
and she would still say, "No, I am keeping it in
a safe place for you."

One day when my parents were in town
and my sisters and brothers were outside playing,
I decided I would look for my little black box.
Not finding it hidden in what I thought
to be the usual hiding places,
like her dresser drawers, I decided I would look
under the corner of the mattress at the foot of her bed.
There it was! Quickly, I looked inside and
there I saw a lot of money! My mom and dad were
using my little box for their bank. At last,
I understood why they needed to keep my box.

As I stood there staring at the little black box,
I noticed that some of the gold and black paint
had worn off. I knew they had so often opened it
to put some money inside, then opened it again
later to take money out to take care of all of us.

It didn't look like the little black box with
the gold flowers on it that I remembered.
It wasn't 'my' little black box anymore,
and I never asked to play with it again.

Some years later after I was grown up
and married I was visiting my mom and dad.
My mother told me I could have my little black box
and take it home with me. I told her "No",
that I didn't want it anymore.
I never did see it again

Blue Velvet

BLUE VELVET - True story from my mother, around 1933


Many years ago when I was a little girl, my family lived in the country. My father farmed the land and cared for his animals. Many men did not have jobs to earn money for food. They walked on the roads, stopping at homes to beg for food.

As a little girl, I watched my mother and father give food to those who came to our back door. Some of these men stopped at our house once a year. My father was the only one who would talk to them. One time my mother and father invited a man to come into the kitchen where it was warm. The Hobo, as these traveling men were called back then, was seated on a chair by the stove near the back door.

It was October 17th, when my father invited this one inside to sit by the fire. I went over to him and told him that my birthday was that very day. He smiled and said he had a gift for me. I was SO surprised! He brought in a big, black bag from the back porch. I was very excited and could hardly wait until he opened it. Inside we saw pieces of lovely material, gloves, scarves, shoes, socks, combs, hair brushes and much more. He felt through the bag until his big hands found something. It was a large piece of beautiful blue velvet! I felt so special to receive this beautiful piece of material, and I could hardly go to sleep when I went to bed that night.
After finishing his meal, he said goodbye and he and my father spoke. He picked up the big black bag and left by the back door telling my father he would see him next year.
A few days later my mother said she thought I would like a warm blue velvet hat to wear to the first grade, as a cold winter was coming. The hat turned out rather like a sock cap. She would pull it on my head and over my ears. My father was very proud of the way the hat looked on me. I wore the little blue hat when playing outside at recess time. But the other school kids laughed and made fun of my new blue hat! I did not know what to think, but I was embarrassed. That was the only time I ever wore my hat at school. I wore it when my father drove us to school, and I wore it when my father came to drive us home. My lovely blue velvet hat turned out to just be something for kids to make fun of. I was very sad over this. I never told my mother how the kids had laughed at the beautiful hat she has so lovingly made for me.
I will never forget "Joe Rhyne", the Hobo who gave me the piece of beautiful blue velvet. I never saw him again......