Chapter 13

"The shoe"

What is the most scared you’ve ever been? No, no. Please don’t tell me. That was rhetorical. I really don’t have time to hear your story. I was just leading into my scariest time. And, as Dad would say, “I’m driving this team of mules.”

There was never a question of who was leading the Hayter family’s team of mules. Dad was the muleskinner, the trail boss the head honcho. He was also the driving force behind my scariest moment.

I was nine at the time… and not just because it rhymed. We were living on 1628 Camille Street. It was a Wednesday. About 7:10 in the p.m. Larry, Dennis, Jill, Alan and I were gathered around the TV in the living room. I was on the wooden floor, stomach down, elbows propped so my hands could support my head at the chin. Got the picture?

“Wagon Train” was on. At no time in our family’s history had we ever watched an entire episode of “Wagon Train.” It came on a Wednesday night. Church night. Services started at 7:30, a scriptural time. Our church was a 20-minute drive away, so ten minutes is all we had for Wagon Train. A smarter group of kids would’ve never started a program knowing they’d miss the last 50 minutes. But, these were desperate times.

Mom started yelling at 7:04. “Okay, everybody up! Some of you aren’t even dressed yet. Let’s go!” -- Nothing. Mom usually didn’t get serious till the third, fourth yell. We knew that. Important thing was, Indians had surrounded the wagon train out on the dessert. Some of the worst land you’d ever seen. I have no idea what the Indians were even doing out there.

It’s 7: 07. “I’m not going to tell you again! You kids get up and get in the car!” Second warning. Everything was cool. Ward Bond just sent Robert Horton off to get the cavalry. The Indians continued to ride in a circle around the wagons, getting picked off one at a time. I would’ve given them more sense then that. Fortunately, there were a lot of ‘em. Some of ‘em got killed more than once. “Hey, that’s the same guy who fell off backwards a second ago!”

7:10 “Okay, that’s it! TV off!” Third call. Sounded like she might have a fourth left in her, so we didn’t budge. Well, Larry budged. He was the oldest, and apparently didn’t care all that much for “Wagon Train.”

The fourth warning never came. About 10 seconds after Mom left the room, Dad came in from… we never knew where. What was that all about? Surely Dad wasn’t going to church. He seldom went Wednesday nights. No, this was just weird. Something wasn’t right. Dad walked over to the TV and turned it off. Didn’t ask, didn’t yell… just turned it off. Then he said, “Everybody in the car. We’re going to be late church.”

Hokey Smokes! Caught us completely off balance. We were bumping into each other, tripping on the throw rug, and trying to get traction on that oak floor. Jill and Al headed outside to the car. Dennis and I ran for the bedroom. We weren’t dressed for church. I needed a shirt, pants, socks and shoes. I came out of my shorts while running down the hallway. (Shorts, not underwear) I grabbed my jeans off the bed and hopped in ‘em. Dennis was already headed out the backdoor. You would have to visit a different solar system to find a faster dresser than Dennis. He was the best.

The family was in the car waiting for only me. Dad was the worst waiter in the world. I learned from the best. I just grabbed a shirt off the floor, found two socks and my shoes and then raced to the car. The back right-side door was open, so I dove in. Dennis was struggling to get the door shut just as Dad backed out of the driveway. It was not a good time to be a Hayter kid. One-second things were calm as could be. Oh, the Indians were taking a hit, but we were doing fine. All of a sudden we’re scrambling for our lives. -- “Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here.” Shakespeare is the first one to say that. He must’ve been in the backseat with me.

As soon as Dad had the car pointed churchward he started his lecture. I started getting dressed. Took me a couple of tries to get my shirt on frontward. – “I want you kids to start minding your mother. Do you hear me?” (Yes, sir. Yes, Daddy. Won’t happen again.) “Your mother shouldn’t have to tell you more than once to move.” – Okay, I’ve found both socks, and am about to—there, my feet are socked.

“If I ever catch you – any of you – pulling a stunt like you did tonight—“ Okay, right shoe on and… where’s my other shoe?” – “Your mother works her fingers to the bone trying to get you kids to—“ My shoe! Where’s my other shoe?

I didn’t want to create a disturbance while Dad was yelling at us, so I just kept feeling around on the floor. Finally, the oration ended. I looked over at Dennis. I didn’t have to say a word. Dennis recognized the “I can’t find my shoe” look. Do I need to tell you again how close we were?

I punched Jill and whispered. “Are you hiding my shoe?” She wasn’t. I looked over at Al. He was just a nubbin’. Totally useless to Shoeless Mark. -- “Shoe? You can’t have my shoe? Mother, Mark wants my shoe!” -- No, don’t even get him started.

We were five minutes into the ride when I had to face the fact that the shoe had never left the house. The last 15 minutes of the drive was three hours on the terror clock. I was doomed. There was no way out of this. Dad had just yelled at us for not minding Mom. It was our selfishness that was making us late. If I were to open my mouth and ask to go back for my shoe… well, I don’t know what would’ve happened.

I didn’t honestly think Dad would kill me. I wouldn’t have bet against it, but it just wasn’t a safe wager. What was the worst thing? He could let me out of the car and make me walk back. No, he wouldn’t do that. He could stop the car and spank me. That was a possibility. He could wait and spank me at church. Yeah, that’s the ticket. That’s what he would do. I’d be crying in the parking lot, and the preacher would dismiss people so they could go see what was happening. Realizing what my punishment would be, I opted not to say anything till we got to church. No use him having 15 minutes to yell at me before spanking.

This was bad. I had never been so frightened. Hey, that’s what started chapter, isn’t it? So, naturally, I started crying. Quietly. Only those in the backseat could tell. Jill started crying too. Dennis wasn’t real happy, but he didn’t cry. He was made of sterner stuff. He wasn’t brave or noble enough to give me his left shoe, but he was tough. This would be just one more example of Mark being the dumb one. No big shocker for Dad. Oh, yeah, I might survive this.

We eventually pulled into the parking lot of the South Houston church of Christ. A more legalistic congregation was not to be found south of the Oklahoma border. That’s not exactly pertinent to anything right here, but I just thought I’d mention it. Dad working with others on the construction of the church in South Houston.

The minute Dad switched off the key, the backseat emptied. Nearly. Dennis and Jill were already at the church house door. Alan grabbed Mom’s hand and Dad went ahead of ‘em to talk to Cecil Webb, who had also shown up a little late.

Me? Well, I decided to try out a strategy that hit me about two minutes earlier. It was brilliant. I gave it a 30 percent chance of working. Those were more than cceptable odds. What else did I have? The idea was for Dad or Mom not to notice me. I’d enter the building and limp straight to Bible Class. If anyone asked, I had hurt my foot. Sprained ankle. After class, I’d sit on the last pew, and as soon as the final “Amen” was uttered, I’d make a beeline for the car. As long as my Bible school teacher didn’t confront Mom about my gnarled ankle, it just might work. It had to work.

And, it would’ve worked had it not been for Mom. She was halfway to the building when she turned to see what was keeping me. There I was one shoe on, one shoe off. Before she could even react I let it fly, “Mother, please don’t tell Daddy. I’ll just say that I hurt my foot and no one has to know that I forgot my shoe.”

I’m asking you, what is wrong with that? No big deal. No injury, no foul. I have no idea how that relates, but it sounds almost applicable. Well, I don’t know if it was because we were at church and Mom didn’t want to lie about my foot, or it was because we had been such stinkers in not obeying her about turning off the TV. Whatever it was, it all came down like the fist of God.

“Honey! You’re going to need to come here.” Dad was “Honey.” At no time did Mom ever call him “Faris.” Not in our presence, anyway. Maybe never. I don’t know. He was just Honey. Even if she was mad at him, she’d call him “Honey.” And, he called her “Honey,” too. Not “Honey 2” That might’ve gotten him in trouble. – Oh, forget that. I was just stalling for what happened next.

By this time, I’m bawling my head off. There’s no muffled cry going on. I’m way past hiding anything. Life as I knew it was over. I was the idiot child who forgot his shoe and was too much of a baby to tell Dad about it. Does it get lower than that? I didn’t think so either.

“He forgot his shoe.” That’s all Mom had to say. Dad looked down at me and just shook his head. He didn’t yell, or slap me or grab me by the arm and hustle me to the other side of the parking lot so he could whip me. He just shook his head and said, “I’ll take him home, and come back for you when church is over. Get in the car.” The “Get in the car” part was addressed to me. The other part was for Mom.

I hadn’t planned on that. What an idiot I’d been! Dad was going to take me home and spank me so my pathetic cry wouldn’t disturb the congregation. I started bawling even louder. Up until the moment I entered the front seat… and plopped my buns right across from Dad. Had I gotten into the backseat, I don’t know what he would’ve done. I had never been in such a horrid situation before, so I really didn’t know the proper protocol. Figured the front passenger side was the most proper. Figured it’d just make him madder if he had to reach back to smack me.

As soon I shut the door, I cried less loudly. I didn’t want plant the seed for the ol’ “If you don’t shut up I’m gonna give you something to cry about!” line. I had heard it a few thousand times. Not from Dad, though. He wasn’t much of one for threats. He just more or less reacted to bad behavior. -- “I hate rude behavior in a child. Won’t tolerate it.” – One of those kind of disciplinarians.

So, I tried to keep the volume of my crying down. It turned into one of those cries where I couldn’t catch my breath between sobs. Dad said nothing. He just started the car and we left the parking lot. For a split second I wondered what Dennis, Jill and Larry were thinking. Alan thought nothing. “The creep was after my shoe, Mother. What was that all about?”

Dennis and I were in the same Bible class. What would he think when I didn’t show. Would he be scared for me? Would he pray for me? – By the way, back then we were so legalistic that we thought God too big and too busy to worry about kids being scared about forgotten shoes or about pending spankings. He was too busy getting upset over big stuff. Kids didn’t count for much.

So, I knew God was on Dad’s side. Who could even begin to love a kid as stupid and bad as I was? It was going to be justifiable homicide. And God would be cheering Dad on. I didn’t blame Him. In fact, I was halfway ready for it. For the last 20 minutes I had experienced mental hell. I was ready for a change. Physical hell? Bring it on. Anything was better than what my mind was doing to me.

We were about halfway home before Dad said anything. And, he didn’t even yell when he said it. He didn’t even look at me when he said it. I peeked over at him, though. I thought that’s what I’d better do. Like I say, it was new ground for me. The biggest thing I had ever done wrong.

Looking straight ahead, and in a voice as caring as could be, my daddy said, “I can’t believe you’re that afraid of me.” He said it more to himself than to me.

I had no answer for Dad. He had never abused us or anything close to that. We were just all scared of him when he got mad. I don’t really know why. There was just something that brought fear. Fear of disappointing him as much as anything else. I guess. For me, it seemed I could do nothing else but disappoint him.

And, sure enough, there I was doing it again. I thought I should in some way respond to his question or comment. What was it? “I can’t believe you’re that afraid of me.” What kind of response could a nine-year-old come up with? A stupid nine-year-old. I said the only thing I could think of. Between my crying gasps I said, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Dad looked over at me this time. He shook his head and said, “No.” That was it. No. What did it mean? For a second I almost asked him. Oh, who am I kidding? No, way was I going to ask him to explain. He wasn’t yelling at me, and I could tell he wasn’t going to spank me. Why rock the boat asking for an explanation? Besides, I was halfway thinking that Dad might cry if he started explaining to me what he meant by “No.” If I had seen my daddy cry, I sure enough would’ve been scared.

When we got home, Dad walked over to the fridge and pulled out two RC Colas. He opened one and handed it to me. A whole one. I had just stepped off onto the planet “Weird.” I hadn’t had a whole RC in… well I never had a whole RC. Dad opened the other for himself and then he said, “Okay, we’ve got a little time before church is over, so what say we watch “Ozzie and Harriet”?

“Ozzie and Harriet.” I had never seen it before, because it came on Wednesday nights during church. I had heard about it, but… wow! I was just way too young to take it all in. I kept thinking something was going to happen to bring the terror back.

Dad and I sat on the couch together and laughed together. It was my most favorite time with Dad. It was a miracle. What I thought was going to be the worst spanking of my life, ended up being a treasured moment with my father. Maybe God wasn’t too big or too busy to worry about kids. Even the really dumb ones.

After the Nelsons signed off, Dad said that we’d best go get the family. He also said, “Don’t forget your shoe, Son.” When Dad called me “Son”, I knew things were okay between me and him.

Everybody stepped gingerly to the car as we drove up. They quietly got in. Dennis and Jill checked me out to see if there were any visible scars. I just smiled and nodded. Then we all smiled big when Dad said, “What say we go to Dairy Mart for dipped cones?”

Four “Oh, boys!” erupted from the backseat. Larry just said, “Sounds good to me.” Mom, who was sitting in the middle between Larry and Dad, nuzzled up just a little closer to Dad.

I don’t guess it gets any sappier than that. But, I don’t care. Like I say, it turned out to be one of my best moments. Perhaps the closest moment I ever had with Dad.

It made no sense when I tried to explain to Dennis what happened. How could it? Somehow I had stepped off onto the planet Weird. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought that God took a break in His busy schedule to show a father and son a hint of Himself. Back then I didn’t think it important enough in the whole scheme of things, for God to mess with something as small as that. Back then.

Dad and me