Originally Posted By: bluage
Dear Ms. Janice, "Bud", & Mr. Jane...

My father's father was a sharecropper in Arkansas. One day when I was a kid I did something wasteful, such as leaving lights on in a room that I was no longer in, or ran a glass of water from the kitchen faucet, took only a few quick gulps, and then poured the rest of it down the sink, or used too much toilet paper, or didn't finish eating my dinner, whatever; it was any one of those things. My father caught me at it. "Sit down over here, son", he said sternly. I did as I was told. He looked down at me, straight into my eyes, and for such a long time that I realized that I was in serious, serious trouble. Often in the past, when I knew that I was about to a receive professional a**-whoopin', I would attempt to delay the unavoidable deed by insisting that I had to go the bathroom. Not so this time. I was so fearful that I think my bladder zipped itself up and went into "output delayed by severe stress" mode.

But amazingly enough, my father only wanted me to listen to him, to attempt to make me understand what was wrong with what I had done.

"Son", he began in a firm, measured tone, a severe look on face, "if only...if only you knew how hard we had to work for the things you throw away so easily". He held up his hands to show me the scars on his fingertips and cuticles that came from picking cotton as a youth. "You don't know...", he said in a voice that was suddenly choked-up, his eyes beginning to tear-up, "...you just don't know". He couldn't finish speaking. Probably because he was embarassed at showing such strong emotion in my presence, he simply turned and walked away.

After that moment, I am pretty sure that I never did the wasteful thing that had aroused his anger, or any other such misuse of household resources. Never forgot that scene, obviously.

My father was not a "child laborer" in the way you all described it in your song, but the song immediately un-anchored that memory from the depths of my mind and caused it to float to the surface. So, indirectly, you folks excavated some sure-enough strong emotion out of me through listening to "Our Good Old Days", and as far as I'm concerned, that's the first job that a song has to do, and you did that.

Mighty fine work, folks, migh-ty fine. Thank you,

LOREN



I (Bud) grew up similarly. My mother would save slivers of used up bar soap for melting down into new bars! And lots more...

We are so glad you like the song!!!

J&B

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