Charlotte, NC

Sometimes, just the rustle of leaves can bring back memories …
I remember back, years ago, there was an old stretch of woods out by Dorman Rd. (just south of Pineville) — actually, we all called it “Turkey Farm Road” for some reason. Daddy used to take me and my brothers there on Sunday afternoons to enjoy the natural beauty, tall trees, and … well, just the peace of it all.
Or … or maybe it was just to get out of mama’s hair while she cleaned up after Sunday dinner. I dunno …
Anyway, there was a Sunday afternoon in September of 1963 in particular that stands out in my mind, and brought new meaning to the word “whuppin’”! Let me explain:
Steve, Dick and I were all Army buffs back then … anything with a helmet and rifle was awesome to us (remember: though I already played a little guitar and harmonica, the Beatles hadn’t hit our shores yet!). Well, awhile earlier, we’d talked Daddy into getting us some “Army” walkie-talkies at K-Mart on South Boulevard, and we took those with us — just in case we became separated or something.
When we got out of his Hinson Pump Co. van (by the way, there’s someone in Derita who’s using that name for his business. Listen … please honor the man who created the first HPC, and keep it clean, okay?) and took off to the woods.
First, we encountered the legendary “Indian Burial Grounds”, and talked about it between ourselves, using our radios (who cares if we were only about three feet apart? The feedback alone let Daddy know where we were!). Then we went a little deeper into the woods, just to check it out.
And deeper …
and deeper …
Yep. We were more lost than an atheist at a Pentecostal tent revival! My brother Dick shinnied up a tree to see if we could find our way out (actually, I tried to tell him to look for the break line … where the trees thinned out a bit with none behind ‘em. But he’d perfected a trick later adopted by ex-wives everywhere: He didn’t listen to me).
Soon, though, he gave in and we started heading in the right direction … to a point where we could hear Daddy …
who’d not only been frantically calling for us, but also had gotten radioed Uncle Cull and Pineville Police Chief Tom Rogers to gather a search party for us! And had also CB’ed Mama, who was at her wits’ end in worry.
Well, we finally made it out. He came up to us and, in a voice that coulda raised those Indians, commanded, “Go get in the truck”.
We piled in, knowing what was gonna happen when we got back! Not a word was said to us; he only got on the CB and let everybody know he’d found us.
Back at the house, we’d started to open the passenger door when he said, “Wait a minute. Let me get to that side. You boys know what’s coming!” Dick got out first … and, after his tail-burnin’ came me! I don’t think I sat down again until 1968! Steve — always the crafty one — tried to sneak out the driver side, but with no success. Daddy “headed him off at the pass.” To this day, I think he got off easier ’cause he was the youngest (only 9 … ’sides, it was close to his birthday!).

Today, we hear of kids runnin’ wild on the streets, staying out ’til all hours, gettin’ into trouble. Sadly, some are hurt, kidnapped or worse, and parents become frantically worried.
Police are called, circulars are put out, Amber Alerts are posted … but not all come back safely.

I submit that if more dads would be like mine (the late C. E. “Eola” Hinson), they’d have a better chance of keeping their kids safe …
even though the young’un’s fannies might be a little worn out in the process …