Bawl, Boy, Bawl

As we left the tiny country church near Dad’s Mississippi Delta farm, my boyhood best friend and mentor Jaybird asked, “Son, as much as you love to sing Christmas carols, why didn’t you sing today?” The old black man was disappointed. He loved my caterwauling, as I sang gleefully, “Joy To The World,” “Silent Night, Holy Night,” “O Little Town Of Bethlehem,” and other carols. Once spoken, unkind words cannot be unspoken. A few days before, as I entered the school bus, Mr. Smith, the driver who always shared our church pew, quipped, “You love to sing in church, don’t you, boy?” Expecting praise, I chirped, “Yes, Sir.” With a frown and stern look, he said, “Well, your singing sounds more like a hungry calf bawling for his mama.”

“Mr. Smith said my singing sounds like a hungry calf bawling for his mama.”

I was stunned. Anticipated compliments that instead are cruel criticisms hurt twice as much. While walking from church to Jaybird’s house, I decided to tell him why I didn’t sing: “Mr. Smith said my singing sounds like a hungry calf bawling for his mama.” Jaybird’s brow furrowed; I knew he was angry. The following Sunday, I feared he would confront Mr. Smith, and begged him to say nothing to him. When we entered the church, he said, “Don’t sing today. Listen to Smith instead. After church, tell him what you think of his singing.” I was always so engrossed in my own unmelodious utterances that I never noticed anyone else’s singing, but discovered what Jaybird knew all along. Mr. Smith’s deep bass voice reverberated majestically above all others, and I knew he loved singing carols as much as I did. The last prayer ended, and Jaybird admonished me to be truthful. “Mr. Smith, I’ve never heard a man sing as beautifully as you do.” He froze. As we walked away, I glanced back and saw tears trailing down his cheeks. Later, Jaybird told me Mr. Smith was an ex-convict, having spent several years behind bars. When his prison term ended, he became a loner, a sad, impoverished old man with no family or friends who paid his debt to society and was determined to be a law-abiding citizen. He worked low-paying jobs without complaint, never asking anything of anyone. Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday, and as the congregation began singing, I looked up at Jaybird. He nodded, and I joined in. When we finished “Joy To The World” Mr. Smith’s big, affectionate, encouraging hand patted my shoulder, and he said, “That’s beautiful singing, boy, just beautiful.” From then on, the ex-convict and I sat beside each other and sang from the same hymnal. That day, Jaybird taught me another important life lesson: Kindness defeats unkindness. Even though my singing has not improved, I still “bawl” every Sunday, and still remember what Jaybird said on that Christmas Eve. “To the Lord, the voices of His children lifted in praise and joy are beautiful, no matter how they sound to others, so keep doing what Smith said you do: Bawl, boy, bawl.”

This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s upcoming book, entitled The Jaybird Tales. The book will be available before the holiday season. Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (jimmycecilreedjr@gmail.com).