For a writing assignment, I instructed my freshman composition students to choose one of two topics: If offered a chance to go back in time and change a bad mistake, which mistake would you choose? Or, if offered a chance to go back in time and relive one of the best days of your life, which day would you choose?
A student asked, “Mr. Reed, if you could go back in time and change a bad mistake, which would you choose?”
I tried parrying the question by waxing philosophical. “Well, all of us wish we could delete some dark chapter in the book of our lives, but doing so would be making another mistake. After all, life’s good and bad experiences make us who we are, and not learning from mistakes is an even worse mistake.”
Realizing they much preferred that I describe a bad mistake I had made, and aware that I shouldn’t ask them to do what I wouldn’t do, I dropped the first topic and told them to write about one of the most fun days of their past.
Another student asked, “Mr. Reed, if you could relive your most fun day, which would you pick?”
“I am not about to tell y’all about my most fun day.” My giggle elicited no giggles.
“Aw, come on, Prof, you’re always pounding into our heads that the number-one asset we should seek to gain from our college education is the ability to communicate, and here you are — not even setting a good example by refusing to communicate.”
Realizing he was right, I answered, “I would write about a day on the lake, fishing with a man you have heard me mention often — my boyhood mentor and best friend, Jaybird. Tell you what, to demonstrate to you numbskull neophytes what a real college composition should sound like, I’ll write about a day on the lake with Jaybird, and read it to you.”
For the benefit of my students, I thought it a good idea to weave a moral into the story, so I chose a day when Jaybird and I caught a huge mess of bream — all so small that I wanted to throw them back.
“Jaybird, we shouldn’t keep these bream,” I remember saying. “There’s hardly enough meat on these little fish to go to the trouble of dressing them.”
“Little dey be, but Lawd glad received,” the old black man answered.
Jaybird was a master teacher. He knew the lessons he taught me would germinate, grow, and bear fruit, as this one did. I reflected on the fact that he had suffered the painful, relentless hunger of an impoverished childhood and endured abject destitution during the Great Depression. He knew how precious a bite of food was, and even if a bite or two was all that could be gotten from a fish, it was still a blessing.
So I wrote the story and read it to the class. Deciding on the title was easy: Lawd glad received.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
