I received a far more valuable gift that Christmas … a gift that would last a lifetime, from a man who loved me with all his heart: the gift of honesty
Purlean and “Ug” Upton owned a mom-and-pop store in the Mississippi Delta, and paid top dollar for pecans.
One look explained Mr. Upton’s nickname. After a mule kicked him on the cheek, his jaws didn’t match, giving his face an ugly, frightful twist. The blow also affected one eye, which focused momentarily and then roamed.
Each year, my boyhood mentor and best friend Jaybird and I gathered pecans under my father’s trees and sold them to the Uptons.
Dad, who was so tight folks said he didn’t even breathe in all the air he needed, took half of the money. Giving something for nothing was not his way; if I wanted Christmas cash, I earned it.
That fall, pecans covered the ground, and Jaybird and I circled the trees, filling buckets and dumping them in burlap bags. I was saving for my first shotgun, and eagerly anticipated the weekly trips to Upton’s in Jaybird’s old pickup to sell the harvest.
Mr. Wade at the hardware store promised to hold the Remington bolt action until a week before Christmas, but if I didn’t have the money by then, he’d offer it to other customers. He let me hold the brown-stocked, blue-barreled beauty a few times, and I savored the gun oil’s smell.
On one of the Saturday trips, we arrived to find Upton’s store packed with folks selling pecans. Ug weighed and issued receipts, which Purlean redeemed at the cash register.
In his haste, Ug scribbled two receipts — one to Jaybird and one to me. Not noticing this, Jaybird handed his receipt to Purlean, took the money, gave me change for candy and a pop, and moseyed out front.
Purlean was as slow-witted as Ug was ugly, and I knew she wouldn’t notice the duplicate receipt. The gun oil smell pushed me over the edge, and I got in line, furtively glancing at Ug.
Purlean peered down at me through scratched bifocals and counted out the cash. The Remington was mine!
Noticing my smiling face as we headed home, Jaybird asked why I was so happy. When I told him about my clever trick, the old black man pulled off the road. I froze in fear.
“Please don’t go back — I’m scared of Mr. Ug,” I begged. “He’ll never know.”
Jaybird drove on. Stopping in front of Upton’s, he muttered, “I’ll wait here.”
“Mr. Ug, somehow me and Jaybird got paid twice, and didn’t discover the mistake until after we left.”
My knees knocked. That eye focused on me, and then began roaming, as a toothless smile creased his slanted jaw.
“That’s a mighty honest thing you did,” he drawled, peeling off a twenty from the returned money. “Here, boy … Merry Christmas.”
Finally, I had enough to buy my first shotgun, which I still cherish to this day. But I received a far more valuable gift that Christmas … a gift that would last a lifetime, from a man who loved me with all his heart: the gift of honesty.
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)).
