Rarely did my boyhood best friend and mentor, Jaybird, stand still; if he was on his feet he was busy, doing something purposely … never aimlessly.
For him, hard work was as natural as breathing. Even though he was well up in years when he began teaching me many of the values I live by today, when we worked together in the fields, it was a challenge to keep up with him.
He was a doer, not a talker. And since he talked little, he didn’t need much vocabulary; he let his actions speak for him. Even so, some of his words offset his small vocabulary because they had multiple meanings. I remember two he often used: “uh-madgun” and “goodeel.”
For him, uh-madgun was a catchall term, and depending on the circumstances, might mean, yes, no, maybe, or let me think on it. If I asked him a stupid question, he’d answer, “I uh-madgun.”
For instance, if I asked him if the moon really was made of green cheese, his uh-madgun answer might mean anything, including, “I uh-madgun you’re crazy. Why don’t you go to de moon and see if hit’s made of green cheese, and do us sensible folks down heah on earth a favor: Don’t come back.” Jaybird hated stupid questions.
Goodeel was his way of saying such things as okay, way to go, or that’s a bargain. Instead of patting me on the head and calling me a good boy when our work was done, he’d always say, “Goodeel.”
If referring to an amount, he might say, “We got a goodeel o’ work to do today, boy,” or, “De river is fallin’. Dem big bream at Percy Blue Hole will be feedin’. Let’s go — I garrantee we’ll catch a goodeel o’ ’em.” He was never wrong about fishing; when we went, we always caught a goodeel.
I like goodeel, but I like uh-madgun more. Jaybird understood that reality has boundaries; imagination doesn’t … especially when used positively. To him, people who used their imaginations to bemoan how much better life would be if they had things they didn’t have — and probably wouldn’t ever have — failed to cherish assets they did have, without which they’d be hopelessly lost.
Even so, Jaybird taught me that, while I must cherish all the gifts God gave me, I must not cling to them so tightly that I couldn’t live without them, or let them limit my determination to acquire what I might uh-madgun would improve my life.
As a college teacher, such simple but profound philosophy, instilled in me by this master teacher, causes me to look for possibilities in every student, regardless of his condition.
I believe that a teacher must search for untapped potential in all students, even if they consider themselves failures or losers. One thing is certain: When the fires of desire and determination are lit, young people can conquer whatever causes their defeatist attitude. As we all can.
Jaybird was right: Life is a goodeel: Uh-Madgun.
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)).
