Let Me See Ya

"Come on over here. Let me see ya'," Tom Hopkins began in his pleasant, musical voice Musical, yet commanding. A respectful command. Pleading vibrations of loneliness fell on the ears of his listeners. At the age of eighteen, Tom had the misfortune of having his face flattened by the kick of an unruly horse! His eyes were completely destroyed. Yet he always said, "I see ya'."

In reality, the permanent facial scars which obliterated his eyes were not unsightly. They were hidden under his dark glasses, the rims of which rested on the ridge of his deformed cheek bones and nose. Tom had a strong, near six foot tall body. His light sandy hair styled in a crew cut matched his reddish skin.

His 190 pounds were evenly distributed rendering him a handsome man, even with his scarred face. He never wore a tie. His blue bib overalls and colorful plaid shirt was his choice of attire. Gently puffing on his corncob pipe, he would sit for hours on a block of wood, meant for splitting of fuel for the wood-burning cook stove.

Tom never mistook a sound. Even the buzz of a fly or the clicking sound of a grasshopper, commonly unnoticed by sighted people, would be differentiated as they passed by his ears. Resigned now to his blinded state, the tragedy that ended Tom's public education, he would seek training in reading Braille and choose a trade using his four remaining senses.

It was not long before Tom's brooms appeared on the market, especially in the local stores. Then came his series of hammocks of varied colors and patterns. His hands and mind were kept busy. He realized he needed moving--an activity! Mink farming would be his next enterprise. "I'll raise enough of these little furry animals to dress the rich girls everywhere with mink coats and stoles," he declared. "I'm going to have a stable of fine horses and a pack of coon hounds, by golly."

During the weekends of the next three years following Tom's rehabilitation, Roscoe Forests and I would meet at Tom's home. The three of us would proudly mount our spirited horses and ride to social events such as box suppers, pie socials and community affairs. We were known as "The Three Musketeers." Tom could sense his whereabouts at all times. We seldom had to warn him to duck when approaching an overhanging tree limb. He knew every pothole along the country equestrian trails.

During his youthful years this blinded young man had playful thoughts, always jovial and kind. This "good ole country boy" had many friends wherever he went. Romance entered into his mind. While he was kind, thoughtful and affectionate to the girls, most girls thought he was too amorous and shied away. Eventually he found and married Mary. Together they raised a fine son and daughter. Mary had also been blinded when a jealous husband threw hot lye into her face! This brave couple never gave up! Together they felt the world outside and saw their world from inside.

At the end of three years of close friendship with my sightless friend I left to "Go West". Several years followed before I visited my boyhood friend at this modest home in Oklahoma. This man of great self-esteem always took great pride in his ability to recognize people. Many times someone would approach him silently and clasp his hand. Tom's immediate response was "I see ya'!" Whoever clasped his hand would be cheerfully greeted by name. So keen was his sense of direction and hearing that he could shoot and kill a crow in a pecan tree! He enjoyed playful pranks and telling jokes. Challenges were always welcome.

My visit to Oklahoma would not be complete without the "Good Old Country Boy" seeing me! Unannounced, I called on my long time friend, and found him taking frozen fish from the freezer which held the food for his hungry fur-bearing animals. The frozen fish were placed in a bucket of warm water to thaw, then transferred to an empty container for carrying to the hungry animals. I slipped upon the scene in silence. He was counting, one by one, out loud. Quickly, I transferred the frozen fish to the empty container. He manually checked and found the warm water container empty. On the count of eight, he grabbed my wrist with his cold, fishy had and shouted, "Harold Wood, I'll knock your socks off! I see ya'--you rascal!"

"Tom," I said, "How did you know that was me?" We had had no contact--no talking. "You did not know I was in Oklahoma!"

"Oh, I'd know your silly little giggle anywhere!, he said. We joined in short reminiscent re-elation talk.

"Harold, the blackberries are ripe. Just this morning I ate while I picked. They were so delicious I couldn't resist! Now come on, let's see if Mary has some blackberry cobbler. I smell something baking!."

© Copyright 1997 Harold Wm. Wood

This page is maintained by Dr. Wood's son, Harold W. Wood, Jr., of Visalia, California.
My E-mail address is: harold@planetaryexploration.net

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