The Flu

Last updated on: February 8, 2020 at 4:19 am by John Mark N. Reynolds

The Flu 2020-02-08T04:19:51-04:00 John Mark N. Reynolds

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I could see the end of the hall. I had to get there. My next seventh grade class was down there, but each step forward made it look further away. This is only possible with the flu. I figured out the trick to get there: lean on the wall where the tiles were smooth, walk by sliding along, smile a wan smile, and go to class.

Heavenly days! Why did I stay?

My parents would certainly have encouraged my going home. It was not good to spread the germs, but there was a good side to staying and it was based on something noble I had learned, but had not yet fully understood, being a seventh grader and all.

My parents, grandparents, and West Virginia culture had taught me: stick it out, keep going.

Here my brother Daniel and I are standing, proudly, at the top of our hill having conquered the foe. I do not recall the foe, but that foe was defeated probably with the help of the Hongese. (Read the book.) We had fun all day, mostly using imagination, nature, and what appears to be a baseball bat, some sticks, and a white rag. We saved Barterra. (Daniel’s name for our world.)

These were my heroes. The entire community in Clendenin kept showing me the value of grit, not being maudlin, and turning most things, even sad things, into a good story. When I woke up one morning and looked out my window, I saw that there had been a flash flood and our house was surrounded with muddy river water. My dad and some men took a row boat around the Church to get his books. They did not complain, get excited, just did what they had to do.

These are not the only lessons, there are balancing truths, but these were good lessons. So why was I determined to get to class? My life had taught me:

Learning is good. Be glad you get to go as far as the seventh grade: not everyone can.
Sickness comes. Do the best you can and carry on.
Do not whine. God is in control.

I misapplied the lessons by “sticking it out” at school in seventh grade. I should have gone home. Mom pointed this out.

Yet.

I am not so sorry I tried. Of all the mistakes I have made (and as a younger man I regret much), this is one of the smallest errors. The Bible truths, the home truths, the Mountaineer truths that told me to carry on and learn were good for one even when I misunderstood them.

I got to class, but they sent me home. Mom gave me some Campbell’s Chicken Soup and tucked me into bed.

That was very good, but the best lessons, even if I did not always know how to use them, came from watching her do her duty, raise us well, read us books, even when all of this was hard.

It was that very year, persevering, lonely in a new school, that I found Lord of the Rings in the library. It was worth being sick to have time to read. The Lord works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform.

Thank you, Mom, Dad, Papaw, Granny, Papaw, Nana, and West Virginia: I will keep calm and carry on. I can see the last glorious door down the hall and God will help me make it.

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