Visiting Bristol's homes rich and poor

I had just entered the home of a student whom I was teaching at the time. A couple of steps past the front door, I nearly tripped over what I thought might be a dead body. I was horrified. The mother of the home and her son, who had both answered my knock at the door, each dexterously (and apparently mindlessly, as well) stepped over the body on their way toward the kitchen. Mom motioned for me to follow.

I stood frozen at the doorway.

Then Mom yelled back at me, “It don’t matter if you tromp over Clyde on your way. He came in dead drunk again last night and passed out in his favorite place. If he raises up, I’m a-gonna bang him upside head with this here skillet. I just can’t resist it.”

Then she mumbled, “Best he don’t wake up anyhow. He ain’t never got nothin’ good to say about our boy. Mr. Talley, how about you? You come here to tell me how bad my boy is, too?”

I took off my ever-present hat, looked her straight in the eyes, and said, “No, ma’am. I have nothing but good to say about your boy. May I stay a couple of minutes and tell you about the good things I’ve seen him do in school?”

Her mouth flew open to nearly match the width of mine upon my entry to her home. Her hard eyes softened. Her previously raucous voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Ain’t nobody ever says nothin’ good about my boy - especially from school.” Then she hugged me and cordially invited me to stay.

“I’m about to stir up some fried baloney sandwiches!” she proudly announced.

I graciously accepted her offer, sitting down at the kitchen table to watch Mom fry baloney in a big iron skillet.

This lady promptly proceeded to fry baloney and swat the surrounding flies with equal aplomb (I even nailed one of the flies with my hat) - all while she eagerly listened to me tell her good (and true) things about her beloved son.

Just before she laid out the first batch of baloney, I heard her drunken husband begin to stir from his stupor. Mom disappeared from the kitchen, followed by the wretchedly thudding sound of a frying pan hitting a human head.

Indeed, this lady could multi-task quite well. She served me stale bread and fried baloney (along with possibly a fly or two) all while promptly returning her husband to his previously unconscious state on the floor.

Neither the mother nor the child acted surprised. In fact, I surmised that this scenario was not a totally uncommon occurrence within their humble abode.

Yet - in spite of having to juggle all those responsibilities while cooking dinner - this good lady made sure I had the best they had to offer in their world. Indeed, she and her son made me feel loved and accepted - and completely “at home” - as much as anyone possibly could.

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At a knock on a different door (at a house bordering the Virginian Golf Club in Bristol), a student’s grandparents invited me into their multi-million-dollar mansion with a big ol’ fancy swimming pool - to gorge on the finest food your mind can possibly imagine.

I had just stopped by to say “Hi” and to brag on this family’s grandchild, who was a student in my class. I came wearing my customary visiting attire; old jeans, even older hiking boots, and (of course) my trademark hat.

To these people it didn’t matter if I came dressed (or smelled) like Blackbeard. The fact that I happened to drop by while this family was throwing a big party for important business clients didn’t stop them from making me feel as if I were worth a billion dollars - simply because my visit showed how much I loved their grandchild.

These good people, each one dressed in attire that may have cost more than all the clothes I bought in a year’s time, made me feel right at home. In fact, at my entrance to their humble abode the grandfather abruptly paused the dinner party proceedings for a moment. He immediately invited everyone there to stand up.

Then he said, “Let us all offer a toast of honor to this gentleman. He is my granddaughter’s teacher!” It didn’t matter to this man and his wife what I looked like or how little material wealth I may have had - they could tell how much I loved and appreciated their granddaughter. And that was the most important thing to them.

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I’ve found that there seems to be a disturbing myth in America - a false narrative that people generally “don’t want visitors just dropping in”.

I’ve found quite the opposite to be true. I’ve found that people are “starving” for just-drop-by friendly visits - as long as one is mindful to stay only a brief time and stay positive while there.

My friends, if you are at all able, please go visit someone this week in their humble abode.

One visit can make a difference.

In their lives … and yours.