First Family
We were always the first family to arrive at the supply store for farmers, so that the tractor equipment, and the seeds would not all be bought before we all came- our car must have been quite a sight for the people in the city, seven foxes of varying ages jammed somehow into an old jalopy that only seated five (and even that was a stretch). I can still hear the disdainful cries of our neighbors even though decades have past since then
"When will the Malloys buy a larger car?"
"Sure that car is small, but then again so are foxes so that car suits them alright."
But for all the poverty that this family of subsistence farmers had put up with, we were not poor in the things in life that really mattered. Sure, the living conditions were not quite what the city folk had in mind when they thought of the ideal cubhood home. I can still remember the line-ups so long that taxed our kidneys to the breaking point. We had only one bathroom in that simple home to bathe and shave and do the other necessary things and it was not at all uncommon for a line of four, five, or six to form each morning as all the members of the Malloy family took turns. And the water that ran out of the faucets and bathtubs in the bathroom and our drinking water was so hard that one could taste the metal pipes that the water ran through- but even though the Malloys had plenty of exposure to that hard water, the cubs grew up into adulthood just fine, including myself.
You can talk about life's little miracles and how the setbacks in life help us develop character and faith but this fox knows those things more than most others. My father would slave over the tough-as-nails Indiana soil that had never yielded anything green in recent memory and by the sweat of his brow and the work of his paws, corn would grow. And that corn would be milled and pressed into cornbread that my mother, who had a devotion to hard work that only Dad could have matched, would make. Even with a can of cheap store-bought refritos or collard greens, there was enough to make the most filling and delicious meal one could ever procure in Muncie. And they worked so hard with both sets of paws to instill that sense of hard work in all of us and while they never lived to see their efforts pay off, me and my siblings can only be thankful we had them as role models.
As I revisited their home and looked out across the cornfields of my youth, the past comes to me and sweeps over my mind like a gentle autumn breeze- I can still hear my father launching a stream of obscenities towards that unreliable tractor, which he needed to make those seeds grow into prize-winning maize for our family's survival. If it required working from sunup to sundown (and even well beyond midnight in some cases), that old fox would keep working all to prevent us from ever going hungry. Many times, especially in the February weeks before the springtime, he (and for that matter the rest of the family) would work for hours just to make sure that we were ready for the spring planting. There was no real decision involved in whether or not you took part in this ritual of spring, for the entire family's survival depended on a good crop of corn and wheat. For my family of foxes, the choice was either work and eat or laze about and starve- Father made sure we were clear about which was the wiser choice.
Elsewhere across the backyard, I can see the wind-beaten and neglected clothesline and its wooden stands- this brings back memories of the just-dried laundry and linen towels we all enjoyed warmed (if we were lucky enough to have a sunshiny day) by the warmth of the Indiana sun. Our friends in the city had complicated and expensive washer-dryer units but on a day when the sun shone brightly, nothing felt better against the fur than a nice sun-warmed pair of overalls and shirt. And I guess some of the "impoverished" (in money, not in spirit) farmers know how that feels- but then again, how many people know what it's like to wear garments NOT made in a sweatshop. That old vixen made clothes for us more durable than anything you can buy today at the stores. It's amazing that she kept working for us through all the painful times as the poverty came on us and the winter winds from the Arctic forced all of us into the boiler room, huddled under a blanket even with fur coats grown and more clothes on. If that isn't proof that she was the strongest vixen around and that her husband was indeed the strongest fox, then I don't know what strength is.
That vixen bore three sons and two daughters and there was one winter that poor Thomas didn't live to see the spring because of that yellowmaw disease. We all still wonder, at family get-togethers what he might have been. But the pain of loss, much like the powerlessness of not having money didn't have much of an effect on us. I wasn't crippled by the loss of my brother, although I do think he's looking down on us, a smile on his muzzle and when I see others cry over not having enough cash to buy a new TV or game system, all I can do is sigh and think "You don't know the first thing about going without in life." The scars and defeats we suffered in our youth have made us into stronger and more vibrant foxes than we could have ever been if our cubhoods had been well "easier". Life was not picture perfect for us by any stretch of the imagination, just a plain poor country fox and his wife tending their land as had generations before them. But they gave us so much in terms of lessons.
One, hard work was the most important virtue in life and nothing can be accomplished without it. Two, good love is necessary whenever you're working with anyone, no matter what the species, no matter what the scenario. And love the people who say mean things about you and hate you just as much as you love your friends. Three, there is a major difference between the way you'd like things to be and the way things are. I think every member of my family would want Thomas back but we had to just move on and keep going. It doesn't help to live in a world of "what ifs" and "just abouts"- we just have to accept the way things are and move forward to make a better tomorrow.
And so whenever I go back to the home in Muncie where I grew up, I think back to the Malloys, that awkward, funny-looking mess of red-colored limbs and tails (some of them were mine) clawing out of a tiny Studebaker to buy farm supplies. We were always the first family to arrive there.