“No, I don’t believe this.” Mom repeated while moving her head back and forth. “It’s just like Tobacco Road. You kids look at this! “ She pointed to the piles of weather-beaten slats and sections of rusty tin. In back of these shacks were tilted boards with a cut out crescent moon anchored over a pile of slop. Fresh garbage, hazardous rusty junk and high prickly briar patches surrounded the shacks. Emaciated dogs with protruding ribs howled as they scavenged for bits of food.

Our family was driving home to Pennsylvania after visiting relatives in Florida. My brother, sister and I were tucked tightly in the back seat of our 1957 green Buick. We were cramped and sweaty. Dad, the driver, just wanted to get home and sit in the cool shade of his back porch. Mom, a good Samaritan, stretched out the trip at the expense of her family with frequent stops searching for her next good deed.

| “Stop!” Mom ordered the driver. “ Travelers get robbed and killed on these roads,” Dad started to argue but then pulled off the road. His fear was no match for his wife’s strong will. He loved her. She was his Doll. “Look at those poor children!” Mom said with compassion. Rows of little black children, dirty, barefoot, dressed in rags with sad faces waved their arms signaling cars to stop at their makeshift roadside stands. A torn piece of brown cardboard advertised, “Watamelons 5 sans”.

Mom’s adrenalin was flowing. She was ready to cut a deal.” How much for the big long ones?” she yelled out the car window. “ Fav sans misses,” replied a nine-year-old gap-toothed boy as he fanned gnats away from his face.

“Well, I’ll give you 10 cents each and I’ll take 10.” She said cheerfully. The child returned her offer with a blank stare. “Yes!” Mom revealed the dime in the palm of her hand. Then holding up 10 fingers she repeated, “I’ll give you 10 cents for each watermelon. I’ll take 10.” Finally the child smiled ear to ear and his eyes lit up like a sparkler on the 4th of July.
“Is she serious?” I asked my brother. “ Where is she going to put them?” Our trunk was jammed with clothes, fresh Florida oranges and coconuts. “Dad, you have to stop her!“ I pleaded. He just sat patiently behind the wheel ready to accept the consequences of the Doll’s current mission.

“We need ten dimes, “ Mom said. “We don’t have room for 10 watermelons,” my sister cried. “It’s hot back here and we have a long way to go.” I whined. But together the family collected 10 dimes to contribute to Mom’s act of mercy. “Come on kids, get out and help me!” We got out. Mom pointed to the floor in the back. “Put four here.” My brother tossed the melons on the floor. “Put three on the windowsill. Great! That’s perfect. Now you kids get back in, lift your legs.,” she instructed. We got in and plopped our feet on top of the fruit footstools. Then Mom recruited Dad for the grand finale. “There now, one between you and your brother. Put one on Carole’s lap. That’s ten. See, I knew we could do it!”

For two hot, long days we endured major leg cramps, bumps and bruises from rock'n, roll'n and tumbling watermelons. Back home our family savored the juiciest, sweetest watermelon in the world. Mom dispensed nine melons to her friends but the purchase really wasn’t about watermelons or ten dimes it was about the priceless smile on the little vendor’s face.

Back to Carole's index