As The World Expands, It Gets Smaller…
In Jr. High and High School, Bonnie Perryman was my 2nd Mom.
I would often arrive after 11 pm on a Friday or Saturday night to hang out with Dale. Bonnie would get out of bed and meet me in the kitchen. “Kelly, do you want a sandwich and something to drink? Or maybe a slice of Coconut Crème Pie?”
Bonnie was an incredible cook. Her pies were pure greatness. Of course, I said ‘yes’. I would eat anything she prepared.
In case you’re reading this and you didn’t grow up in a small-town church, I’m not sure you can understand how wonderful a woman like Bonnie was. She cooked, she sewed, she cut hair, she organized things. She was always doing something up at the church or working out in the yard. She drove Dale and me all over town before we had our Drivers’ Licenses.
She always had a smile and an encouraging word.
I spent every Thanksgiving in High School at the Perryman’s house. My family would be 200 miles away celebrating Thanksgiving in Amarillo. But because the Mighty Red Tornadoes were always in the playoffs, I had to stay in Clinton for football practice on Thanksgiving morning.
Bonnie would prepare an extravagant feast, feeding 10–14 people. The house and kitchen weren’t very big, but all the food was hot and delicious. Everybody was well fed and felt at home.
I have written before how I lived 60’ from the Granot Lodge, the Blue Pig Bar, and a half-way house. Drunks would show up in my yard all the time.
One dark night, Bonnie and Dale dropped me off at my house. As I hopped out, I noticed a large shadow next to their car. They were both looking at me, and I was looking at the drunk hunkering over the driver’s side, mere inches from Bonnie’s face, separated only by the glass window.
I excitedly pointed towards the drunk. Bonnie and Dale gave me a puzzled expression. I kept pointing.
They finally turned toward the window. Bonnie jumped and let out a small shriek. Dale might have said a cuss word.
Bonnie might have reprimanded Dale, ignoring the drunk still hovering next to the window.
I shooed the drunk off, and after a minute, I went over to the driver’s side. Bonnie rolled down her window.
“Are you alright, Mrs. Perryman?”
“Well, that was a little bit of a surprise,” she smiled. “I think it really startled Dale!”
Dale just rolled his eyes. “Kelly, you need to get better neighbors.”
“I’m glad you two are alright. I’ll see you at church tomorrow.”
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For years, Bonnie was a big part of my life. I last saw her a few years back, at her husband’s (Fred) funeral in Duke, Oklahoma.
Bonnie, thanks for the rides in your car.
Thanks for your hospitality and delicious food, even late at night.
Thanks for laughing at my lame jokes.
Most of all, thanks for caring about me.
The world just got a little smaller.
(Bonnie Perryman passed away a couple of days ago at the age of 95. If you could, you might send a little note to her son Dale.)
