Solace, Peace, and Happiness
Charlie Taylor’s Apple Pear Crumble
It was a resplendent Fall morning in 1950. We lived in a rural village in central Illinois. I found myself in the backyard, the baseball my only companion. With youthful determination, I was trying to hurl the baseball against the ground, off the garage wall, and high into the air — a challenge of physics, aim, and timing. As I engaged in this personal duel with the ball, a soft crying broke the rhythm of my throws.
My friend, Willie, emerged from behind, trudging slowly with a sorrowful snuffle. A swollen knot adorned the side of his head like a grim medal, and his upper arms bore the blue-green of bruises. I draped my arm around him, silently guiding him to the picnic table beside the house.
Willie’s otherwise capable father was plagued with a demon called anger, often losing himself to its grip. Most of our friends were oblivious to the battles Willie fought at home. Still, the frequency of these episodes, even if it was only once in a few weeks, was far too much for any child to bear.
I sought to distract Willie from his harsh reality, filling our time with talk about everything that came to mind. Handing him my glove, I taught him the art of bouncing the ball onto the garage wall. His first few attempts spurred a wave of laughter, a melody that could charm even the weariest…
