It
was the mid 1960’s. I was 20 years old when my Mom called and told me I was to
catch an airplane rather than drive the 3 hours it took to get to San Antonio
from Waco, Texas. I knew I had to don heels and a Sunday dress to travel by
air. That was the Texas custom in those day just like being “dressed in heels”
to go watch a football game at the Baylor University stadium.
Jet airplanes had begun to be used for everyday people. However, when the taxi dropped me
off at the small Waco airport, I went outside and found out the airplane was not a jet. I had to climb up steep medal
stairs into the front of the airplane.
These airplanes were call “props”
because they had two propellers on their wings. Few people flew unless they had
money, or for business, or in case of an emergency. I was not told why I was
going to San Antonio late that same night; but I knew my parents had money to
fly me, so it didn’t matter. A plane flight was cool!
The stewardess told us that we would have one stop in Killeen, Texas to pick up
passengers. I was a little nervous about the passengers around me because it
was known that these airplanes were called "puddle jumpers" and caused passenger nausea. I saw the folded white
bag in the seat pocket in front of me. Yuk! Not tonight.
Please not around me on this trip or I would have to join in. Ha! However, no one
got sick on that first puddle jump to Killeen.
We
arrived in Killeen and were waiting to get back
into the air when the stewardess asked us if we would quickly get up and
walk out the front door of the airplane. That was weird. She told us to leave
everything on the seat since we would be back on the same plane. Like cattle,
we all did what she asked. With my first step out onto the metal stairs, I found that I was being
hit on the face and body with red, blue, and yellow flashing lights. I saw fire
engines and flashing cars. On the ground, I walked behind the white picket fence where we,
the passengers, were being corralled, I turned and looked back at the airplane.
It was a canvas of bright blinking colors that looked like a party was being
thrown. But, I didn't hear any music?
Then
I saw it! It was a painting embedded in my mind that I have lived with during the last 50 years.
Four
emergency people were lowering a Vietnam soldier down the steep airplane
stairs. He was in full dressed green uniform.Two
of the men carried the soldier by his arms stepping down slowly. The other two
were below him each cradling his legs. The soldier was out of it. His
head was tossed to the side. I did't know if he was unconscious or dead.
I was reminded of so many painters, etchers
and lithographers who painted their “Descent from the Cross” that I had studied in art classes at Baylor. The "Descent" always showed Christ's followers lowering the
dead body of Christ down off the cross. Christ’s body would be lifeless and contorted as it was handed down carefully to people who loved Him.
That night during my flight, I saw the similarity of the lifeless uniformed soldier being lowered in the same way.
Even
now as I think of it, I can’t help but be moved by the thought of how Christ,
by choice, gave his life for me so that I could live in Him each day. It was
too sad for the soldier; but oh how thankful I am that Christ died for each
of us and rose again to live through us daily.
That
scene is a painting has been etched in my mind for all these years. If I were to paint it, it would have the darkness of the night contrasting the white picket fence between the airplane and the many passengers and bystanders who are looking on. The colorful
plane would be lit by the many contrasting vehicle lights. In the center, the uniformed solder, in my painting, would be seen as having giving up his life for you and me so that we could be safe in our own Country.
It is
my timely “Descent from the Cross” that reflected the 60's and the Vietnam War.
Anyway, we were asked to get back on the “prop.” After getting settled with the seat belt, I could see the
right engine and propeller out my window. The engine revved up but failed to
start, twice; but on the third try it finally started. Oh, what else can happen?
In San
Antonio, I was met by my sister and my brother-in-law who finally explained why
I there. They told me that my Mom’s Mom had passed away. Oh, I thought. So
sad. She was always so loving to me. This would continue to be a sad trip.
They
drove us to my uncle’s big house where I found many people standing around in every room. Loud festive music
was playing. These relatives/ friends were laughing, cutting up, eating tamales, telling stories, etc. I was
confused.
I finally found my Mom who was surrounded by people who loved her.
After our usual hug, I said, “Mom, this looks like a party. I thought Granny
passed away.” Mom said, “Sylvia, we all know that she is in heaven. Why should
we be sad? So we are just celebrating her life tonight.”
I would understand
this concept more in my future, but as a 20 year old, at that moment, it was
weird. Matter of fact, the whole trip was weird. “Okay, pass me a tamale. This
one’s for you, Granny.”
Let me tell you
what happened...
If you get a chance, watch what Temple has to say about schools and autistic children. 
