The Saturday Journal: Junk Drawers and Treasure Drawers

I did something a few weeks ago I only do about every three or four years--maybe even longer. I cleaned out my junk drawer.

Aw, the junk drawer! It seems every kitchen has one--or perhaps not. Is the junk drawer in the kitchen a thing of the past? If so, where does everyone put their "needed" junk? Like for example the hammer or screwdriver or other small tools--electrical tape--Scotch tape--a slide rule--and oh the keys...the keys!

As I was cleaning out my junk drawer I found an abundance of keys on key rings--and here's the honest truth--I don't have a clue where the keys belong--to what door or what lock--if any! Keys in junk drawers are like mice and barn cats--they multiple in great quantities.

My kitchen junk drawer reminds me of my Daddy because there's a special hammer in the drawer that he gave me--the blue handled hammer with the red tape. I've told the story before--my Daddy--I could depend on him when something tore up at my house--plumbing--air conditioner--you name it--he could fix it or work on it until it needed "fixing" even more.

The story goes--he was at my house and I can't recall why we needed a hammer--but we did. So I went out to my garage building to get a hammer, one of three. And well, what I found was, none. Three hammers gone. You see, there have been times in my life when "my Daddy and other family members" would borrow tools and sometimes they wouldn't find their way back into my toolbox.

I went back to where Daddy was working and said, 'Either "you" or "another family member" has carried off all of my hammers. He laughed. This "incident" had happened before so by this time--it was kind of a family joke--on me. Anyway, I asked him if he had any extra hammers at his house. He got in his truck and said, "I'll be back in a few minutes.'

When he returned he handed me a brand new shiny hammer with a piece of red tape wrapped around the handle. He grinned and said, 'Now, you will always know this is your hammer.'

The kitchen junk drawer reminds me too of my childhood days spent at my grandparents' house. Me and my two younger brothers spent many a day at their house. Their junk drawer was a little different though. I don't remember any tools in the drawer, but there were other objects of interest--things that were deemed "off-limits" to us kids. And we being "inquisitive" and "mischievous" at times, especially during the long summer days--we would often go exploring in the junk drawer when my Grandma and Grandpa were out of the house.

And in their junk drawer--two things I "vividly" remember was a little turquoise and white box with black lettering in which my brothers and I "thought" was dark chocolate candy--even tasted like chocolate candy. Needless to say--this type of Ex-Lax back in the day was not a form of candy--take my word on that.

And another thing in their kitchen junk drawer--it was square--wrapped in cellophane plastic--small in size and I don't recall what the label said. But I remember how it was used--my Grandma being the Southern country woman she was--she would pinch off a small piece of this pungent scented brown block and put it in her jaw--then spit in a can when she thought us kids weren't looking.

So on this day with time on our hands--the siblings decided we needed to learn more about this brown block--was it any better--because we had already found out the hard way--the Ex-Lax didn't work so well in our favor.

Me--I only pinched off a tiny bit. The smell--it reminded me of a dead animal. However my brothers--they decided to be brave and pinch off--let's just say more than they could chew. And unlike the Ex-Lax--this time the harsh results for my brothers happened outside in the yard--rather than sitting on the toilet.

Sadly we didn't learn our lesson with this so-called "good" tobacco. We'll get to another story further on down.

My Grandpa L. bought everything small--Cokes in small bottles--and taking one gulp out of this small bottle--filled with strong cola would make your heart beat faster and the top of your head feel like an atomic explosion. Yes--they were that good. He would also buy small jars of mayonnaise and mustard and ketchup. And us grandkids' favorite--and my Grandpa's favorite--small Snicker Bars--bite size bars.

And for a while my Grandma kept this "small" bag of candy in the junk drawer with the Ex-Lax and blocks of plug tobacco. Our "limit" of only one candy bar per day--that didn't last long. She had no choice--she had to find another hiding place behind the "small" door of the kitchen cabinets above the bar. We found them there too.

My Grandma, she knew we had discovered her new hiding place--and again, her being the smart and loving grandmother she was--she didn't cut us off completely--she found a new hiding place and started another "rations" program. Three a day--that's it--that's all there were at any given time behind the small door--three--one for me--one for each of my brothers.

Now, my Daddy had a drawer--top drawer in the big chest of drawers. It wasn't really considered a junk drawer--we had one of those in our kitchen. His treasure drawer--it was strictly off-limits to us kids. I mean strictly off-limits. We were not to open or get anything out of the top drawer.

Well you know as well as I do--young kids--with time on their hands--as I said earlier--there can be tendencies to become "inquisitive"--"curious" and "a little mischievous". And we were no different--we had them all. Back in my childhood days--in the summers--the days seem to go on forever--riding bikes and outside play, garden work, and there was rarely any TV time. These days were the best of days.

Looking back though--it was on rainy days--the pull of "mischief" and the "desire to explore" inside the house set in a little stronger. And trouble came too--in abundance.

The treasure drawer--Daddy's "restricted" drawer--I'm not sure whose idea it was--but we all three decided, 'it won't hurt to look'. We won't touch a thing and if we do--we'll put everything back just like it was.

Daddy's drawer did hold a lot of treasures--45 vinyl records still in their record covers--one record--it was yellowish gold--like a sunburst--Sun Records it read and the artist--Elvis Presley. And there were other artists--other records. Bullets and shotgun shells in plastic boxes and lots of papers--we didn't care too much about the papers though. And we were doing so good--being careful--exploring in the treasure drawer 'til all of a sudden there it was--the big monster cigar from Tweetsie Railroad--me and my brothers had bought the cigar for Daddy when our grandparents took us to Tweetsie--earlier that summer.

Wonder why Daddy hadn't smoked his cigar?, one of my brothers ask. Daddy did smoke an occasional Tampa Nugget and on special occasions when one of the aunts had a new baby--the required man's gift--"It's a Boy. It's a Girl" cigar.

And here we were again--the siblings--with a choice--an idea--we can smoke it. Reflecting back--it was a dumb idea--a really dumb--stupid idea. Oh, but we did it. We went out on the back steps--lit that monster cigar and each of us took a few drags off it. And after turning multiple shades of green--let's just say the Grinch looked purple next to us--the sickness came and it came and it came.

And when Mama and Daddy arrived home from work a few hours later--we confessed our sin--knowing we would get punished. We had to confess--we were still green--still sick. I don't remember if Mama said a word--probably in shock--but Daddy...

'How many times have I told y'all to stay out of my top drawer?! Y'all ready to smoke another one?'

I do believe he laughed under his breath.

I never visited Daddy's "treasure drawer" again until a few years later after the smoking of the monster cigar. My brother called and said he didn't have a ride home from football practice and everyone had left. And my memory is not crystal clear on a lot of the details of that afternoon--but I do remember I was home alone and there was no one to go and get my brother.

There I was--caught between a rock and a hard place--and Daddy's prized big Chevy truck--parked in the carport--the keys in his treasure drawer and fresh ink on my new drivers' license.

No one drove Daddy's truck--that I can recall--not even Mama.

And when I rounded the curve at the high school, I thought my brother was going to have a heart attack when he saw me driving up in Daddy's truck. He yelled, 'Does Daddy know?'

I yelled back at him, 'Get in! And don't say a word! Or you'll be walking home!'

He was quiet--even when I ran off the road a couple of times.

Thankfully we made it back home, safe--the truck back in the carport and no sign of Mama and Daddy. I placed the keys back in the "treasure drawer"--right where they belonged and breathed a sign of relief--at least for a brief moment--it seemed.

And as soon as Daddy got home--he knew. It appeared I did everything right except not parking the truck back in the carport exactly to the precise way Daddy parked his truck. I tried to tell my side of the story--my reasoning--but I still got fussed at--A LOT!

After the scolding--Daddy stormed off to his bedroom--pulled out his "treasure drawer" and reached in for his truck keys. I watched him as he backed the truck out of the carport and pulled it back in--his way.

And as I go back and pull from the past some forty-plus years later--Daddy, he was plenty angry with me that day and I didn't understand then--I do now. Yes, he loved that truck--a lot. But he had been more afraid--of what could have happened.

And I'm thankful all the more for a Daddy who fussed at me when I needed it--which was often--cared for me--and taught me why the little things are as equally important-as the big--such as keys and hammers--small treasures--they matter--if only to you--and they need to be stored in their own special places--in sacred places--like treasure drawers and junk drawers...

---

I am grateful for each of you--more than you will ever know.

And I pray, the stories shared in this space will encourage you--

bring a smile or remembrance, and bless you in some small way.

 If you would like to have The Saturday Journal,

occasional newsletters and stories come straight to your email box,

please subscribe at

http://www.tathelmiller.com

All photos @copyright Tathel Miller, unless otherwise credited to another photographer.

Soli Deo Gloria

Tathel