by Herb Goering, originally published in the Goering Gazette, July 1989
The incident which I am about to relate occurred when I was somewhere between 8 and 11. It is strange how certain events stay with you while other events far more important are lost for all time. It was fairly traumatic for a kid, perhaps that is why I have such a vivid memory of it.
A strawberry patch had been set out south of the milk-wash house and east of the stock tank. To me it seemed a large patch, but probably wasn’t, perhaps a dozen rows, planted on ridges about ten feet long with furrows 6 inches deep between the rows.
Incidentally, the milk-wash house referred to above is now considered by some to be historically significant as it served as grandparents Goering’s dwelling during their first Kansas winter.
One sunny summer morning Dad collared me in the yard and escorted me to the strawberry patch and told me to water the strawberries by dipping water out of the stock tank and filling the furrows between the rows. I didn’t like the idea and it must have shown because Dad promptly sweetened the deal by promising to bring me a Hershey Bar. Now that changed the complexion of the matter. It was a good deal. I had a contract for a Hershey Bar just for myself. So I went to work with a zeal, uncommon for me, all the while conjuriing up images of consuming the Hershey Bar in the presence of my siblings, Dan, Martha, and Art — to mention a few. Watering the strawberries was a big job for the ground was thirsty and it took numerous trips between the tank and the strawberry patch before the furrows were filled with water.
My task completed, I waited for Dad’s return. Finally the Nash turned into the driveway and rolled to a stop in front of the house. I bounded to the car and when satisfied that I indeed had watered the strawberries, Dad gave me a Hershey Bar. My joy was short lived as about that time, as if on cue, siblings were arriving from various and sundry places with a chorus of “Did you bring candy, did you bring candy?” To my utter dismay Dad came up with a sackful of Hershey Bars. That was the least enjoyed candy bar in all of my life. Why make a contract and wark hard to comply with its terms when everyone else gets the same thing for doing nothing. While I was working, Martha and Art were probably playing stick house under the elms north of the house. You know, where one lays sticks on the ground to make floor plans of houses. They did a lot of that. And Dan was probably up to nothing good in the blacksmith shop. If only the others would have been given gum drops or jelly beans or other such candy, but to give them the same as promised to me for my labor was unbearable.
Even now when I come upon the parable of the vineyard laborers, Matthew 20, verses 1 -16, this incident comes to mind. The vineyard laborers that worked one hour received the same compensation as those that worked the entire day. But at least all did some work. Not so in my case. After contemplating on this, off and on — mostly off — for 55 years, I know that what Dad did was right. He did not break his promise to me. I was given everything promised. But I still take satisfaction in the knowledge, as John Houseman would have put it, “I earned it!”