Pastor M. Beecroft, 11/22/2009
In 1970 my Dad was drafted into the Army. After finishing basic training at Ft. Lewis in Washington, he was assigned to serve as an MP at Ft. Gordon. Young and poor, he moved our family into a dilapidated trailer in the red dirt of Hepzibah, Georgia. I was only an infant then so the time there precedes my memory, although my dad tells me I saw Hank Aaron hit a home run at the old Fulton County stadium in Atlanta. I trust I did. Now something my dad learned there in Georgia has remained stuck in my memory to this very day. It was an obnoxious radio song that aired every morning on the local station. Apparently, my dad woke up to this song during his two years there. I will never know why he didn’t just change the channel, or use the alarm. Growing up, he loved to sing that song to my brother and me to irritate and annoy us out of bed. While still deep in sleep, we would hear my dad’s voice echo down the hallway, “Get up, get up, get out of your bed. Get up, get up, you sleepy head. Get up and face the rising sun. Get up, get up, you son of a gun.” He would repeat the song over and over, louder and louder, until you finally roused yourself out of bed. The pain of waking up was much less than the pain of hearing my dad sing that grating song. The whole process was rather disturbing and unsettling.
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