On the days Mom had to work at the hospital, I usually spent the day with Dad. Some of my fondest memories revolve around the times he took me with him to the Sale Barn.
I don’t know if it had a name, but we always called it the Sale Barn, where farmers came to buy livestock, or brought some of their own to sell.
There was an arena the animals were brought into for the sale, and there were bleachers where we sat high above the livestock arena. I can still hear the auctioneer’s voice as he worked through the different animals. I never had any idea what he was actually saying, but Dad seemed to know.
And the smell—I’m sure you can imagine, but I didn’t find it particularly offensive. It just smelled like our barn, a place I loved to play.
But the real draw for me was The Peanut Man. I can’t tell you his name because I’m not sure I ever knew it. I think I may have heard it once or twice in adulthood, but he was, and always will be, The Peanut Man to me.
He was always there with his peanut cart, dispensing bags of hot peanuts. I always wondered how he kept the peanuts hot. I never asked him, but I’m sure he would have showed me if I had. To this day I have no idea how he kept the peanuts hot. I just know that they always were.
He was such a kind man, and he always had a smile for me. I really loved him. He was unable to speak, but he didn’t really need to. I gave him the nickel or dime my Dad gave me, and he’d turn and scoop up a brown paper bag full of hot peanuts, give me a huge smile, and hand the bag of peanuts to me. Then I would go back to where Dad was still sitting in the bleachers, and we shared that bag of peanuts. They were the best peanuts I’ve ever eaten.
I don’t know how old he was, just that he was an adult when I was a child. Everyone knew The Peanut Man in my hometown, and many remember him long after he was gone. I will never forget him.
Through My Eyes, Gently 