They got such a word today, they say, “The old man and the old woman.” One of these days, when a squeaking casket is going out the door, and they’re going out head first, and you look down to see your mother or dad at the last time you’ll ever see them on this earth, you’ll realize it’s not the “old man and old woman” then. “Honour thy father and mother, which may lengthen the days on the earth the Lord giveth you.” That’s the first commandment with promise: obeying. I seen dad work. We lived in a little cabin up on the Utica Pike, where we moved to from Kentucky to Indiana, right on the River Road. I seen him work in the log woods for seventy-five cents a day to make a living for me, when I was too young, four or five, six years old, till his shirt would sunburn into his back. I’ve seen my mother cut the shirt from his back with a pair of scissors. I don’t care what he done; he’s my daddy. And I love him.

Life Story, 1953-11-08, Owensboro, KY, §14