The real genius of Harper Lee was her being able to recapture so vividly the world she describes through the eyes of the children. She so very accurately recreates this world and makes it live in such a way as to nearly be a joke on adults that didn’t realize, as Capote later noted, they were reading a children’s book. But in fact, Harper Lee was so successful in recreating that world she knew as a child, so successful in reliving it as a child, I believe she said in effect “Goodbye cruel world,” and retreated back into that early childhood world as the one truly happy place she knew and understood so well.

But while Harper Lee so well understood girls, she could not be expected to understand boys nearly as well. There is a great gulf fixed between the two that in some respects cannot be crossed. It was enough that she understood girls well enough to be able to portray boys as realistically as she did. This came to me when I shared a particular chapter of my largely autobiographical novel about two children growing up in WWII Bakersfield with a young woman who told me, “I had forgotten what it was like to be a little girl.” It was a most humbling moment.

However, in addition to my two beautiful daughters Diana and Karen who taught me the best and truest things I would ever learn about girls and women, a few of you men may have had a Charlie Brown experience like his with the little red haired girl. Charles Schulz understood how a boy can be reduced to blathering idiocy by such a girl. Remember when Charlie Brown found the pencil the little girl had dropped on the playground and he discovered it had the marks from her teeth and he exclaimed rapturously “She’s human!” If you don’t understand Charlie Brown’s reaction, you have never met an angel. When I was a boy selling garden seed and Cloverine Salve door-to-door in order to earn my Daisy Red Ryder Carbine I met such an angel.

A girl answered the door.

She was beautiful! Astoundingly so! I had never seen a girl as beautiful!

“Yes?” she asked softly and pleasantly with a faint smile.

Her voice matched her beauty; it was musical, like that I imagined of an angel. She was wearing a white frock with small pink roses embroidered on it. The short sleeves were puffed and trimmed with lace. Long, fine, shining light auburn hair hung down nearly to her waist and curled slightly at the end.

But her eyes! They were the most striking thing about her. I had never seen eyes like hers before! They were a beautiful violet; shaded by the longest lashes I had ever seen on a girl. But those eyes; they seemed like they knew what you were thinking!

Not to worry, the sight of her and the music of her voice suddenly and inexplicably made me incapable of coherent thought. Having suddenly lost my mind and being reduced to idiocy I found myself blushing and stammering something to the effect, I hoped, that Doctor Mathison had sent me to see Pastor Samuels. To my dismay and immense relief I must have made myself miraculously intelligible because she asked, “Oh, and what is your name?”

I stammered out another message to the effect, I think, that my name was Donnie Bradden. But I couldn’t be sure. Somehow I was having trouble remembering my name. There was something definitely wrong with my brain. Maybe I was going to have another one of those episodes that caused me to put the snake down Ella May’s collar so long ago? I fervently hoped not, not in front of this indescribably beautiful girl!

But with that slight, faint smile and soft musical voice she asked me to wait a moment while she went to get her father, the pastor. I breathed a huge sigh of relief at this. I wasn’t sure what her father was going to be like but I was certain I would be able to at least talk right to him. At least I was reasonably sure he would be human. No mere girl as beautiful as the one who answered the door could be so; she had to be some kind of angel.

Only then was I suddenly and unaccountably self-conscious about the way I was dressed. Now I had on clean, belted Levi’s instead of my usual bib overalls. I was wearing a clean shirt, my hands and fingernails were clean, my hair was combed and I had on my good tennis shoes. Grandma had tutored me well in being presentable as a salesman. Yet I was suddenly very uncomfortably aware of the way I was dressed...

As I left, I tried to think of something else in order to get my mind off her. Thinking of her was both uncomfortable and pleasing at the same time. And I didn’t like things like this that I didn’t understand. But I didn’t want to stop thinking about her. And that was uncomfortable because I didn’t understand it. It suddenly occurred to me that no girl had ever caused me to be so mixed up in my mind. I didn’t understand how I felt about this either. Good? Bad? No use… I simply didn’t understand.

One thing was certain; I was going to be better dressed the next time I called even though the thought of going back strangely frightened me. Still, the mystery of the angel was one of such fascination I knew I had to go back. I needed to understand and make sense of my confusion. There was always an explanation for mysteries, I believed.

Shaking my head and trying to get my mind back on track, I considered the added mystery of my clothes. And it was a kind of mystery. But one that surely had an easier explanation than that of the mystery of the little angel. But somehow the clothes had a bearing on the mystery of her as well. Now, that was an interesting thought … maybe even a clue?...

While the novel required I go back in time like Harper Lee, one of the lessons taught by Jean to Donnie was the truth of what I had been told by my great-grandmother and grandmother: “Girls were meant by God to be a civilizing influence on boys.” I recall my kind of resenting this because I didn’t think I was uncivilized; I had been taught good manners and knew to be respectful to my elders and so on, just what about me as a boy was in need of any civilizing influence from a mere girl?

But Jean did civilize Donnie in ways no grownup could possibly do or explain. In time he would learn how to dress for a girl, how to speak correctly and pay attention to the many things boys are inclined to think unimportant until they meet an angel. And as Donnie later considered the mystery of the little angel, he thought perhaps there would be more civilized boys if there were more angels like Jean, and as they grew to be women those like Jean would result in more civilized men. And just maybe, the problem with things like wars and so many other things wrong was there were not enough angels in the world.

How quickly adults seem to forget the depth of thought of which children are capable. Harper Lee had not forgotten, and neither had I. Donnie and Jean were only twelve years old, but already their thoughts were deeply profound as they struggle for answers to very complex questions of life and about each other. And over these many decades of life, I still believe as Donnie the world needs more angels like Jean with their civilizing influence on boys and men.