When Danny was not quite 2 years old he started making sounds, of course Linda knew exactly what he was saying but to me goo goo still sounded like goo goo. Linda's mom would often come for a visit and play with him. One day she was teaching Danny to talk and recognize colors at the same time. I don't know whose idea it was but mom or Linda set up a tape player nearby. Mom was working on the color blue, she would patiently point to the color in a book and say "blue". Danny as young as he was would pucker his lips in an attempt to copy grandma but the best he could do was "bue" his L's didn't come in for some time.
When Clay reached the same age getting anything that sounded like words out of him was like pulling teeth, grunts and groans were his vocabulary. Danny seemed to be the only one who could decipher Clay's guttural language and he did very well too. When Clay didn't start talking by age two or two and a half Linda grew concerned and took him to a doctor. After a thorough check up the doctor diagnosed the big brother syndrome and explained that as long as Danny was around interpreting Clay's needs then Clay had no need to talk. We solved the problem by telling Danny he had to let Clay tell us what he wanted, this was a problem in its' on because Danny loved to talk.
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There are times that I have stuck my foot in my mouth and I can tell you it is not the most tasty of things you want to chew on and the results of my foot and mouth desease was never my finest hour. One such time happened some 35 years ago and if Clay remembers the incident I want to make amends.
It all came about in 1985, my dad was dying from cancer and I had quit my job in Kansas to help the family. Linda I and the kids loaded up everything we owned and came back to Nashville. Linda and the kids stayed with her sister Vicky across town and I stayed with mom. Dad had undergone some serious of radiation and maybe even chemo, the result being that when I saw him in the hospital he looked years older than his 62 years and he didn't recognize me. Dad was not yet dead but I felt as if he were already gone.
It was several weeks before Dad finally succumbed to his illness, there were nights that we held a vigil with him all night. Dad was the first person I had ever seen die before my eyes and it hit me hard.
Every now and then I would go to see Linda and the kids. This one particular night I walked in and Linda gave me a hug and kiss, I was feeling down and her arms felt good. We sat in Vicky's living room and talked when Clay rushed in and stood in front of me and asked if he had been a good boy. Till this day I don't know why but I said no. Clay cried out and quickly ran up stairs crying his heart out, Linda quickly ran after him to console him. I never knew what Linda said and Clay was OK the next time I saw him.
All this happened a long time ago and I doubt Clay remembers but I do. I have no excuses only a remembrance that pops up now and again. I'm sorry Clay, you never disappointed me you were always a good boy.
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Back when I worked for the bank I took on the north Alabama area more specifically the cities of Sheffield and Muscle Shoals. Back then I liked to end my day with a cold beer.
My first day in Muscle Shoals was long and hot and on my way to the motel I stopped at a convenience store to pick up a six pack. When I entered the store I headed straight to the coolers and proceeded to open every door, I drew the attention of the clerk who politely ask if he could be of any help. When I asked where the beer was he laughed and said "buddy this is a dry county, the closest beer is back at the Tennessee state line ", I grabbed a cold coke instead and went to the motel.
When I got to the motel I called a banker I knew and after bringing him up to date on my days work I told him about my visit to the convenience store. Being the good friend he was he gave me a phone number and half an hour later I was sweetening my coke with a pint of cheap bourbon that was delivered to my door.
The next day I was back at it calling on people who were past due, one of these people owned and operated a local garage / service station, one of his biggest customers were the Alabama State Troopers who were in and out of there every day. It was late when I stopped in and made contact with the man, he turned out to be quite friendly and we struck up a conversation in which I told him about my fiasco at he convenience store the day before. He laughed and asked if I wanted a cold beer and I said sure, he walked over to a coke machine that stood against the side of the building and inserted a quarter and punched the button for a brand of beverage nobody ever wanted and out came a can of cold Coors beer. During the 1970's Coors beer was only made in Colorado and for some reason was not allowed to be sold east of the Mississippi River but here we were in Muscle Shoals, Alabama and it was stocked in vending machines. My customer explained that this was another revenue stream for him and once a month he would drive a twenty foot box truck to Dallas, Texas and fill it up with Coors and resell it at a premium price because it was something people wanted but couldn't get but just had to have.
So much for Muscle Shoals being in a dry county.
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The other night we had some pretty severe thunder storms in the area, the lightning flashed brightly followed by loud claps of thunder that shook the windows. The next day I noticed that Danny posted to his face book page that Matthew became scared during the storm and Danny had to console him, to a three year old sometimes words don't help as much as a pair of strong arms holding you tight.
The post brought back memories from when Danny was two years old, he didn't like the thunder any more than Matthew. We lived in Florida then and thunder storms were often a daily affair. When the storms occurred Danny would would come running from where ever he was in the house and seek the comfort of Linda's or my arms. I remember one day when I was sitting on the couch he was playing on the floor in front of me when the first loud clap of thunder rattled the windows. The next thing I knew Danny was in my lap with his arms around my neck and his face buried in my shoulder. At two he had a limited vocabulary so he called the thunder "noise". With each clap of thunder he squeezed my neck tighter and dug his feet into my belly as he attempted to climb higher onto my neck, after several claps he literally was wrapped around my neck and I had to pry him off. Try as I might I couldn't explain the thunder to him all I could do was hold him tight and tell him everything would be alright.
I can only assume that as a youngster I too was probably afraid of the thunder, I can't remember back that far, I can only hope there was someone to hold me and tell me the "noise" would go away soon and everything would be alright.
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As I have stated in previous stories, my Dad was of an older generation where men were expected to demonstrate certain attributes at all times, they were not to show any signs of weakness, they couldn't back down, they were the head of the house and all inhabitants were to pay them the respect due them and most important of all sentimentality was a closely guarded trait.
I left home when I turned 18, I had joined the Navy and was headed to boot camp. Dad, Mom and at least one of my siblings took me to the airport to see me off, I never looked back as I climbed the stairs to board the plane but I have been told that Dad's eyes did water up. When I returned home from boot camp I spent two weeks leave at home and then boarded a Greyhound bus to my first duty station. Again Dad and Mom were there to see me off, as the bus backed away from the curb there was Dad with tears rolling down his cheek. When I returned from my last trip to Vietnam and was discharged from the Navy I didn't get any hugs from he or Mom, we just sat down at the kitchen table and started talking as if I had never left.
Two years later Linda and I bought our first house, Dad and my brother Ronnie were going to help me move but when I arrived to pick them up Dad was still in bed. Seems that one of Dad's friends had been over the night before and they had a few drinks, actually more than a few. The more Dad drank the more melancholy he became, he told his friend that I was moving away and he was upset that I was moving away, Mom said that he was starting to cry. His friend told him that it was a shame that kids just up and moved away with no consideration for the parents, so he then asked Dad where I was moving to and Dad told him Engelwood which was about 10 miles away. Dad's friend burst out laughing and told Dad that the way he was behaving he thought I was moving to California.
I never heard my Dad tell me he loved me or that he was proud of me and he never hugged me but from time to time there were little things that reminded me that I was his son no matter what. When he passed away I closed his eyes then went and sat in the floor and cried.
All this happened a long time ago and I doubt Clay remembers but I do. I have no excuses only a remembrance that pops up now and again. I'm sorry Clay, you never disappointed me you were always a good boy.
---------------------------------------------
Back when I worked for the bank I took on the north Alabama area more specifically the cities of Sheffield and Muscle Shoals. Back then I liked to end my day with a cold beer.
My first day in Muscle Shoals was long and hot and on my way to the motel I stopped at a convenience store to pick up a six pack. When I entered the store I headed straight to the coolers and proceeded to open every door, I drew the attention of the clerk who politely ask if he could be of any help. When I asked where the beer was he laughed and said "buddy this is a dry county, the closest beer is back at the Tennessee state line ", I grabbed a cold coke instead and went to the motel.
When I got to the motel I called a banker I knew and after bringing him up to date on my days work I told him about my visit to the convenience store. Being the good friend he was he gave me a phone number and half an hour later I was sweetening my coke with a pint of cheap bourbon that was delivered to my door.
The next day I was back at it calling on people who were past due, one of these people owned and operated a local garage / service station, one of his biggest customers were the Alabama State Troopers who were in and out of there every day. It was late when I stopped in and made contact with the man, he turned out to be quite friendly and we struck up a conversation in which I told him about my fiasco at he convenience store the day before. He laughed and asked if I wanted a cold beer and I said sure, he walked over to a coke machine that stood against the side of the building and inserted a quarter and punched the button for a brand of beverage nobody ever wanted and out came a can of cold Coors beer. During the 1970's Coors beer was only made in Colorado and for some reason was not allowed to be sold east of the Mississippi River but here we were in Muscle Shoals, Alabama and it was stocked in vending machines. My customer explained that this was another revenue stream for him and once a month he would drive a twenty foot box truck to Dallas, Texas and fill it up with Coors and resell it at a premium price because it was something people wanted but couldn't get but just had to have.
So much for Muscle Shoals being in a dry county.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The other night we had some pretty severe thunder storms in the area, the lightning flashed brightly followed by loud claps of thunder that shook the windows. The next day I noticed that Danny posted to his face book page that Matthew became scared during the storm and Danny had to console him, to a three year old sometimes words don't help as much as a pair of strong arms holding you tight.
The post brought back memories from when Danny was two years old, he didn't like the thunder any more than Matthew. We lived in Florida then and thunder storms were often a daily affair. When the storms occurred Danny would would come running from where ever he was in the house and seek the comfort of Linda's or my arms. I remember one day when I was sitting on the couch he was playing on the floor in front of me when the first loud clap of thunder rattled the windows. The next thing I knew Danny was in my lap with his arms around my neck and his face buried in my shoulder. At two he had a limited vocabulary so he called the thunder "noise". With each clap of thunder he squeezed my neck tighter and dug his feet into my belly as he attempted to climb higher onto my neck, after several claps he literally was wrapped around my neck and I had to pry him off. Try as I might I couldn't explain the thunder to him all I could do was hold him tight and tell him everything would be alright.
I can only assume that as a youngster I too was probably afraid of the thunder, I can't remember back that far, I can only hope there was someone to hold me and tell me the "noise" would go away soon and everything would be alright.
.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I have stated in previous stories, my Dad was of an older generation where men were expected to demonstrate certain attributes at all times, they were not to show any signs of weakness, they couldn't back down, they were the head of the house and all inhabitants were to pay them the respect due them and most important of all sentimentality was a closely guarded trait.
I left home when I turned 18, I had joined the Navy and was headed to boot camp. Dad, Mom and at least one of my siblings took me to the airport to see me off, I never looked back as I climbed the stairs to board the plane but I have been told that Dad's eyes did water up. When I returned home from boot camp I spent two weeks leave at home and then boarded a Greyhound bus to my first duty station. Again Dad and Mom were there to see me off, as the bus backed away from the curb there was Dad with tears rolling down his cheek. When I returned from my last trip to Vietnam and was discharged from the Navy I didn't get any hugs from he or Mom, we just sat down at the kitchen table and started talking as if I had never left.
Two years later Linda and I bought our first house, Dad and my brother Ronnie were going to help me move but when I arrived to pick them up Dad was still in bed. Seems that one of Dad's friends had been over the night before and they had a few drinks, actually more than a few. The more Dad drank the more melancholy he became, he told his friend that I was moving away and he was upset that I was moving away, Mom said that he was starting to cry. His friend told him that it was a shame that kids just up and moved away with no consideration for the parents, so he then asked Dad where I was moving to and Dad told him Engelwood which was about 10 miles away. Dad's friend burst out laughing and told Dad that the way he was behaving he thought I was moving to California.
I never heard my Dad tell me he loved me or that he was proud of me and he never hugged me but from time to time there were little things that reminded me that I was his son no matter what. When he passed away I closed his eyes then went and sat in the floor and cried.
