Thank You Mrs. Gann

 







      Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be a writer but here I am writing this blog and a soon to be published  book about dealing with grief  from a man's point of view. I never before enjoyed writing even letters to home when I was in the Navy were short. I don't know where this supposed gift came from but my sister Vicky started me on this road seven years ago, I had a desire for my kids and grand kids to know that there was more to their family than what they realized and I wanted them to hear the stories that I could remember. My blog has also turned into a means for my grand kids to know their Grandmother - Linda.
     There have been many people who have read my stories, a lady from England, another from California and friends and relatives, they say I am a good writer. Some of these people could be pulling my leg, you know that is what friends are for, but I don't think my sister would lead me on - she loves me. It could be that they base their statements on the content of the stories and paid little attention to the grammar. I 'm sure my ninth grade English teacher Mrs. Gann would say that I couldn't write, she would base her opinion on my ability to diagram sentences, proper use of  punctuation, nouns,pronouns, verbs and adverbs. Why I was such a good student that I had to repeat the class without much success.
     Mrs. Gann  was successful though because I left her class with a love of reading and the ability to  tell a story. We were required to read a book each month and give a written and oral book report, I could take a book of two hundred pages, write a report of five or six pages and talk about it for an hour. I read Mark Twain's "A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court" and took two days to give the oral report. I never had a problem talking, I could spin a yarn with the best of them.
     Looking back I think story telling may be in my blood. I remember listening to my Grandfather and Uncles on Sunday afternoons as they sat around telling their stories. Grandpa Wade knew how to get the listeners attention, he would have us sitting on the edge of our seat and rolling on the floor with laughter. He had a story for every occasion and they were all true.
     I have no doubt I can write especially if I have something to write about, there are 87 stories and a 100 page book to prove that point but I really think I am more of a story teller, I have a gift of gab and use it quite often. Bad grammar and punctuation aside I enjoy what I am doing, I write stories injected with feeling and passion, I am keeping people alive if only in a memory. My hope is that future generations will find these pages, read the stories I have written and pass them on to others.
     So the question still stands, am I a writer or a storyteller? The decision belongs to you the reader and I think either answer may be correct. Thank you Mrs. Gann, you probably wouldn't give me a passing grade for my grammar but I think I might get an A+ for the content and effort.
   

Little Brother

     He was the last of the brood, the runt of the litter and cute. I still remember his cries in the night when he was a baby, it wasn't to difficult to hear them as we lived in a small house with only two bedrooms, including Mom and Dad there were already six of us crammed into that small house, Ronnie made seven.
     Because Pat and I were the older kids we helped Mom do a lot of things around the house which included feeding Ronnie, washing out his dirty diapers, warming milk for his bottles and sticking a pacifier in his mouth when he cried. I can't remember why but for a time as a toddler we called him "Bug".
     By the time he was walking I was turning into a teenager, I went to work with Dad on a part time basis ( for the next five years) so our worlds went in different directions. Ronnie was still unsteady on his feet and I was flapping my wings in preparation for the day I would go out into the world on my own. Ronnie was in his own little world where his main concerns were play time, food and naps.
     When I started my junior year of high school Ronnie started first grade, we lived in the country, yes Mt. Juliet, Tn. was country then. Back in those days we all attended the same school meaning that the Mt Juliet school was one building that contained grades one through twelve, my senior class was only sixty three students.Again, back then there were no rules regarding passenger capacity so every day all five of the Riggan kids climbed aboard the same school bus along with dozens of other kids sitting on each others laps and crammed in the isle from end to end. Young kids could be quite annoying especially to older kids, Ronnie was no exception and one day as we rode to school he ticked off another junior, who happened to live up the street, and the boy smacked Ronnie in the mouth. This was the first time that I got into a fight over one of my siblings, as soon as the bus unloaded at school I flew into that kid and wound up with his twin sister on my back, now I never was much of a fighter although I did get into a couple but this time I won. As the baby of the family Ronnie was always looking up to his older siblings but this day I stood a little taller in his eyes.
     About a year later I spread my wings and joined the Navy, over the next four years I came home for short visits. I married Linda in June of 1967 and we came home for a honeymoon, Ronnie was nine then, he and the rest of the family welcomed her. I already had orders to Vietnam, Mom and Dad told Linda if she wanted to stay with them while I was gone it would be OK so when I left in November Linda stayed behind with them.
     I can't say that Linda's stay with my family was idyllic, there were problems but Ronnie was a big help to her, he seemed to know when she needed to get away from the stress and pressures of living in a different place while I was in Vietnam.
     When I came home in the spring I brought Ronnie some foreign money I had collected from the Philippines and Vietnam, I told him about each piece and the next day he took it to school and showed it to the whole class. Once again I was a hit with my little brother.
     It was a short visit and Linda and I headed to California then a few months later I went back to Vietnam, Linda went back to Florida. After about seven months in Vietnam I returned to San Diego where we spent the last few months of my enlistment. I was discharged in June of 1969 and was eager to come home but we had a problem, we didn't have the money for the trip. What we did have was a tax return for several hundred dollars but it would not get to us for a couple of months. I called home and asked Dad for a loan, he sent three hundred dollars. When the tax check came in I went to Dad to pay him back that's when he told me he didn't have the money to send me so he borrowed it from Ronnie.
     I was twenty two when I was discharged from the Navy, Ronnie was eleven. It was late when Linda and I drove in from San Diego, Ronnie stayed up as late as he could but his eye lids got too heavy for him. He was asleep when we walked in but Mom had promised him I would wake him when I got home. I sat down on his bed and shook his shoulder, he rolled over rubbing sleep from his eyes, when he saw me he said "Mike" threw his arms around my neck and gave me a hug I will never forget.
     Linda and I went about the business of starting a life out of the Navy, it took me a couple of years to find my way. In the mean time Ronnie grew up and one day he came home with a girlfriend - Mary. It wasn't long before they were in love, married and starting a family of their own.
     Life went on for everybody over the next few years, Ronnie and Mary had two sons - James Ray and Lance - they made Christmas a lot more fun and life in general more interesting. I was the first Grandson in Dad's family and his father didn't mind letting everybody know that I was special, James Ray was that special Grandson in Dad's life and we all knew it.
     Linda and I left Tennessee in 1978, we went to Florida to chase a dream, we found some of it in the birth of our sons the rest I chased for years. That was about thirty nine years ago, we made visits home to see friends and family, sometimes there were years between visits and they were all too short.
     My siblings and I walked different paths and for a while the paths didn't cross too often, there became a rift in the family and in some ways it still exist. When Mom passed away the tension was less but there were still wounds left to heal.
     Ronnie and I got in the habit of calling each other every few weeks, usually he was driving to somewhere and had his phone set up on blue tooth or some device where he could talk and drive at the same time. One day back in December of 2012 Ronnie was dropping a load at a warehouse nearby so I went to see him, when his truck was loaded he dropped it off at a nearby truck stop and rode home with me. I had called ahead  and Linda had chili waiting for us. It was a good visit old memories were revisited, it was a happy time until Linda suddenly decided she needed to lay down  and almost as quickly she asked me to take her to the emergency room but before she could get dressed I had to call an ambulance. My neighbor came over to take Ronnie back to his truck. Linda wound up spending the holidays in the hospital and having open heart surgery. I'm not sure what Ronnie thought about all of the commotion but I was scared, I almost lost Linda that night.
     We have continued to stay in touch since that night. Kay and I spent the night with Ronnie and Mary the weekend we came up for a cousins reunion, they welcomed Kay to the family and made her feel at home.
     We all knew that Ronnie had health issues and that they were serious  but he seemed to be handling them. We often compared notes about our Dr. appointments but in the end life as we knew it continued. I talked to Ronnie back in December he sounded bad, his breathing was more like gasping and he had a hard time talking because of it. He told me of a recent trip he took, he said if he hadn't had a portable oxygen machine with him he would not have made it home. When I got off the phone I told Kay I didn't think Ronnie would last the year, then I cried.
     A few weeks later I called Ronnie on Thursday or Friday night and got his voice mail so I left a message saying I would call back later. I got busy that weekend and was surprised to get a call from him Monday morning, he was on his way to Glasgow, Ky. he sounded good and was in good spirits, we talked for some time and then hung up. Several hours later I got a call from my brother Pat, James Ray had messaged Tina - Ronnie had died. This was January 28, 2019, Ronnie was sixty years old.
     I was devastated, I had just talked with Ronnie a few hours before and now he was gone. In my mind despite Ronnie's health issues he was still young and had a lot to live for, I am the oldest I shouldn't be attending the funerals of my siblings, it's just not right.
     Ronnie was a good man, he loved his family and was proud of his sons, I think he talked more about his grand kids than anything else and the last time we talked he told me he now had five grand kids due to James Ray's kindness taking in three sisters. As far as he was concerned he had a good life, he enjoyed driving his truck, he loved his wife and family, as for his health he knew where he stood, he told me that if he had to blame someone all he had to do was look in the mirror. I think he was a lucky man, he may have left us too soon but he went out on the top of his game.
     Though we may have wandered off in different directions at times he was and still is my brother, I loved him and will miss him.


















 


















   

Before It's Too Late

     When I first started writing this blog the memories flowed like water, my head was full of ideas for stories and in that first year I wrote 28. Each year since then the quantity has declined, the subject matter no longer just pops into my head. Now something has to happen that will unlock a door in my memory banks and that is what has happened for this next story.
     One thing I have learned is that when some one passes away there is always regret that you didn't take the time to see the deceased one more time before they passed. There have been several instances where I wished that I had taken the time to go see some one before it was too late but I kept putting it off thinking that I will have time to do it later, turns out later never comes until it is too late. Like me, all of my relations are getting up in the years ( whether they will admit it or not ) and for some this may just be the last time I will ever see them. So last fall Kay and I went to Tennessee.
     Our first stop was to see Uncle Paul, even though Kay had met him last year at the cousins reunion she didn't really know him so we decided to spend the night at his house. It has been more than thirty years since I had been to his place, I quickly discovered that some things never change and in Uncle Paul's case I hope they never do. Uncle Paul turned 88 soon after our visit and though he says that he can't remember things as well as he used to he continues to be a gateway to the past. We got there around 5:00 Monday night and for the next seven hours it was like listening to one of those books on tape. I thought I knew him pretty well turns out he still has a lot to say.
     For instance I never remember him as a smoker but he told us that he started smoking at the age of eight and got up to four packs a day, cigarettes were only .25 per pack then. I knew he knew how to box but I had never heard the story of why he learned, it turns out that his older brother AJ used to knock him around as some older brothers would do ( not me ) so he took up boxing in school. He became quite good at boxing and after knocking AJ down he never had any more trouble with him. Back in those days before TV people had other means of entertainment one of which was boxing matches and Uncle Paul had several bouts in his youth.
     He worked in a shoe factory although not for his father, seems Grandpa wouldn't hire him because he didn't want people accusing him of favoritism. He was seventeen when I was born and used to babysit me. Then he told us about a guy who taught him to play billiards which is a game of skill, it took time but he finally won a game from his teacher who smiled told him he had no more to teach him then walked away, they never play together again. Uncle Paul continued to play other people and never lost a match.
     We took a break and walked around the outside, Uncle Paul lives in an old two story brick home built by slave labor back in the early 1800's. I used to stop by a lot back in the 70's and never knew there  was a family grave yard next to the house but there it was surrounded by an ornate wrought iron fence, the grave stones go back many generations. I learned early on that Uncle Paul was a pack rat, he never throws away anything and I soon realized his collection has increased over the years, it was almost like walking around in a museum.
     Uncle Paul is the last of my blood relatives from my parents generation, when he is gone that will make me the patriarch on Mom's side but the way things are going he may very well out live me, I would not be surprised. Live long and prosper Unc.
     One of the people we saw was my cousin Beverly, Kay had not met her and I had not seen her in at least eight or nine years, we met her for lunch at a restaurant and talked for hours. She told stories about how her dad was always trading cars and boats which would make her mother mad, that was one of the things that I was always envious of, they would come to Grandpa's house in a new car every month or so.
     Then Beverly told us the story about Frank and Jessie. Seems that when we were small children ( she is only a few months older than me ) our families lived in Gallatin, Tn. and she, my brother Pat and I played together quite often. Her Grandfather on her mothers side referred to Pat and I as Frank and Jessie, this was a reference to the famous outlaw gang of Jessie and Frank James back in the late 1800's. Seems like we were always up to something, I have to take her word for it as I don't remember, wonder which one of us was Jessie. It was good to see Beverly she is as beautiful as ever just like her mother.
     We had a gathering of cousins at Cracker Barrel in Gallatin, Sally, Madeline Ruth, Tommy, Uncle Henry and Tim were there. Once again stories of days gone by and memories of those most dear to us were told, they seem to never go out of fashion. It is almost like we tell these old stories so often just to see that we can still remember past this morning, more than likely we tell them because they reflect on a happier time where life was simpler and we miss the people we talk about.
     When the gathering broke up Kay and I went exploring, I took her on a quick tour of Gallatin, at least the Gallatin I remember which was much smaller than the one it has grown into. We then took a ride to the city of my birth and guess what it's not there anymore.
     I was born in Fountainhead, Tn. a small community on Hwy 109 just north of Gallatin. I understand that back in the 1940's it was known for it's healing waters but I don't know for sure. One thing for sure was that I was born in the sanitarium that was prominent in the community at that time. All Kay and I found was a historical marker.
     We finished our day by meeting up with Clint and Judy for dinner, as always it was nice to see them and bring each other up to date.
     We finished our tour by spending the night with Donnie Odum and his wife Wanda, Donnie and I got to talking and Kay just sat back and wondered how either of us ever made it to adulthood.
     The next day we headed home via back roads across the bottom of Tennessee.
     Families mature, the children leave home and go in different directions. Family gatherings that used to occur on a monthly basis are now dependent upon how far the children spread out, in my case that was pretty far. When the older generation ( parents / grandparents ) start to die off the children by then have families of their own, life gets busy, people move away and new generations are born, the family extends again. We become the older generation, the nucleus, that binds us together, we hold the memories of the past and want to hold on to each other. This is why we gather whenever we can and reminisce before it is too late.

Big Rubber Bands

     Recently Kay and I were in Office Depot looking for new computers, hers had died and mine had long ago become antiquated. Kay being the computer pro talked to the technician while I wandered around looking at the mass of products offered by the store. As I roamed the isles I came across a blister pack of rubber bands, specifically "BIG" rubber bands, they were red in color and several were folded to fit the packaging. These were rubber bands designed to be placed around large items such as file folders.
     Now a memory materialized from the time I was in the fourth grade at Donelson Grammar school, the memory was flooded with the aroma of well oiled wood floors that creaked as you walked on them and a simpler life. I started attending school there in the third grade, my teacher was a Mrs. Webb who right away recognized my name and asked if my Dad's name was Bill, when I told her it was she told me that she had been one of his teachers when he was in school ( this was about 1956 and Dad attended school back in the 1930's ). Having taught Dad at sometime in his youth and now me was a tell for how old Mrs. Webb was at the time, she was a nice lady who was a customer of Dad's when I went to work in the grocery store at the age of thirteen, she always had a smile and kind words and if I was the one to carry her groceries to her car she would tip me a quarter. 
     The school was quite old at the time but well maintained, today it is a senior citizen center and one of the few landmarks from my youth still standing. It was a small school by today's standards but it had all of the amenities except air conditioning which we didn't need too often because we didn't attend school during the summer months. When the temperatures did rise into the uncomfortable zone we had tall windows that started about three feet off the floor and rose almost to the ceiling some nine or ten feet above, the windows could be opened from the top and bottom for air circulation providing there was a breeze.
     One of the problems with open air air conditioning was that unless you had screens installed, there were none, every thing that flew, floated or drifted on the air at some time came into the class room. So at one time or another we had seeds from dandy lion flowers, leaves in the fall, an occasional bird, butterflies and rain if we were not fast enough closing the windows. The most prolific of things to enter the classroom were flies, the common house fly that supposedly only lived for twenty four hours. Flies were everywhere at times and they seemed to be quite large. The teacher carried a fly swatter and us kids developed various means of eradicating them including the use of rubber bands.
     Us boys decided that the best way to rid the class room of flies was to kill them from a long distance so we tied several average sized rubber bands together and holding one end between your thumb and forefinger pulled back on the other end while taking aim at a fly. Once a target was acquired you let loose the back end of the string of rubber bands which flew straight to the target and splat went the fly.
     The only limits were the rubber bands themselves, the more you could tie end to end the farther you could reach out to kill the elusive fly who could evade slaughter if you got too close. Rubber bands were a premium item, they were a non essential item in most households, if they had any at all they were the ones the paperboy wrapped around the newspaper. As it turned out, I or rather my Dad had a remedy.
     Dad was a butcher and in the 1950's butchers wrapped special cuts of meat in brown butcher paper and secured it with large red rubber bands. These rubber bands were thicker than their smaller counterparts and longer, like maybe ten to twelve inches and two of them when tied together would stretch a good three feet. The power they delivered guaranteed a long distance kill and there were soon little red spots from the blood of the flies we killed spotting the windows, walls and various other surfaces of the classroom.
     I was an overnight sensation when I showed up for class armed with three of these monster rubber bands tied end to end, I was the envy of the other boys and they were willing to pay for such a deadly weapon, I amassed a small fortune selling rubber bands at two cents apiece until Dad figured out where his missing rubber bands were going.
     I look back to the simpler times of my youth and understand why so many people who have reached old age wish and even try to recapture their youth. It is hard to believe that a child of today would find a rubber band entertaining.
















   

Rest In Peace Aunt Jean

     One of the things about getting older is that it happens to every one. Every day that I get older so do my grandchildren, so do my friends and family, ageing is a consequence of life. The sad part of ageing is that at some point it comes to an end, you reach a time when you can go no further, your job here on earth is done - it's time to leave. For some of us the end comes sooner than we thought it would or would have liked, others of us are like that bunny in the energizer commercial that just keeps on going and going.
     I am the oldest in my family, the oldest grandson on one side, the oldest grandchild on the other. My memories go back a long way and include a multitude of family members who have passed on. I have reached a stage in my life where people I cared for are only memories and people I care for now could very well soon become memories, it is a fact of life.
     I grew up in a family that was close, actually I grew up in three close families, my own parents and four siblings, my fathers parents and his siblings and their families, likewise for my mothers family. We gathered sometimes on a weekly basis, I grew up with cousins, aunts and uncles galore.
     I can't say that I had a favorite cousin or aunt or uncle but I think I can say that I was closer to some than others. As for my aunts and uncles I loved them all and enjoyed seeing them whenever possible. Some were mysterious because I didn't see them as often due to their work or that they lived far away, some were fun to be around and some were simply likable people. For some of my aunts and uncles I invoked a special memory of a happy period in their lives. Sadly out of nine aunts and uncles and their spouses there remain only three.
     Uncle Henry Warren was married to Mom's youngest sister Sarah who was not much older than I or at least that was the way I remembered her. I remembered them dating when Granny and Grandpa Wade lived on North Water St. in Gallatin, Tn., I guess I was about ten or so. Aunt Sarah passed away some years back but Uncle Henry is still around, he has a great outlook on life.
     And then there is Uncle Paul, Mom's youngest brother. He was in the Navy back in the 50's and he would pop in and out when he was in the neighborhood, I don't know why but for some reason I seemed to have been a little closer to him than some of the others, our lives were entwined until Linda and I left Tn. in the late seventies, since then it has been a rather hit or miss relationship. Uncle Paul is quite a character and a bit of an eccentric and often speaks his mind but then he has earned the privilege having reached the age of 87 as of this writing ( 88 next month ).
     Now we come to Aunt Jean. Aunt Jean was married to mom's oldest brother RC, her full name was Norma Jean and I for whatever reason always called her Aunt Norma when I was growing up, Linda called her Aunt Jean and because of that I fell into the habit. I don't know all of the particulars but I do know that during World War 2 Uncle RC and Aunt Jean wound up in California and when the war was over they stayed and made their home there. We didn't see them very often, sometimes it would be years before they would come home for a visit and it was usually for just a week or two. When I was in the Navy and stationed in San Diego Linda and I would go up to LA and visit with them and when we lived in Sacramento we got together a few times. I guess that Aunt Jean took a liking to Linda, she would always call her on her birthday and talk, if I was home I would get in on the conversation.
     When Uncle RC retired he and Aunt Jean came home to Gallatin and when he passed away she stayed on for a while, Linda and I would go for a visit every now and then. She returned to California a few years back to be closer to her daughters and grandchildren but the phone calls still came every birthday even after Linda had passed she called me.
     I hadn't heard from Aunt Jean in some time so while I was at a cousins reunion last year I asked about her, cousin Sally said she had died but Uncle Paul said no and got her on the phone. Sadly it was the last time I talked with her as I was told the other day she had passed away. Her daughters are returning her ashes to Gallatin to be laid to rest with Uncle RC. She was a beautiful lady and I will miss her.
     The older you get the more of your past turns to memories, it is all a part of the ageing process. The early years of my life have long ago turned to memories I guess that is why I hold on to them so tightly.

Fishing with Matthew

     I have been waiting for the time to come when Danny and I would take Matthew on his first fishing trip and yesterday, August 11, 2018, was the day. Matthew is three and a half years old now and time was wasting.
     I hooked up the boat and drove over to their house to pick up Danny and Matthew. When I got there Matthew and MJ were upstairs in the play room and after several attempts to call them down I went up to get them, when I opened the door I saw wall to wall toys scattered across the floor, everything from cars to trains and dolls. The mess reminded me of Linda's efforts to get the boys to clean their rooms, on one occasion Danny spent an hour cleaning his room after which Linda looked in and saw that not much had changed but Danny was proud of the fact that there was now a path thru the mess on the floor, MJ and Matthew are their fathers children.
     We got Matthew loaded up and off we went to the lake, Matthew quickly feel asleep in his car seat.
     When we got to the boat ramp we got Matthew into his life jacket and started getting the boat ready to launch. I lifted him into the boat and climbed in, Danny backed us into the water and I started the engine and backed out. I looked down at Matthew who was holding tight to his water bottle and the leg of my shorts. I asked him if he was having fun and he said "I afraid, I want to go home ".
     Danny got in the boat and had a seat next to Matthew as I slowly drove off into the lake, Danny talked to him and even held him as I picked up speed. We didn't go far before we stopped, Matthew was a little bit more at ease but he still wanted to hold to one of us. It was about this time that I remembered that silly Grandpa had forgotten to get any worms for bait so we had to turn around. I left Danny and Matthew in the boat while I went looking for bait, on returning Matthew was still in the boat with Dad but he hadn't moved from his seat.
     We eased over to a spot close by and started fishing, I caught one and Matthew was somewhat impressed but he didn't want to touch it. Danny baited Matthews hook with a wriggling worm all the time telling Matthew all about the process but Matthew didn't show much interest. He did however hold his rod  and worked the handle as he rewound the line but then he would tell Danny " you do it ". After a while we found a couple of spots and Matthew was able to get a Bream or Blue Gill on the hook and he did stand up in the boat but wouldn't move from the spot in front of his seat.
     I found a blue plastic ball floating in the water and picked it up, Matthew was quite excited with it as blue was a favorite color. By the end of the day Matthew was still a little unnerved by the whole experience, he was awake for the ride back and we stopped at the Dairy Queen for lunch.
     Overall Matthew's  first fishing trip was not that impressive to him, when he got home he was more interested in showing Mom the blue ball that Grandpa found in the water. As for me I was happy to be out on the water with my boys, over time Matthew may take to fishing or maybe not, as long as he is happy and healthy that works for me.

Book of Memories

     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.