Thursday, November 13, 2008
Breaking the Mood, II
Give me some lattitude, for a moment. The "funny" is coming.
That's my "Grandpa".
He died in 1999. He wasn't "redneck". He was a "hillbilly", in the truest sense of the word.
When he was a kid, his family believed in self-reliance.
In his house, that meant you could only smoke once you learned how to roll your own cigarettes, and picked your own tobacco ... you could only drink once you could pick up the jug of "moonshine" that was a doorstop in the family shack without spilling any. So, Grandpa started smoking at 6, and drinking at 8. He quit school in the third grade to work on the "family place".
In 1940, Grandpa moved his new wife into the house of her dreams. A four-room house with no plumbing or electricity, but it had a real floor, not dirt.
Grandpa "married up". Grandma had an 8th grade education.
He gave me my first taste of beer. He was the first fatherly figure in my life to show pride in me ... even when I couldn't live up to it. He was the first to attempt to teach me to drive.
He "held court".
He would take me to this country "general store" ... sit around the wood stove with the other local farmers. Most of the time he just sat and listened. ... smiled and nodded. ... wave "Hi" and "Bye", as people came and went. When Grandpa spoke, the entire store would go quiet. Everyone stopped to hear what "Sam" had to say.
When he finished, it was one of two things: 1) they reacted like it was the "wisdom of the ages"; 2) they laughed like they were going to hurt themselves.
He wasn't a "comedian". There were very few one-liners. Those were reserved for kids, like me.
He told stories.
He was a "humorist", I guess.
The best way I can explain it is that Garrison Keillor, on his best day, is a pale shadow of what I saw and heard my Grandpa do.
That's all well, and good.
However.
Both of my grandfathers, and my father lived it, but the first man to say to me: "A Man is only as good as his word." was my Grandpa.
All of this was triggered by the following story.
I have seen this story many times over the last few years. Everytime I read it, I am transported back in time to the point where I am the "kid"; my "Grandpa" is one of my heroes; and I love him.
Here is the story:
I was at the Mall with my 5-year-old grandson last week and we got separated.
He approached a uniformed policeman and said, "I've lost my Grandpa!"
"What's he like?" asked the policeman.
"Beer and women with big boobs," replied my grandson.
I've never been more proud of him.
The bad part, for me, is everytime I hear or read this, I begin to tear up, thinking about my Grandpa.
I miss him.
That's my "Grandpa".
He died in 1999. He wasn't "redneck". He was a "hillbilly", in the truest sense of the word.
When he was a kid, his family believed in self-reliance.
In his house, that meant you could only smoke once you learned how to roll your own cigarettes, and picked your own tobacco ... you could only drink once you could pick up the jug of "moonshine" that was a doorstop in the family shack without spilling any. So, Grandpa started smoking at 6, and drinking at 8. He quit school in the third grade to work on the "family place".
In 1940, Grandpa moved his new wife into the house of her dreams. A four-room house with no plumbing or electricity, but it had a real floor, not dirt.
Grandpa "married up". Grandma had an 8th grade education.
He gave me my first taste of beer. He was the first fatherly figure in my life to show pride in me ... even when I couldn't live up to it. He was the first to attempt to teach me to drive.
He "held court".
He would take me to this country "general store" ... sit around the wood stove with the other local farmers. Most of the time he just sat and listened. ... smiled and nodded. ... wave "Hi" and "Bye", as people came and went. When Grandpa spoke, the entire store would go quiet. Everyone stopped to hear what "Sam" had to say.
When he finished, it was one of two things: 1) they reacted like it was the "wisdom of the ages"; 2) they laughed like they were going to hurt themselves.
He wasn't a "comedian". There were very few one-liners. Those were reserved for kids, like me.
He told stories.
He was a "humorist", I guess.
The best way I can explain it is that Garrison Keillor, on his best day, is a pale shadow of what I saw and heard my Grandpa do.
That's all well, and good.
However.
Both of my grandfathers, and my father lived it, but the first man to say to me: "A Man is only as good as his word." was my Grandpa.
All of this was triggered by the following story.
I have seen this story many times over the last few years. Everytime I read it, I am transported back in time to the point where I am the "kid"; my "Grandpa" is one of my heroes; and I love him.
Here is the story:
I was at the Mall with my 5-year-old grandson last week and we got separated.
He approached a uniformed policeman and said, "I've lost my Grandpa!"
"What's he like?" asked the policeman.
"Beer and women with big boobs," replied my grandson.
I've never been more proud of him.
The bad part, for me, is everytime I hear or read this, I begin to tear up, thinking about my Grandpa.
I miss him.
