Brandon Abbott

Memoirs

I Do Love That Man

Two years ago, about this time of year, I wrote the following . . .

Just hung up the phone with the man I affectionately refer to as “Papaw.” This would of course be my grandfather, my mother’s father.   In so many ways this man  has played a vital role in my life.   Papaw is the universal fix it man for everything tangible in our lives.   If it’s broken, he can fix it.   If it’s not broken, he can still fix it.

I’ve spent many years watching him.   There were times I wanted to be just like him.   I still do.   I learned a few years ago that a man’s worth  isn’t found  so much in what he knows, but in what he does with what he knows.   I also learned, thanks to Papaw, that style is relative, and that class (like still waters) runs incredibly deep.

The phone call was like many others before.   “Hey man,” he would say.   “What’s going on?” I would ask, as if I didn’t know. “Aw, just sittin’ on the couch.   Your Mamaw’s cookin’ supper.   I’ve been down at the shop fixin’ that [you could insert any item here] for [you could insert any person here, especially a member of his family].”   And so on and so on.

Papaw’s not much for in-depth conversation.   No deep transcendental thoughts on the order of the universe . . . no philosophical  musings.   No.   Just chit chat.   It is enough for my grandfather to simply have you on the phone ““ to know you are safe, happy, and without want.   This is the purpose of conversation for him, to know his family is safe.

On occasion, however, he will (much like today) pierce  my unsuspecting heart with a love  so so profound, yet so unknowing.   It is then  that he  is like hot coffee in a cup that’s too small.    When he  spills out, you’re gonna  cry – only in a good way.

“I’m glad you’re coming in for Christmas,” he told me, as if this were a new thing.   We come home every year.   In 32 years, I’ve never spent a Christmas morning away from this man.   “Maybe we’ll have time,” he continues, “to just be together.”   My eyes watered as I listened. “I just enjoy  being with you, just driving and talking.   Maybe we can do that,” he says.

OK.   That’s not fair.   I had no warning.

There are two things you need to know at this point:

1) Conversation is never easy between my grandfather and me.   On the surface, it’s like Bartles talking with James.   The older I get, however,  our conversations remind me  more  of the dialogue in a Hemingway novel.   So much not said. It would take, I suppose,  someone of tremendous perception to appreciate the full value of each sparse word, each pregnant pause.

2) Since the arrival of my children, quality time with my grandfather (no matter how dysfunctional) has been VERY limited.    My family’s  abbreviated trips back to Alabama are usually reserved for  time spent  spoiling great grandchildren.    Papaw/Brandon time is hard for both of us to come by.

BUT ““ if I can ever get him alone and  start chipping away at those walls he builds around his mind and his heart, I can (on occasion) probe just a little deeper.   It is then that I get just a glimpse into this man that contributed  so completely to my raising ““ this man who still remains such a mystery.   He was now giving me another such opportunity.

Thus, the tears.

“Sure, Papaw,” I chocked back.   “Maybe L’Rancho [local dive good for just such an occasion] will be open on Monday morning.   We could go get some breakfast.”   I couldn’t say much more.

If you could only see what I see, or rather what I can’t see.    It’s a strange thing  to love someone so much and know so little about them.   He has so much bottled up inside.   I’m sure to let it all out would in many ways betray who he is to begin with.   But to just glimpse into who he really is  . . .  that’s what I want.

I want to hear  about being a father  to my mother.   I want to hear about working at 15 to support a family, about  owning and operating a business, about  thriving, about surviving.

Somehow, when I read or hear about men who buckled down in the face of adversity, it inspires me to do the same.   While it takes a true leader to do the right thing in the absence of precedent, it’s important for posterity to realize that it can be done.   Others have done it.   Great men have done it.   I belive the potential is there for my generation as well.   We can be great men.   We are born from great men.

Yet we are a spoiled generation of quick fixes.   Microwaves, computers, credit cards . . . not all evil (except for the credit cards) but still not representative of the hard working delayed gratification that built this incredible nation.

Only briefly have I seen Papaw open up about alcoholism.   Only briefly have I heard him speak of hard work in tough times.    I would so love to  have another opportunity to look inside once again and build on these small but giant moments.   I have so much to learn, and he has so much to teach.

However, if  that time doesn’t come I can rest easy knowing that the really crucial  lessons have already been taught through his actions, and consistently so.

1. Love your family like they’re all you have, because they truly are.
2. If there’s work to be done, do it.   Then rest.
3. Don’t ignore problems.   They just get bigger.
4. Always keep air in the tires and oil in the engine.
5. Don’t shoot a BB gun when someone’s in your way.
6. Clean up extra food and crumbs, or suffer the wrath of ants.
7. Take care of other people’s things.
8. Take care of your own things.
9. Be on time.
10. It’s OK to wash your hair in the sink, if you have to.

And most of all, the greatest gift you can give your family is yourself.   Be there for them, even when it’s not fun, or when they’re not fun, or when you’re not fun.

When it’s all said and done, this is most important.

I do love that man.   And I know without a shadow of a doubt . . . that he loves me.

• by
• Posted on October 18, 2006January 25, 2021

Memoirs

Normal Is The New Rebellion

I was taught to be good.   I was taught to love others, mind my manners, be respectful, and above all . . . stay out of trouble.   Of course the later eventually became more about not getting caught than anything else.   But even still, I was a good kid.

Yet even during adolescence (which my wife might argue I never completely left behind) it was clear that I would never be the cool kid I wanted to be.   I was too satisfied with being good.   Too bent on being normal, unlike my peers who seemed determined to push every envelop.   I was too much of a conformist to contribute to any kind of real diversity.   I was traditional.   I was too “goody-goody.” I’m sure to many, I was on my best day simply artificial.

Now, I am older.   I carry much more responsibility, and I am glad to accept it.   Yet, some things never change.   I am still “normal.”  Middle class vanilla at its Baskin Robbins best.   A wife, three kids, a mortgage, you know the drill.    My politics are conservative.   I believe in local responsibility, state power, and limited federal government.   I believe in prayer in schools, in One Nation Under God (in whom I also believe we still trust).   I say “sir” and “ma’am” and mean them with respect.   I do not expect anything from anyone except that they do their part.

However, it seems to me that I have become the stereotype.   I am the “normal” that constitutes that which others would seek to redefine.   While some celebrate diversity as I do, there are others that care little for my way of life, calling it close-minded, antiquated, exclusive, even intolerant.   But who will tolerate me?   Who will look out for my way of life, my rights, my beliefs?

As a Christian evangelical (I think that’s what they call me know), as a conservative Republican, as  an  opponent to abortion and a proponent of prayer in schools, I have become the minority who’s  rights now need protecting.   And there are others like me, who (like me) are not used to  having to define and defend  what it is for  which  they stand.    For we were once normal.

Now,  to be what once was normal is to rebel against pop culture.    It is  to swim against the current of mainstream media.   It is to guard the eyes and ears, the hearts and minds of my children against that which others would call normal, that which I do not.

Strange as it seems, it has become clear to me that normal is the new rebellion.

• by Brandon Abbott
• Posted on September 8, 2006January 18, 2017