I've written before about my Daddy and the many things about him that I love. Like any parent, he has his challenges and things I know he wishes he could do better, communication being one of them. In The Prince of Tides, Pat Conroy writes that his character, Tom Wingo, "learned to love my parents in all their flawed humanity," I think that's all any of us can do as parents - to do our best, day in and day out and hope someday that our kids realize at the end of the day that we're human, we're flawed, and we've done the best we knew to do. I've been turning over in my mind an idea for quite a while, mostly spurred by my many readings of Where the Heart Is...that God provides us family in many different people, not just in those attached to us by blood. For Mothers' Day (and probably many other times), I wrote about my Granny Lee. My life has been resplendent with strong women role models, and I am thankful for them. I have not been as blessed with as many male role models, yet their influences are as far-reaching as the many female inspirations on my life. I'd like to share with you about some of the most important men in my life, the fathers who have "fathered" me, provided me with whatever part of life my own Daddy was unable to give.
And I do mean unable to give...my own father was raised by a man not biologically his father. This could have been a wonderful opportunity to show love despite blood bonds. It was not. So, when those who only see the surface of my Daddy, who can be so gruff, grumpy, or otherwise negative, I think of the little boy he used to be, picking up rocks while his younger brothers and sisters played. He had to work from a very young age, and my "grandparents" were not ones to mince words. I feel certain that if he was not called the name, he knew from a very young age, that he was not as good as his siblings, simply because of something out of his control - his parentage.
It would sound from the previous paragraph that my aunts and uncles had a glorious childhood while my Daddy labored away. This is not the case, either; I simply point out that in this "family," Daddy got the worst of the worst. Seven years after my Daddy was born, my "grandparents" did one of the few really great things they ever did...they had my Uncle Robert. You can't see the smile on my face, but Uncle Robert was a man who made you smile. The very thought of him makes me smile. I loved him, and I loved who my Daddy was while he was with "Brother." Uncle Robert was named my godfather, that he and my Aunt Bert would raise me if something happened to Momma and Daddy. They lived in Georgia, and this was the only place we would visit as I was growing up. Uncle Robert loved with a fierceness and had no problem communicating that love. I once asked Uncle Robert how someone as loving and kind as he is was raised by my "grandparents." He explained that it was because my Daddy had raised him. In 2003, Uncle Robert went home to be with Jesus, and I will be forever grateful that he was a part of my life. I can still hear his beloved voice saying, "Hello, love."
Another man who has been extremely influential in my life is a man who is not a father at all. He was my piano teacher, fifth grade teacher, and mentor, Steve Deasy. Since the day I stood on the porch outside his house awaiting my first piano lesson, he has been a steadfast source of inspiration and devotion. I couldn't tell you exactly why we bonded the way we did, but it has been powerful and lasting. I always knew I could count on him to support me and offer encouragement when I needed it most. My fifth grade year in school was magical. Learning was so much fun. Everything we did was fun...even MATH and PE were fun with Mr. D. I know I am not the only person who is eternally grateful for that wonderful year, but I am one of the few who maintained a relationship with Steve. When he moved from Portland, most people would have abandoned the young girl I was, but Steve and I continued to correspond with letters, on his part filled with wisdom, on my part filled with teenage angst. He was playing my signature song as I walked down the aisle to get married (the song he had introduced me to many years ago - Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini). He wrote a song especially for me and my new husband that he played at the wedding. He was there to see each of my children right after they were born. He has taught me many life lessons, and again, I thank God for the privilege of being his friend. his surrogate daughter.
The last person I want to talk about is the hardest to talk about, although I speak of him often and have written about him many times. On this Father's Day, I wish more than I can say that I could spend one more day with him. Here is what I love about my father in law, Bobby Joe - that fourteen years later I can still cry and miss him and wish he were "somehow here again." I love that he loved me and let me know. I love that he accepted me and embraced me into his family. I love his sense of humor, his work ethic, the way he would wash his truck while it was snowing (!!!), the way he got up at the crack of dawn and expected everybody else to as well, the mountain pies he made when we went camping, the way he called me "his girl." And so I am, and proud to be so, the mother of his grandchildren, the wife of his youngest son. More than any of these, I love that I know I will see him again because of the decision he made for Christ while he was on earth.
Sometimes I imagine my Uncle Robert and Bobby Joe, my father in love, sitting in Heaven, "camping in Canaan's land." Uncle Robert would be fishing and Bobby Joe would fry up the fish. I imagine that, although unlikely, they look down, particularly at this nearly five year old daughter of mine (who they would be absolutely over the moon for) and laugh at how she manipulates us all, particularly "Brother" and Patricia...and yes, their girl.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Memorial Day
Until a few years ago, Memorial Day was simply a day off work, filled with sleeping in and a cookout. Although my own father is a veteran of the Korean War, I never really considered what this holiday means. All of that changed the day I learned that one of my own precious, precious Ducks had died while in service to our country. I know that I have many former students who serve our nation, and I am thankful for them, and for my other friends in the military. I have already written about the plethora of emotions that I have experienced in losing my students. I've lost too many, and it never gets any easier. Since it is Memorial Day, I want to tell you my memories of Joey Link, a Duck in the Air Force.
I've probably known Joey all of his life since his mother's home church and mine are the same. Joey was in the Class of 1996, the first group of students to whom I taught Senior Standard English. We were in my tiny classroom at the old PHS, and this was before block scheduling, so I taught this group for one hour the entire school year. Joey was in fourth period, which was then the lunch period. He was a cut-up, as so many in the class were. I suppose the reason he has stayed so fresh in my mind after all these years is that he, Cory Cook, and Jason Chaffin made a video over the novel we read, and I have shown it every year since then. When Joey graduated, he joined the Air Force and was a recruiter; I still have one of his business cards in my scrapbook. The last time I saw him, he was in the Portland parade, driving a little plane with one of his sons. I yelled at him, and he looked over, smiled and yelled back, "Hey, Mrs. White!" I snapped a picture, and he continued down the parade route. It would be the last time I would ever see him in person.
He eventually moved out of the area and was stationed in Texas when he was sent overseas. He was able to do the thing he loved - fly airplanes. While he was there, he became ill and died in August of 2007. His funeral was on the first day of school, but I couldn't NOT be there, so I took a bereavement day and left. I absolutely detest funeral homes...I suppose no one enjoys them...but I went, by myself, because I felt that I owed it to him. His casket was closed, which I suppose was just as well. The memory I have of him is the day he smiled and waved at me in the parade, and that's a much nicer memory to have than of him in a casket.
There were so many touching aspects of Joey's funeral - the motorcycle riders who accompanied his body from the airport to the funeral home, the people who stood outside the funeral home in 100 degree weather holding the Flag, the fly over and "Taps" being played at the burial, the 21 gun salute (which actually made me jump; he would have been tickled at that part). There was a tribute page on the internet where people left messages for his family and friends. A complete stranger emailed me to ask if she could forward a poem to me to give to Joey's mom. I was dreading going to the funeral by myself, but there was no one to go with me. Thankfully, as I was leaving the service, another of my precious Ducks, Chasity Crabtree, asked to ride to the burial with me. As we slowly followed the hearse through Portland, I will never forget the people who came to stand on the side of the road to show their respect.
I don't really believe in coincidences, so there's an aspect to this story that you should know. Another of my students had died in 2004 while driving on Jernigan Road. I had told myself that I would never go down that road...in effect, not ever truly face what had happened there. Wouldn't you know it, Joey was buried in a cemetery on Jernigan Road. Only love for another Duck could have got me on that road.
Joey's mom wrote me the sweetest letter and gave me a picture, which is proudly displayed in my classroom, along with the picture I took that day in the parade and another picture of the Quarterback Club sign honoring Joey, who had played football. The songs I have added to my blog are patriotic, sure, because Memorial Day is not just about Joey, but Joey put a face to Memorial Day for me. Bon Jovi is on here because they were supposedly his favorite band, and this was played at his funeral. The last song is "My Faith Looks Up to Thee," an old hymn. The day before Joey's funeral, this song was the offertory at my church. The last two verses clenched my heart that day. Because I know that Heaven is my home, when one of my Ducks or anyone else I love dies, I always wonder if I did enough to share Jesus with them, if they will also be in Heaven. The lyrics of this song gave me such peace about Joey, particularly the last two verses:
"While life's dark maze I tread, and griefs around me spread, be thou my guide; bid darkness turn to day, wipe sorrow's tears away, nor let me ever stray from thee aside. When ends life's transient dream, when death's cold, sullen stream shall o'er me roll; blest Savior, then in love, fear and distrust remove; O bear me safe above, a ransomed soul!"
Joey was in the year-end issue of People, along with so many names of other soldiers who died in 2007 that it boggles my mind. He was only 29. He left behind a video that never fails to make me smile (although the first time after he died it was SO hard to watch it), three beautiful children, and many memories for his friends and family. I am so VERY PROUD to be Joey's Momma Duck, so proud that he followed his dream to do what he loved, and so honored that even in times where I have students who are mean, ungrateful, and rude, God still manages to send me enough encouragement through people like Joey, the hope to carry on. God Bless you, Joey, and God bless the United States of America.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
The Mommas In My Life
I am so very thankful for my biological mother, Lillie, who has been such a great mom, and I want to honor her on this day, along with other special women who have mothered me or other mothers who have been important in my life.
- Lillie Groves - my Momma, who always tells me to "ignore ignorance," that every wound should be doctored with rubbing alcohol, and makes the best food ever. She loves her kids, grandkids, and great grandkids with particular fierceness.
- Phyllis Lame - my Sissy...see the post before this one. :)
- Leona Simmons - my grandmother...never really knew her but it is through her example that my mother has raised her own family.
- Ruth Douglas and Gladys Street - the two best neighbors a little girl could have
- MY GRANNY LEE...too many words to say here what I want to. She was mine, and I was hers. Enough said.
- Patricia White - the best mother in love a girl could ask for
- Susan Waters - my very best friend & Drake & Kinsey's godmother
- Joyce Childers & Kay Teal - for giving me my very best friend.
- The ladies of Union Chapel General Baptist Church, particularly Georgia Lane, Goldie Mathias, Denise Baker, Lisa Callis, Judy Brown, Christine Crafton, and Granny Thornton
- My childhood friends' mommas - Gloria Payne, Bonnie Denton, Betty McDowell, Judy McGlothlin, and Betty Bradley
- Those mommas who have loved my kids: Mary Ellen "Mother" Hinton, Judy Clemons, Janice Black, Lisa Callis (again), Susan Napier, April Walls, JoLee Collins, Allison Hester, Pam Nolen, Dawn White, Kay Groves, Beth Lame
- Other stellar moms - Kathleen Lamport "Kaki," Lisa Nelson Grant, Jae Anne Hanes Hatzell, Pat Hanes, Juanita Cox, Sharon Bonds, Connie Gibbs, Amy Crews, Nancy Shelton, Patsy Carr, Stacy Andrews Lane, Carrie Mazanec Adkins, Susie Balentine, Virginia Lame, and Pam Summers.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Sissy
When my sister was sixteen, she got an unusual gift about a month after that - me! We don't share the stories that most sisters share because of our age difference. Phyllis is more like a second mom to me. She made Barbie clothes, doll houses, and Halloween costumes for me. She taught me to dance. She pretended to be part of a crime-fighting duo called Electro Girl and Dyna Woman with me as we cruised around 1970's Portland in her white Mustang T-top. I scoped all potential boyfriends, scaring one guy to death I am sure, by showing him the "training bra" my friend Angie had given me. (Why we thought we needed a training bra that young, I have no idea!) When there was finally a man who would pay attention to me, I figured I would let her get married...haha. Not really. I mean, the man she married did pay attention to me and even locked his keys in his car because he was so busy aggravating me. I wasn't thrilled about losing my sister. I got to be the flower girl in her wedding, but that meant Sissy moved to another house. I did not approve. Just when I was getting used to sharing my Sissy with Bobby, she got pregnant with Shane. There was some major jealousy from me, mixed with wonder at the beautiful blonde curled baby. Before long, Sissy made it up to me by having a little girl. I had requested one, and she obliged with the prettiest, pudgiest baby. I adored, Beth. I even told myself that I got to name her, but I don't really think I did. While Sissy raised her family and I grew up, we didn't share a great deal of memories. We were both wrapped up in living our lives. I always knew she loved me, and I am pretty sure she always knew I adored her. She was my Matron of Honor, even though she hates being in front of people and shook through the entire ceremony. My sister has been there for the birth of both of my babies. She has a gift for making people feel special and loved, especially children. She has a talent for anything "crafty," and I call her The Martha Stewart of New Deal...without the jail time, of course. :) Now we scrapbook together and she can bring her granddaughters to play with my little girl. We recently went to our mother's hometown for the funeral of our aunt, and even such a sad and solemn time as that was made fun because I got to spend it with my sister. I feel incredibly blessed to even have a sister and more so that I have such a special person as Phyllis for my sister, my second momma, and my dear friend. She is just about the best person I know.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Blackboard
The past two months of my life have been really difficult for many reasons. Today, I turned 38 years old and last night I gave myself, or rather accepted, the best present ever given - forgiveness. I forgave myself for all my many failures and shortcomings. I forgave the people in my life now who have hurt me. I forgave the people in my past who have hurt me. I wrote all of the things that I needed to forgive/let go of and then pictured them on a Blackboard. I then pictured sitting in the middle of my old portable classroom, and Jesus coming in and talking to me, and together, we erased all of those things together. The hardest ones were myself. I have been so hard on myself. Now the Blackboard is clean like this one, clear from my self-loathing, self-doubt, and fear. I know that Jesus has such plans for me, and now, I can actually face them with confidence. I'm going to the Blackboard as much as I need, and Jesus and I will erase anything that keeps me from living the life He gave me to use for His glory. :)
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Good Enough
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