Mammaw and Papaw

Mammaw

As most of you all know, I don’t really like speeches.  But I have had time to prepare for this one.  The preacher actually gave me fair warning yesterday afternoon that I would be asked to get up here to give this story.

            That was his first mistake.

            Because when I do something, I don’t really like to do it halfway; and somehow just getting up here and telling a 2 minute story seemed to be a little halfway-ish to me.  And I thought I owed it to Mammaw to at least try to go all the way, I mean shoot, you got grandkids up here playing music and another writing Pulitzer-winnng eulogies.  I mean, really Tyler?  That was absolutely amazing.  How are we supposed to compete with that?

            Although, personally, I would have had to add something about strawberry jelly and jello cups, streusals on the Charlotte trips, and certainly that pretty little pink and black bathing suit on beach trips.

            Anyway, though, I thougt the least I could do is pull out a little 5 minute talk for you all, but don’t worry, I promise to keep it brief.

            Mammaw told stories….a lot of stories.  Some got told more than once….or twice…or ten times even.  I feel like these were the more important ones, and I’m pretty sure that we have all heard them before.

            Windy’s first sentence in a crowded shopping mall,

            Charlie Pratt and the A and P,

            Her first tube of lipstick and the boys who peed on it,

            The sunburn in Gatlinburg,

            The sunburn at the beach and the smart a** child—Milburn or Evelyn or whichever it was—who popped her on the back,

            Mark running down to Mammaw Ross’s and the old lady who watched,

            Hiking to Mount Lecont….twice!

            Writing—or not writing—bat sense on a chalkboard.

            My favorite, though, and this will be the one that I repeat, the story when Mammaw and Papaw first met.

            Mammaw attended Knoxville Business College, that was why she was “such a business-like woman”.  One day her and her best friend were in class, and two boys walked in—one taller than the other.  Della leaned over and said to Mammaw, “Ok, I’ll take the tall one, you can have the short one.”  The tall one was Marion Harris; that short one was Papaw.  Later, Mammaw and Della were sitting on the steps outside class.  Mammaw had gotten a very new, very short haircut, and Della—like all good friends—was making fun of it.  Papaw, however, stopped as he was walking by and, even though they didn’t know each other, leaned down and said, “Well, I think it looks good.”  Then he went on to class.  “Well you think you’re hot stuff, don’t you?” Della said. 

            That would be the beginning of Mr. and Mrs. Holbrook.

            But I like these stories of Mammaw’s., and maybe I’m looking into them too much, or maybe I’ve just watched way too many Disney movies, but I like to think that they all have a moral.  Some are, admittedly, more obvious than others.

            For the sunburns in Gatlinburg and the beach—always wear sunscreen, never baby oil.

            Windy’s first sentence?  Children can sometimes embarrass the heck out of you.

            Mount Lecont’s lesson?  Never go on a 10 mile hike in high heels!  And certainly don’t do it twice!!

            As for the first tube of bright red lipstick and the boys who peed on it—Don’t ever try to hide things from your mother….and never trust 4^th grade boys.

            Others, though, were a little more deep.

            Charlie Pratt taught me that we will be asked some hard questions in life, but we have to choose the path that we want to take, not just the one that will please others.

            From the old lady yelling, “Let him have it!” as Mark walked to Mammaw Ross’s, I learned that you just gotta ignore people sometimes, tell’em to “kiss you’re a**, Not on the left cheek, not on the right cheek, but right in the middle.”

            Not writing bat sense actually gave me two morals:

            First—when you know you’re right, by all means stand up for it!  No matter how much trouble it’ll bring.

            Second—always remember that you can trust your Momma to have your back when you need it.

            And finally, the story when Mammaw met Papaw.  Keep your eyes open and be ready, because you never know when you may meet the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with.

            So that’s what I got, that’s my two cents worth.  I realized that it’s time enough for me to stop, if I stop when I ought to, and so I’m gonna go sit back down now.

            But I gotta tell you, Mammaw, your were right all along.  We’ve laughed a little, we’ve cried a little, and we’ve even cussed a little.

Papaw

It was easy to write a short talk about Mammaw, because Mammaw would tell you her entire life in stoies.  But Papaw didn’t tell stories like Mammaw.  Sure he’d tell the occasional one, like being stranded at sea in a lifeboat or stationed on the ice cap with Amealykuku, but on a grand scale, he never talked a ton about himself.  That wasn’t Papaw.  So what I know about him, what each of us know about him, comes from pure experience and observatin, years and years of observation.

            And I’m sure that you all have had different memories than me, but I have a feeling that most of you’ve had some of the same as well.  So, this is what I know of Mr. Holbrook, how I’ll remember him.  This is my Papaw.

            My Papaw helped me plant my first cherry tree, and consoled me when it still hadn’t produced any cherries 15 years later.

            My Papaw took me squirrel calling on the back porch.  And it is only now, years later as I write this that I realize that there is no such thing as a squirrel  caller….a turkey caller, yes, but not a squirrel caller.  But, as I remember it, there were so many squirrels running around that you never could convince me that it wasn’t true.

            My Papaw gave me my first gun so that I could stay safe on campus, because “people are so damn mean it’s a sight”.   No bullets, though, despite the fact he owned an armory, because he wanted to be with me the first time I fired it when we went to Kentucky.

            My Papaw liked birds and squirrels, but hated “that damn fly” and the cat, “that rascal”.  He loved roses and expecially trees, and had pretty much the most amazing garden you’ve ever seen.  And every night in the summer, you’d go out and “pick a couple peppers or tomatos for your Mammaw”. 

            He was a big blue fan who was glad to see Ole Tubby Smith go, but sad when Phil Fulmer left because “he just seems like such a nice boy”.

            He generally mixed his cereal, but if you asked, he could whoop up a mean fried egg and even a pan of Kentucky cornbread as long as you had a good hour until dinner.  Him and Mammaw even made strawberry jelly until the year they forgot the Sure-gel, so the jelly didn’t….quite…..jell. 

            My Papaw got his produce from J. R.’s, his strawberries from Scott’s, his apples from Chilhowie, and his furniture from Yarber’s.  However, he did most of his trading at Kroger.  He knew every single lady in the Kroger Pharmacy, every single fella in the Kroger Meat department, every worker in the Kroger aisles, and every cashier at the Kroger check-out.  And each one knew him, too.

            There was always a watermelon in the refridgerator, a piece of bread with dinner, and a slice of tomato on the table.  And no matter how much you ate at that supper table, no sooner had you sat down in the big house than he’d say, “You wanna cracker, don’t you?” 

            He was a homebody; which could be bad sometimes, like when you miss your own surprise birthday party; but good in the fact that you know each and every neighbor.  And in return for a couple short visits on the porch, they’d get fruit baskets in the winter, strawberries in the summer, and candy throughout the year.

            He did love some trips, though:  Kentucky with Jack, Krystal with Landon, and K-Mart with the grandchildren where you’d get to pick out absolutely anything you wanted:  a tricycle for Elyse, a boardgame for Lindsey, and Polly Pockets for me.

            Everytime you’d both get up he’d mention “that damn ankle” and how he was “gonna do something with it next week”; he already had “a couple of appointements lined up”.  And everytime you sat down, he’d remind you to “be sure to always take care of your feet”. 

            After the advice, though, he could converse on pretty much anything:  politics—he has and always will be a nonpartisan—stocks, China, or the news of basically anywhere.

            His favorite topic, though, was his grandchildren, and he knew anything and everything there was to know about each.  “You go right on down the line,” he’d say, “and every one is a dandy, and not one of them is in jail.”  Landon was “a right respectable member of this family”, Lindsey was a “firecracker”, and Elliott, well “I’ve always wanted a lawyer in the family.”  He’d ask how Ol’ Snoop was and if he really did like to stay in the house that Jack built.  He’d show me the new Ella and Riele pics and talk aobut Amelia crawling to him.  He’d ask if I remebered when windy will graduate, and had I heard about Tyler’s good grades?  “They’re dong Raskov is coming up this weekend; he’s a good old boy, you know.”

            Each year after Thanksgiving, he’d put on his hard hat and venture up the ladder and into the attic in search of the Christmas decorations.  And—despite all the comments—I’m pretty sure he enjoyed it just as much as Mammaw.  He loved decorating the perfect Christmas tree—you know, that “beauty that Tom and Carolyn got from White Top”.  And he once listened to a Christmas song so beautiful that he thought he could “just lay down and die”.

            He would never give a dime of his money to the American Red Cross, but loved the Mayo Clinic.

            Every evening he’d take his exercise on the front or back porch, because it made him geel so much younger.  Some grand kids even do that today, I hear….Tyler.

            And even though he’d never join in the games—like cornhole—he’d love to watch everything from NASCAR to baseball to golf.  He’d even bet on the football and basketball games with my Momma……and he cheated.

            He could fix anything from dishes to the Cat’s bumper and the blazer’s front seat with nothing but super glue, duct tape, and a bale of hay.  And if there was anything that he was unable to fix in your car, he had a “man just up the street” who could.

            Everytime you came, he was surprised—which one grandchild found out when he arrived at night with a pistol in his face—and eveytime you left he’d say that “you didn’t stay long enough”.  He’d ask if you wanted a “little bar of candy for the road” and, “Well, when ya comin’ back up?”  After you’d answer next weekend, they’d say, “Ok, we’ll be looking for you.”

            But of course he’d call sometime during the week just to check up and to say that, “Me and your Mammaw were just thinkin’ about you sugar.” 

            And that, of everything, will be what I miss most:  getting that call in the middle of the week to discuss the new person that UT has hired or fired, whether or not Dooley will indeed ever win a game, and who in the world is Cuanzo Martin?  Because even though that may seem like a small thing, anything you had to talk about was always a big thing to Papaw.