Cigarettes, Soda Water and Jesus

I grew up in the 1970s basically. Those early formative years before reaching puberty and being distracted by girls wearing jordache jeans and coming into their womanness. It was a time of playful innocence, where awareness of things of the adult world had not yet raised its ugly head, and we were allowed to explore the limitless adventures our young minds could conjure up. Cowboys and Indians and Army and Bonnie and Clyde (I will not mention who was forced to play bonnie some times due to the lack of any girls in our group!). Little did I know of the world of sex, drugs and anti-war sentiment. For me, it was Sesame Street and Captain Kangaroo and Saturday Morning cartoons. It was 3 channels on a TV with a manual dial. Life was good.

And in the summers, I would be transported into another country for a week or so at a time to visit my grandparents on my mothers side. They lived in Southeastern Oklahoma and this, though only a few hours away from my little town, seemed like an entirely different universe. And they were poor, but I didn't know it. As a kid, I never really noticed that some people lived in big houses and some didn't. Some lived in brick homes while some lived in trailer houses. And I was family and friends with them all. My grandparents lived in a four room house. Literally. If you take a perfectly square box and divided it equally into four parts, that's the house. And you can see each room from the other room by leaning this way or that.

My grandfather was German and my grandmother Native American. We don't know which tribe due to records being burned up in a fire of some sort. But if you look at her photograph, she looks just like Geronimo, but with boobs.

And grandfather was an alcoholic. Not a mean one but one nevertheless. He amused us as kids, with his wisp of white hair piled up on his head, he was a sight to behold. He was a logger in his early days and a tree fell on him. He walked with a cane the whole time I knew him and drew a disability check from the government. And they always had the best butter, cheese, peanut butter and honey. I didn't know that it was food subsidies. It tasted great and they always let us have all we wanted.

And he drank and cursed the whole time I knew him. And I didn't care. He and I would wait inside the house as my parents left, watching through the screen door their Chevrolet Caprice station wagon with the wood grain sides traveling down the limestone road, creating a dust trail that wouldn't settle for hours, and he would tell me to get me and him a beer. He drank Miller High Life in the bottle and man they were cold. He would then roll a Prince Albert cigarette, and then feign he couldn't get it to light. So he would have me light it for him then go ahead and smoke it with my beer. Man, that stuff was so tasty to a 10 year old, and it was our little secret, our little rebellion against the good wishes of my parents. And I loved it.

One day he ran out of beer, wine and whiskey, so he asked me and my cousin of the same age if we wanted to "go to town". Going to town in those days was a big deal because Grandad rarely left the forty acres he lived on. We loaded up in his old ford pickup and headed down the dirt roads to town, where he would buy us a "sody water" and a snack. City boy me would always ask for a Coke and a Snicker Bar, while my Oklahoma cousins would opt for a Orange Pop and a Moon Pie. And of course we would have to eat and drink it at the gas station so we could leave the bottle and not have to pay the deposit!

and somehow, we ended up at the liquor store. Now me and my cousin didn't know it was a liquor store, as grandad told us he was going in to see his girlfriend and get us some Arkansas Soda Pop, which sounded pretty good to me. He returned with two huge bottles of what can only be described as the best tasting grape juice that had to that point touched my lips. Now grandad made us drive back home while he sat on the passenger side and drank. Okay, he didn't really make us, we eagerly agreed to his arrangement. Anything to get to set up on the Sears Catalog and shift that 3 speed on the column. While one of us drove, the other drank. Then we switched places. I can't tell you how many peanut crops were ruined that day, but I'm sure somewhere there was one unhappy farmer.

Luckily, we made it back. Glory hallelujah. I went into the bedroom and fell out under the swamp fan on the bed and passed smooth out. As luck would have it, mom and dad returned a few hours later and found us all passed out. Jesus, the stuff hit the fan and off we go, me in the rear of the station wagon, bouncing around the back roads of Oklahoma, sticking my head out to rid myself of the contents of my stomach.

I'm not sure mom ever forgave him for that. I still can't believe we survived that and many other episodes. Every visit after that, I noticed that mom would make us go to the little baptist church that was close to granddad's place on Sunday morning, even though we didn't know anyone there. I would listen to the old time preacher screaming about sin, and I would think he had me and grandad pegged. And the best part is that the pulpit had a box in it, like a diorama box, with a three dimensional Jesus in it that would stare holes through me, no matter where I was setting. It was kind of creepy. Did Jesus know about the cigarettes? the beer? the Arkansas soda water? I'm sure he did.

I miss those moments. They come and go in an instant. Those experiences that are "once in a lifetime". Those people who loved you in their own way are also gone. And I miss them deeply. But I have those memories, memories of cigarettes, soda water and Jesus.

Somewhere in Time

There is a great movie titled "Somewhere in Time", starring the ever beautiful Jane Seymour and the late Christopher Reeves. Rent it sometime and watch it with your spouse. However, this post isn't about that movie.

This weekend I went back to where I was born, raised, and raised hell. It was Memorial Day weekend, and like most American families, we had our big cookout saturday at the home of my sister. I am so proud of my sister. She made a lot of mistakes growing up (choices of boyfriends, husbands, careers, teen pregancy, financial struggles, poor self image) but has really turned her life around in the last decade. Has two great daughters and her husband is a good guy. They just built a nice pool and are doing well economically, so she had the whole family come over and enjoy the day.

Her daughters are in college and all their friends came as well. It was quite humorous when they started drinking lite beer (yuck) and I pulled out my Shiner Bock. They didn't even know what kind of beer it was. They were smoking cigarettes or swisher's, and I pulled out my Punch Primo cigar, lit it up and kicked back like the wise dude I am. When querried about my brand of beer and smoke, I told 'em I'm getting to the age where I don't know if I got minutes or years left, and by god I aint' gonna be caught dead with cheap beer or cigars. They just laughed. And kept laughing even after I drank 'em under the table with Padron Agave Tequila shots. I told 'em I have had more practice so it was kind of unfair.

Anyway, before all of this, I awoke at 6:15 a.m. My great aunt was celebrating her 95th birthday at her church some 20 miles away from where I was staying, at 8:30a.m. with a breakfast (I guess as this age they didn't want to chance doing it at lunch time in case she didn't make it those next few hours of the day). So I got up and left everyone sleeping at the house and took off.

This is where I grew up. My hometown area. Lots of memories. The quietness of the countryside and little east texas towns was striking. Locals cautiously watched me pass with a kind of who-is-that-look and a glancing wave. I was driving a "fur-uhn car" as they call it in their East Texas venacular. Its a Toyota Camry. You don't see much of those around that part of the country. Fords, Chevys and Dodges dot the landscape. Trucks mostly. Old Union yellow dawg democrats still control the mind set of this area, and the lack of ecomonic development and the dying steel mill does much to reinforce this. The slogan "Buy American" carries a whole different meaning here. I don't have the heart to tell them their Fords have over 20% of parts made in Mexico.

I stopped by the graves of my great grandparents, my great uncle, and others. I drove to my grandparents old place just outside of town. They have passed on now, but it is still amazing to me how these sights and sounds and smells can trigger long forgotten memories. I looked over the house and the pasture (which had grown up, as young folks don't tend to keep them up like the older generations did) and then drove backroads I haven't been on in almost 20 years. I had the window down and my left arm hanging out while just driving slowly, taking it all in. The old houses I had forgotten about. Some new ones that were placed here or there over the years. The smell of cows and cut grass met my nose in a familiar, comfortable way. I turned a corner to find four or five horses walking down the road toward me. It was an instant game of chicken. They weren't budging. They just looked at me like "dude, your on our road". They finally stepped aside and let me pass. I stopped by my mom's gravesite. It is always sobering for me. I had no words.

I make it to my aunt's breakfast at 8:15 a.m. and am greeted by people I haven't seen in decades and they still remember my name. Amazing. I know I'm supposed to know them, but time and distance has darkened my memory some. They were here when I grew up. They are still here. They are the earth of this place. They came from it, toiled it, live on it and someday will return to it. I feel like an outsider, mainly due to my own self consciousness. But there is some comfort in the familiar, and it is hard to shake. I felt relaxed. Safe.

I visited, shook some hands, hugged some others, told 'em what a big success I have become away from them and they seem so proud that someone actually moved away and is fairly successful. For them, time is standing still. They do not get out much, being content with what the lord and the land has provided them. The times are tough there, but so are the people.

You can still see the past in the present. It is haunting to me. And my memories linger....somewhere in time.