Grandma, shortly after moving to California |
...even with her visceral displeasure of the south, every summer from the time i was ten until i turned eighteen, we traveled from california to east texas for a few weeks to visit her relatives...by then, grandma had lost her father and one sister and her mother had had a series of strokes...so i found myself sleeping on a pallet on the hard linoleum of my great-grandmother's retirement apartment, a four room place on the eighth floor of a depressing gray building just outside of downtown beaumont...i spent my days reading louis l'amour novels and pushing my great grandmother along the urine-smelling corridors...for an hour or two each afternoon i was allowed to spend time in the stifling humidity, where i usually gravitated to an ancient rusted swing set--once sliding my feet along a soft bed of upturned earth and suffering the rest of the summer with weeping sores up and down my legs from fire ant bites...or i'd be permitted a game of pool in the always-empty recreation room on the first floor, grandma watching on as if any moment i might turn to her her and give her the fright of her life by saying, "i love it here"...
...my time restricted to a stale building with condensation dripping down the windows, surrounded by the dying-forgotten i became convinced that texas was the pit of hell i'd been warned about...
Grandma on the far left, with Nancy, Faye, and Sissie; her father sits in the chair, and my uncle Bud crouches beside him |
...when i turned fourteen, uncle bud decided i needed to learn to drive so he enlisted his youngest daughter dana--a high school senior i thought was the coolest girl in the world because she had feathered hair and a deep tan--to teach me the gears of a stick shift in a hollowed-out jeep...we bumped along the back acres of scrubby brush and tree stumps, nearly thrown from the carcass because there were no seat belts, no doors, no windshield...no one lived for miles around so we could holler as loud as we wanted each time it stalled and we were thrown forward...eventually, i lost all control and we ended up perched on a tree stump, all four wheels off the ground and no way to get the jeep moving again...each time we gave it gas, we spun in a circle, a mechanized version of a playground merry go round...eventually, uncle bud found us stranded, the jeep out of gas from all of our spinning, and had to tie it to a tractor to pull it free...by then grandma had put a stop to my driving lessons...
...one forth of july, uncle bud piled me and his grandson, mike, into his huge truck and we headed into the small town for fireworks...i'd lived my entire life in a desert and had only seen firework shows at the local high school...i'd never heard of a black cat or m-80 or roman candle, but uncle bud loaded me down...at sunset he lit a candle and held it high over his head while the red and blue sparks shot into the sky...dana, mike and i lit entire rows of black cats in the middle of the country road, then became more daring and started lighting them in the old metal mailbox...the pops cracked my ears--they rang for days...
...it's hard to say what, exactly, those summers at my uncle bud's house meant to me...his wife, sarah, made blueberry crumble and chicken spaghetti (a recipe so good and rich it still eludes me)...i launched myself from a tree house via an ancient tire swing whose rope never did snap...i traveled to the family cemetery and listened to stories of my great-grandfather william whom i'd never met but whose grave i could eventually find with my eyes closed...i helped shell peas and cut okra, learned to can corn...i was introduced to a very southern tradition, the town square, which in hemphill was a series of dilapidated brick buildings surrounding a central grassy area with a small courthouse and ancient jail...i learned that defunct service stations were the best places to find wild flowers and old tin signs perfect for sling shot target practice...as i neared my eighteenth year, those days came to represent calm and quiet, a time when i could actually take a walk and listen to my own breathing...
...within a short span of two years, my texas greats began to die...first my great aunt sissie, then my great grandmother...great aunt nancy went next, and so ended the summer trips...by then i was in college, beginning my own life, and like most uppity know-it-alls i tried to distance myself from my family as much as i could...but eventually the south beckoned me back and at twenty-two i found myself living only a day's drive away from the crumbling homestead my grandmother fled a quarter century before my birth...
Uncle Bud with Great Granddaughter in 2012 |
...my god...it's been nearly a decade since i sat with him into the wee hours, listening to cicadas hum in the trees on his land, but i can hear him as plain as if he were sitting beside me...his easy drawl, the voice like a pulled cello chord, the wavering of his breath like a breeze over hot gravel...the way he always called me "baby" like he did his own daughters...
...i suppose for a kid like me--growing up without a mother and father in a sterile california town that prided itself on shopping malls and lawn ordinances and watering restrictions--those summers represented wildness i would never know again...as i got older, my life fell into an orderly picture painted by the simple headings of "what to do" and "what not to do"...but always in my memory were my sweat-stained t-shirts and mud-wrecked keds and a jeep perched atop a tree truck, spinning and spinning like a top with two young girls behind the wheel and my lanky uncle swaggering toward us in his requisite white t-shirt and faded blue jeans, shaking his head and wiping away tears of laughter...
This story would have made Bud (C.J. to some of his friends) so very proud. He was a good man and spread a lot of laughter in his time.
ReplyDeleteWonderfully evocative of the South and a moving tribute to your uncle. Somewhere in Southern families there always seems to be that older relative who can make a positive emotional connection to an outsider kid. Yes, I speak from experience. :-)
ReplyDeleteI remember driving cross-country when Forrest and I moved to Florida from California. The wild west went on and on forever, but when we hit East Texas, around Marshall where my dad's family had roots, I remember seeing big oak trees and the land got green and I started to cry thinking, "I'm home."
Love this. A wonderful tribute. That's all I have to say. :)
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