Late in the summer of '08, I had a strong urge to load my kids in our van and drive to Kentucky to visit my Pappa. I wanted to sear his memory into my children's minds. I wanted them to take one spin on the Valkerie or the Harley with him. I wanted to hear his WWII accounts. I wanted to laugh at his jokes. Most importantly, I wanted to record his stories so I could take them out and remember them later after the inevitable end to his mortality.
Driving that far with the kids was daunting. School started, and then I was expecting another baby.
Just after I had my little Katie Jane, there was the motorcycle accident and I thought it was too late.
Now, here he is. Like a cat with nine-lives. Returned from the dead. I am filled with joy by his presence and so grateful that he has recovered his former self (except that he can no longer turn his head side to side because of a metal plate and fused vertebrae). But, the energy, the optimism, the humor -- they are all still there.
My Pappa tells a joke almost every time he opens his mouth.
Yesterday, he was sitting in my front room when a flash flood hit. The kids were mesmerized and soon we were all staring across the front porch watching a river of water cover the entire sidewalk while another swift river filled the gutter and spread out into the street. It was trash day. My van was parked on the street. The water picked up several trash cans, turned them over and smashed them into my front bumper, spilling the garbage into little whirlpools of rain water. A garbage truck rolled helplessly by. A neighbor braved the downpour to right a few rogue trash cans and my Pappa called out, "It looks like the rain collected the garbage today."
That is how he is. Always trying to get a laugh. Always telling a story in a serious way until he gets to the punch line and you realize the whole thing was nonesense. Always turning things into puns. Like, last night he said to Ian:
"Learn all you can and can all you learn."
Canning up your knowledge, like preserving the fall harvest into jars. Clever.
This morning he said to me:
"I never was much of a ladies man, but, I always wanted to be a man for the ladies."
And, there are 100 more Pappa-isms that will forever be forgotten when he is gone because I will not be able to recall them and write them down in time.
My Pappa has always been a hard worker.
He is one of eighteen children born to a miller. His father had ten children with his first wife, and, after she died, he had eight more children with his second wife. My Pappa is the fourth child born to the second wife.
When he was young, they would move from farm to farm in Kentucky and Tennessee every few years. His father would clear the timbers and mill them into Railroad ties.
He only had shoes in the winter.
He helped out on his neighbor's farm for 25-cents per day, even though other farmers paid as much as 50-cents per day. Then, at fourteen, he got his first job as a night watchman for ten-dollars per week.
He lived through The Depression.
When he was seventeen he joined the "3-C's," the Civilian Conservation Corps. As many young boys at the time did, he travelled around digging trenches and such and sending his pay home to his parents. When that ended, he was able to finish up his high school diploma before being drafted into the army.
I never really understood the Great Depression until Sophie and I read the Kit series of the American Girl books a few years ago. Those economic hard times weren't like the hard times of today - you know, where people have to cut back to one Disneyland trip this year instead of two, or, something like that. I never realized that several public schools just shut down completely because of lack of funding. The ones that did stay open operated with cracked windows (no money for repairs when things broke down), 2-3 students sharing one desk, and many teachers teaching without pay. Parents really had to decide which child to feed and which would have to go hungry on any given day. I really can't begin to comprehend such circumstances and hope I never have to.
My Pappa lived through all of that.
And, he was a hard, hard worker.
At one point, while he was a teenager, he had a job that paid 30-cents per hour. All the other boys worked 8-hours per day, but, he worked 10, bringing his wages to $3 per day. He still gave most of his earnings to his parents, but he saved up $416 to buy his first motorcycle when he was 18.
He has always loved things that go -- prized automobiles that he has cared for meticulously in his garage, and, he's never been without a motorcycle since he bought that first one so long ago. In fact, right now, he owns four motorcycles.
But, he did have to leave that first motorcycle to go serve his country.
In the army he studied medicine as a surgical tech, but, his real interest was in electricity. He went overseas on a ship, first to England, and from there, he was put on a boat believing he was headed to Africa. It wasn't until after the boat left the harbor that the true plan was revealed.
My Pappa was among the brave soldiers who stormed the beaches at Normandy. Just this morning he was relating to me how more than 24,000 men died before his eyes. "And they weren't just men. They were someone's son and someone's brother and someone's friend," he told me soberly.
The events of WWII were so horrifying that my Pappa has never been back to Europe even though he has been retired for 20-something years and traveled the U.S. extensively. "I've already seen Europe and I don't never want to go back," he says.
In fact, he never spoke about his experiences as a soldier. Not ever. Not to anyone. Until after my Mamma's death twelve years ago. Somehow the pain of her passing opened him up to telling some of what he saw.
There is nothing in this world that makes me appreciate that war and my freedom more than hearing my Pappa's stories.
The other day he was talking about what it was like to grow up without electricity and indoor plumbing.
"We didn't have four bedrooms and a bath. We had four rooms and a path."
He talked about heating water for the removable bathtub. It must have been daunting. He pointed to the gallon of milk on the table and said, "We didn't have conveniences like this. We didn't get our milk in a jug from the grocery store. We had to go outside and get it from the cow." I commented on how hard it must have been and he said:
"Oh, that was nothing. What was hard was living in a tent in Europe during The War. There were nights when I was so cold I shook all night long and did nothing but pray for the morning to come. After you experience something like that, it was quite like paradise to come back to the home and the conditions I have described to you."
His father died while he was serving his three-years overseas.
He had to stay in Germany for one year after The War ended to help give medical attention to the war refugees. He helped deliver three babies and sewed little outfits to give to the mothers.
"Pappa, I didn't know you could sew!"
A twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, yes. I can sew and do lots of other things too."
There must be so many things I don't know about his 86 1/2-years on this earth.
He came home just before Christmas and met my Mamma. His younger sister was engaged to her brother and my Mamma and his sister were friends. Five months later, all four of them went down to the courthouse and had a double wedding ceremony.
This morning he was describing to me how my Mamma was the only woman he has ever fallen in love with.
They lived with his mom for part of their first years together and they lived with his aunt too. Eventually they bought a little home and he remembers when they bought one of their first pieces of furniture -- a cabinet with a built in washbasin for the kitchen.
"I love you and someday we will have everything," he told my Mamma on their wedding day.
In 1966, he was doing well with his job as an electrician for the coal mines and he surprised my Mamma with a new Chevy Impala making them a two-car family. "I told you we would have everything," he reminded her when she expressed her happy surprise.
Later, after he retired and they began their travels in the motorhome, she turned to him and said, "James, I never thought we would have it so good."
"I told you someday we would have everything."
My Pappa is a hard, hard worker.
And, according to him, he has had everything he ever wanted in this life.
"And, the good thing about the terrible experiences of the war is that they have made me appreciate all of the good in my life, like being here with you today," he said.
