Waiting for Daddy

When my father was around 7 years old, his brother and some other kids on the farm caught a possum. They had been trying to catch the possum to keep it out of the chicken coop and were finally successful. Possums are nocturnal animals and while they put on a big show, they aren't nearly as vicious as they look. They hiss or squawk, and the act of "playing possum" makes their lips curl back and their mouth foam, but they're not really going to mess you up.

When you're 7, though, and your 12 year old brother is carrying around this wild animal it seems like things are about to get out of control and very fast. He was convinced they should wait for my grandfather to get back from the field so he could handle this fierce creature. My father fretted around calling out "Wait 'til Daddy come! Wait 'til Daddy come!"

(Note that in an East Carolina accent Daddy is actually pronounced Detty, so it's more like "Wait teal Detty come!")

My uncle teased my father for years after that. Anytime something happened that spooked him, Uncle Curtis would squeal "Wait 'til Daddy come!" It obviously made an impression since my Daddy told me this story 50 years after the fact.

My brother and I don't tease each other, but we both occasionally have moments of waiting 'til Daddy come. I know this has annoyed Rich in the past when I obviously am counting on my father's opinion to help guide me. But now that we have a child of our own, I hope that for many years Ian will look to his own father for what to do, even well into adulthood.

I hope that all of you have someone you can turn to for difficult decisions, or at least to dispose of the pesky possums of your life.

So old and so tired

When my oldest brother Doug was around three, he and his parents (Mom and Lee) lived in a garage apartment at his grandparents' house. His great grandfather on his dad's side was living in the house and spent many an afternoon rocking in his chair on the porch reading a book. After his great grandfather died, Doug asked why. My mother explained that Great Grandaddy was just very old and very tired so it was time for him to die.

Probably a year later, Mom and Lee had divorced and she and Doug were on their own. While Lee was never very helpful when we was around, my 25-year-old mother was feeling the stress of keeping things afloat as a single mom in 1963. One day she collapsed into the chair, saying, "Oh, your momma is so old and so tired."

Doug burst into tears and ran to her sobbing, "I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!"

Rich doesn't like it when I say that I'm tired. It's not the statement, but more the tone of voice that I use - a small voice as if even making the statement wears me out. He says it worries him. So now I've found I don't actually say I'm tired much anymore, or if I do, I try to be extra cheery about it.

I'm not actually all that tired these days. But every time I'm tempted to collapse in a chair and moan a "woe is me" I think of Doug. And then I realize things aren't so bad.