Me, Gwyneth and a pregnant lady

Recently I saw a headline, and I paraphrase, “Gwyneth Paltrow says women who work 9-5 jobs have it easier than her.” YEA SHE SAID IT   Let that sink in for a bit.  As you ponder it you will probably go through the 7 Stages of WTF?  These are just like the 7 Stages of Grief but after each one you say to yourself “WTF?”  

It is easy to ridicule a movie star who makes such a pretentiously idiotic statement. But to be fair we’ve all done it.  Said something and just as it was coming out of our mouth we knew that it was the wrong thing to say.  I’ve done it more than once.  Hell, I do it once a day. Sometimes it is innocuous.  Other times it is cosmically rude and insensitive.  I’m a nice guy.  I swear I am. But when you talk as much as I do eventually the laws of probability are going to ensure that your foot firmly plants itself in your mouth on a fairly regular basis.

One particular instance that haunts me took place in a grocery store.  I had just returned from a business trip.  Shelli had asked me to pick up a few things. Being the dutiful husband I am that is what I did.  Standing in aisle 5 was one of our married couple friends.  To protect the innocent I will call the Tark and Mammy.  Tark and my wife Shelli were friends from work.  Mammy was Tark’s wife and we loved them and still love them dearly.  I remembered that Mammy was pregnant with her first child.  Being a concerned friend I showed interest for the upcoming addition to their family.  I told Mammy that she looked wonderful and happy.  She was was beaming and smiled. Then I said it.

**Before I continue I would like to point out that I had been out of town for two weeks and I may or may not have been slipped hallucinogens by terrorists.  You can’t prove that I wasn’t.  Just saying.

Then I said, “Wow, it won’t be much longer now.  Just a couple of months?”

I’m not sure what I noticed first. 
Was it the drop in temperature? No!
Was it the look of horror on Tark’s face as if to say WTH Dude?   No!
Was the innocent look of a crushed spirit, shattered hopes and sheer heartbreak that can only be mustered by a sweet, beautiful, pregnant woman  IN HER FIRST TRIMESTER!?!   YEP, that was it.

It was bad.  I think I actually drooled on myself while I considered smashing my head with a jar of pickle relish.  Anything would have been preferable to having to see this dear, shattered soul’s pouting eyes.  Thankfully she didn’t cry. Or at least I don’t think she did because I ran out of the store like it was on fire.  As soon as I got in the car I called Shelli to tell her she needed to reach out to Tark. My loving wife replied, “Oh God!  What have you done?”  What can I say?  She knows me.

That was 11 years ago. Mammy and Tark now have three beautiful daughters. But, I still get embarrassed thinking about that day.  Luckily Mammy is more gracious than I am stupid. 

So maybe Gwyneth is a pampered, out of touch trollop. Who knows?  Hopefully she is a nice lady who said something stupid and will regret it.  Maybe terrorists gave her hallucinogens.  You don’t know.

Lucky Charlie

The first time I met Charlie Smith was Christmas 1992.  I was traveling back to college a couple of weeks early so I could pick-up a few hours of work before spring semester began. Shelli and I had been dating almost a year so it was time to spend a little Holiday time with her family. Charlie was Shelli’s uncle. Strike that. Charlie was Shelli’s FAVORITE Uncle. I had heard about Charlie. He was a regular source of conversation around her family. I didn’t know exactly why and didn’t pry but I knew Charlie was a little different, even special.

Charlie was 19 years old when Pearl Harbor was attacked.  Educated through the 8th grade, Charlie was raised in the rolling hills of Richmond County, North Carolina, right on the edge of the Uwharrie Forest. Being raised on a cotton farm he was no stranger to hard work but he would have much preferred a life of hunting and fishing. Charlie's plans for his life, like millions of others, were about to be changed. 

Three years later Charlie’s family got word that he was in a Florida Military hospital.  He had been drafted into the Navy and served in the Pacific theater. While we don’t know the details we do know that Charlie’s boat was attacked and he suffered severe injuries both physical and psychological. For the next 23 years he lived in hospitals and halfway houses from Florida to Virginia until he was able to come home full time in the early 1960’s. His father had passed in 1950 so Charlie moved in with his mother who was his main caregiver until her death in 1984.  Following her death, Charlie’s sister Evelyn moved in to watch over him.  They lived together until 1994 when Charlie needed constant care. He lived in a couple of nursing homes near Fayetteville, NC until he moved into the VA hospital in 2002.  This is where he lived until his passing on Wednesday (03/2014) of this past week.  All in all Charlie spent nearly half of his 91 years in care facilities as a result of his injuries in WWII.

I suppose today Charlie would have been diagnosed with PTSD.  Back then it was probably called Shell Shock or Battle Fatigue. Regardless of the name there were long lasting effects. Even after the physical wounds were healed the mental scars were always there.  Growing up in the south he might have been described as “touched”, or “affected” or “had a touch of nerves”.  Regardless Charlie was not the same.  He wasn’t the same brother. He wasn’t the same cousin.  He wasn’t the same son.  There was the occasional odd behavior. For instance, he might get up at night marching like he was drilling in basic training.  But mostly it was his demeanor and a significantly more anxious manner than what Charlie displayed before his injuries haunted him. The most common “spells” Charlie would experience were long, almost catatonic episodes where he would just stare off into space.  His eyes were empty and Charlie was somewhere in his head that wasn’t anywhere near Richmond County. Charlie had some very childlike qualities as well.  Rather anxious and easily excitable Charlie wasn’t incapacitated but his spells and his anxiety made it necessary for him to need assistance.

I tell you this to give you a sense of what Charlie’s life was like.  Even more so I think it helps explain a little of what the family went through.  Anyone who has ever cared for a family member with psychological issues over long periods knows what it is like. It is tiresome.It is frustrating. It is infuriating even.  When the stress would overwhelm his mother or Evelyn, Charlie would get to visit with Shelli’s family or another family member for what Charlie liked to call his “vacations”.  His sisters Virgie and Beulah, his brothers Alfred and Curt and their families all joined in looking after Charlie.  But Charlie didn’t just take.  Charlie was a giver. 

  

Lucky Charlie is what they called him at the VA.  He earned the nickname because of a penchant he had for winning at BINGO.  He was generous and if he had it he loved to share it.  Charlie had 2 brothers and 3 sisters.  He also had 7 half-siblings who were quite a bit older.  A passel of kids was common for a rural farm family during the depression.  Let’s face it; you need labor to run a farm. With a lot of siblings comes a lot of nieces and nephews and Charlie loved all 32 his and they loved him. He could recall each of their first and middle names, their birth dates and with a little focus he would get their age and he was never wrong. When they visited Charlie the first thing out of his mouth was to tell them to “Go and get a CoCola and candy bar out of the Frigidaire.”  It was always stocked. When the inventory got low then a walk to the corner store was in order to restock.  Gifts to the kids were common place. A lot of the prizes he won at BINGO made it home with the great nieces and nephews. Sometimes the gifts were a quarter or dollar but later on the gifts grew and they were more personal.  Once Charlie got it into his head that he wanted you to get a gift then the gift was going to be got!  As much as you might try to talk him out of it there was no use.  Sometimes small and sometimes large they were always thoughtful gifts and specific to the person. Giving made Charlie happy and coincidentally so did eating; he did a lot of both.

Charlie never lost his appetite to travel.  If he didn’t have someone to drive him he would rent a car and driver.  Not just short trips either.  More than once he hired a man to drive him up to the mountains and Cherokee some 3 hours away. There were trips to the beach as well.  From time to time he would even call up the local airport and hire a plane and pilot for an excursion. If you were lucky enough to be around you might get to go with him.  If he was going to be flying over your house he would make sure to call ahead so you could be ready to go outside and wave as he was flying over.  Nieces and nephews were often the mode of transportation.  One year he traveled to Florida to visit his sister. He was chauffeured by his niece Myra. Charlie and Myra’s husband George sat in the front seat while Myra sat in the back with two kids and a suitcase.  Oh, did I mention they were in a Camaro. Not the most comfortable way to travel to Florida but it was for Charlie and that was reason enough.

Charlie at his last birthday party

Charlie never lost his actual appetite either. He enjoyed food.  He enjoyed it down to his toes.  A meal was his ritual. It was a methodical, blessed and glorious ritual.  Time stopped.  To list all his favorites would be futile and lengthy.  He liked pretty much everything. However, his absolute favorite was KFC.  Whenever anyone would show up to visit Charlie at the VA he was always glad to see them but kept a sharp eye out to see if anyone had a KFC bucket in their hands. He might also ask you how much money you made but that’s another story.  Much of the extra special care shown to Charlie over the years came from the family in the form of food.  It was a definite display of love every time somebody brought him a meal or took him to dinner. Speaking of taking him to dinner, going out to eat with Charlie was an adventure. Never less than a 3 hour adventure and Charlie was the star of the production. Sometimes there were two entrees and two desserts. Everything was ordered to very particular specifications and the waitress was going to get a workout with Charlie but that was OK.  He would make sure to tip the waitresses ahead of time before he even ordered.   It was his way of greasing the wheels so to speak.

Charlie liked to celebrate everything.  Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Valentines; it didn’t matter. If there was an occasion to celebrate he was raring to go. One year he was determined to celebrate Presidents Day. This was to be done with a Cherry Pie. So he sent his sisters Virgie and Evelyn on a mission to find a Cherry Pie. When they finally brought him the pie it occurred to them that it was January and Presidents Day was not for another month. Charlie said, “That’s fine. We’ll celebrate anyway.” and commenced to eating the pie. I am completely convinced that a few weeks later Charlie found two other unsuspecting victims to locate a Cherry Pie for the actual Presidents Day. Anything for a chance to celebrate I suppose and Charlie was nothing if not a patriot.

Charlie and the siblings.

There are hundreds of Charlie stories. Every member of the family has a few and 99% of them are fond remembrances. It is a strange contrast to the struggles that Charlie overcame. I can’t help but think of the thousands of servicemen who came back from WWII in similar situations. How many of them weren’t fortunate enough to have the support network of a devoted mother, loyal siblings and loving nieces and nephews that made Charlie’s 70 year journey so rich and full. I think of how differently Charlie’s life could have been.  The visits, the calls, the birthday parties, the meals, the trips, the loads of laundry, the running of errands, the doctor’s visits, the shopping and the 1001 things that a family did  to help their Uncle Charlie. They rallied for one of their own and they did it for 70 years over 3 generations. Lucky Charlie was right but it didn’t have anything to do with BINGO.  Not surprisingly every single member of the family would tell you that anything they ever did for Charlie came back to them 10 fold. Their payment was not in gifts or money but in the love and fondness and laughter and joy that they received from this dear, sweet man.

That Christmas when I first met Charlie is my first and favorite Charlie story.  We got up Sunday went to the small, country church where Shelli and I would get married 4 years later.  Halfway through the service I leaned over and whispered a question to Shelli. 

“Hey, did you guys buy Charlie a new suit for Christmas?”

Shelli looked a little surprised and said, “Yes but how did you know?”

“Because the tags are still on the sleeve,” I whispered back.

Lucky Charlie? It was more like Lucky Us!

September 17, 2017

We've continued celebrating Charlie's birthday with his favorite meal. He would have been 95!

Happy 98th Birthday Charlie

September 17th 2020

Lou and Deed wishing Charlie Happy Birthday from College 2021!

Here We Go

Well here I go diving into the land of cliche. I wish I could say I know what in the world I am doing. I barely know why.  That has never really stopped me before, so here we are.

Like most things in my life inspiration comes from my wife and definition comes from my kids.  This is no different. My wife urged me to start a blog.  Partly because even after nearly 18 years of marriage I still make her laugh but mostly because it's easier for her to ignore my ramblings on a blog than me jabbering in her ear. So she is my inspiration.

For definition I look to my kids.  In this case most specifically it came from my then 11 year old daughter. Kids have a way of putting life in a certain perspective.  Mine are no different.  The biggest obstacle I had to starting a blog was what to call it.  "Big, loud goofball with a keyboard" didn't have a good ring to it.  So I waited for inspiration.  I waited for a lightening bolt of wittiness to capture the imagination of millions of readers around the world.  Surprisingly nothing came.  Then I remembered something my daughter said. One afternoon while performing my fatherly duty of being a human pack mule for my kids I was cut off in traffic by a certain jackass in a convertible.  My response, to put it mildly, was less than gracious.  With only the exuberance that can be mustered by a (at the time) 9 year old boy, my other child regaled my wife with my antics.  Attempting to temper the "shock" to my children at their pack mule's outburst my wife assured them that Daddy was just startled and occasionally we all have such episodes. Then with the deft timing of a vaudeville veteran my daughter spilled the beans.  "Oh, it's OK.  Daddy finds at least One Bad Driver A Day."  ba dump bump.  Cue Lightning Bolt

And there it is.  I'm not the knight in shining armor.  I'm not the steady hand of reason and calm.  I'm the crazy ass pack mule yelling obscenities at some poor dolt in a convertible. See!  Perspective.

I'll be the first to admit that I don't exactly know where this experiment will take me and that my motivations are many for wanting to write it.  I'm not looking to solve the world's problems or find the meaning of life.  However, if by some strange twist of fate I spawn a cult following I promise not to go all David Koresh on you.  Honestly I don't need the drama. It isn't just going to be about my family.  Surely it will find its way to entertainment, politics, quantum physics and greek yogurt.  It's about bad drivers, people who freeze their sandwich bread and full contact geography (yea I don't know what that is either) and hopefully it will be presented from a perspective that some will find interesting.  If you like it tell me.  If you hate it tell me that as well.  Luckily of the 9 people that will probably ever read it most of them will love me anyway.

Here we go!