Sorry to be a downer, and sorry as well that I'm posting something personal (which is normally not my bag for the most part), but my Papaw (my granddad on my stepmom's side) died suddenly of a heart attack last night. He'd been sick for a while, and as a Kentucky coal miner from WAAAAAYY back in the day it was probably only a matter of time. I've got five specific memories of him, though, that I think this board would enjoy, in order of reverse bad-assery.
5. The summer after my freshman year of high school, one of the not-too-bright upcoming-senior dance team leaders lived in my apartment complex and enjoyed sunning herself out by the pool up next to my house. (Naturally, I enjoyed that rather a lot as well.) One day, though, my dad ordered me to go up to Papaw's farm to help him bale some hay. Believing I had...er..."better opportunities" there at home, I was none too keen about this. Upon arriving at Papaw's farm, though, my dad was immediately treated to a lecture about how "that young man has better things to do than dicking around on my gd farm." Since I was already there, though, I pitched in for all I was worth. (I wasn't going to look bad after my Papaw stood up for me!) After we were all done and had each put away a few helpings of country fried steak with buttermilk gravy, fresh cornbread, green beans, and mashed potatoes, though, my Papaw told me he wanted to give me $100 for helping him out that day. My dad wouldn't hear of it, though:
Dad: "No. He doesn't need your money. He's happy to do it." (In dad's defense, those were both entirely true statements.)
Papaw: "I don't give a shit he needs it or whatever. My house, my money, my rules."
Dad: "I don't want you to give him $100 for a few hours work. You can give him $50 if you have to."
Papaw: "Well, shit. Here's your fifty, then."
<a few hours later> Papaw, to me: "Your daddy doesn't get to make me look like an asshole, sonny. Here's the $100 bill I was going to give you earlier. Keep that fifty as well." <grumbles to high heaven about some dipshit son-in-law [aka my dad] trying to tell him how he was going to spend his own damned money>
4. I'd just earned my driver's license not three days before we went out to Papaw's house for a family reunion weekend--right around the same time Papaw had just purchased a brand new Chevy Silverado that would be his pride and joy until the day he died. We'd gotten to the reunion early, and my mom's minivan had gotten blocked in by a bunch of relatives who very swiftly got too drunk on Evan Williams (I know, right?) to let her out. She asked to borrow Papaw's new truck. "Not on your life! You think I'll let any asshole drive my truck? You outta your damned MIND!" (She ended up stealing the keys to somebody's Mercury and running to the store.)
Papaw, to me, a few hours later: "Hey, Buzzard! [Papaw's favorite nickname for me]: I need some beer. I told the store you were comin'. Take my truck and go pick 'er up."
Mom: "No! He can't drive your truck!"
Papaw: "Shit he can't! You shut your mouth!"
Mom, to me: "No. You ask for somebody else's keys."
Papaw: "Hell he will! I say he takes my truck, HE TAKES MY DAMNED TRUCK!"
Mom: "How come you wouldn't let ME take your truck."
Papaw: "Shit. You're my DAUGHTER. I ain't gotta explain SHIT to you. Buzzard, here's my truck keys."
3. My mother was hyper-overprotective when I was a child. At Thanksgiving one year at Papaw's house, he went around asking all of his grandkids what they wanted for Christmas. As a ten-year-old, all I wanted was a swiss army pocketknife just like MacGyver had on TV. My mom insisted I was too young for a knife. Papaw spat on the floor (of his own house!) and said, "Bullshit!" and then handed me his own pocket knife right away. "This is your's now, Buzzard!" My mom confiscated it and told my Papaw that SHE would be in control of what other people gave me for presents.
That Christmas he sent me a rifle just to spite her, then spent the next summer teaching me how to shoot with it.
2. In my book, this is actually #1, but my last story is one I think the board will appreciate more, so for today's purposes I'll allow this one to take second billing. As I mentioned earlier, Papaw is my stepmom's dad. I have no blood relation to him at all. He's got more than a half dozen blood-grandkids that he knew ever before I came along. But my first Christmas out at his place is one I'll never forget. At the time, he lived in a backwoods Kentucky town--the sort where everybody looks at you crossways if you're a stranger. He'd taken me out fishing for the first time, and we stopped in a bait shop. He was talking to a friend of his and I wandered off on my own looking around. I guess something or other made the shopkeeper suspicious of me, so he came up and says, "Sonny, what are you doing here?" in a very stern, angry voice.
"I'm just here with my Papaw."
"Who's your Papaw?"
"Ol' Ronnie!"
"Bullshit, Sonny. I know Ronny, and you DAMN sure ain't no kin o' his."
At this point, Papaw walks up and starts yelling at the shopkeeper: "DON'T YOU EVER TALK SHIT ABOUT MY GRANDSON, YOU ASSHOLE, OR I'LL **** YOUR SHIT UP!!!"
Consequence? Profuse apologies, a free milkshake, and a six-pack for Papaw. Best fishing trip EVER.
1. Like I said: Papaw was an old-school Kentucky coal miner. Lived in backwoods Kentucky his whole life until the government bought out his old neighborhood for some kind of development about twenty years back, at which time he retired to backwoods Tennessee. Anyway, he was a die-hard Kentucky fan his whole life. Football, Basketball, whatever.
But Papaw LOVED the fact that Peyton Manning returned to Tennessee for his senior year of college. God help you if you EVER spoke ill of Peyton in his presence after that. Even when he and Tim Couch had that epic QB battle in 97, Papaw was firmly in the Peyton camp. One of my uncles (Papaw's oldest and favorite son, actually) started talking shit about how Couch was the superior quarterback.
Papaw's response: "Listen, you little asshole. You're in MY house. You're eating MY food. You're sitting on MY couch, watching MY TV. If your sorry ass says ONE MORE GODDAMNED THING about Peyton Manning, I'll tan your ass worse than I ever have for the fifty-some-odd years your dumb ass has been alive. You'll never forget it, either!"
The other Kentucky fans kept their disdain for Peyton Manning very quietly to themselves ever after.
...Anyways, sorry for the long post, guys. Hope the mods don't shit themselves and kill it before everyone else has a chance to see this. I thought about censoring it a bit, but my Papaw was not the sort of man who'd put up with that sort of thing, so whatever. If your Papaw's still around, give him a hug for me.
Cheers, guys.
5. The summer after my freshman year of high school, one of the not-too-bright upcoming-senior dance team leaders lived in my apartment complex and enjoyed sunning herself out by the pool up next to my house. (Naturally, I enjoyed that rather a lot as well.) One day, though, my dad ordered me to go up to Papaw's farm to help him bale some hay. Believing I had...er..."better opportunities" there at home, I was none too keen about this. Upon arriving at Papaw's farm, though, my dad was immediately treated to a lecture about how "that young man has better things to do than dicking around on my gd farm." Since I was already there, though, I pitched in for all I was worth. (I wasn't going to look bad after my Papaw stood up for me!) After we were all done and had each put away a few helpings of country fried steak with buttermilk gravy, fresh cornbread, green beans, and mashed potatoes, though, my Papaw told me he wanted to give me $100 for helping him out that day. My dad wouldn't hear of it, though:
Dad: "No. He doesn't need your money. He's happy to do it." (In dad's defense, those were both entirely true statements.)
Papaw: "I don't give a shit he needs it or whatever. My house, my money, my rules."
Dad: "I don't want you to give him $100 for a few hours work. You can give him $50 if you have to."
Papaw: "Well, shit. Here's your fifty, then."
<a few hours later> Papaw, to me: "Your daddy doesn't get to make me look like an asshole, sonny. Here's the $100 bill I was going to give you earlier. Keep that fifty as well." <grumbles to high heaven about some dipshit son-in-law [aka my dad] trying to tell him how he was going to spend his own damned money>
4. I'd just earned my driver's license not three days before we went out to Papaw's house for a family reunion weekend--right around the same time Papaw had just purchased a brand new Chevy Silverado that would be his pride and joy until the day he died. We'd gotten to the reunion early, and my mom's minivan had gotten blocked in by a bunch of relatives who very swiftly got too drunk on Evan Williams (I know, right?) to let her out. She asked to borrow Papaw's new truck. "Not on your life! You think I'll let any asshole drive my truck? You outta your damned MIND!" (She ended up stealing the keys to somebody's Mercury and running to the store.)
Papaw, to me, a few hours later: "Hey, Buzzard! [Papaw's favorite nickname for me]: I need some beer. I told the store you were comin'. Take my truck and go pick 'er up."
Mom: "No! He can't drive your truck!"
Papaw: "Shit he can't! You shut your mouth!"
Mom, to me: "No. You ask for somebody else's keys."
Papaw: "Hell he will! I say he takes my truck, HE TAKES MY DAMNED TRUCK!"
Mom: "How come you wouldn't let ME take your truck."
Papaw: "Shit. You're my DAUGHTER. I ain't gotta explain SHIT to you. Buzzard, here's my truck keys."
3. My mother was hyper-overprotective when I was a child. At Thanksgiving one year at Papaw's house, he went around asking all of his grandkids what they wanted for Christmas. As a ten-year-old, all I wanted was a swiss army pocketknife just like MacGyver had on TV. My mom insisted I was too young for a knife. Papaw spat on the floor (of his own house!) and said, "Bullshit!" and then handed me his own pocket knife right away. "This is your's now, Buzzard!" My mom confiscated it and told my Papaw that SHE would be in control of what other people gave me for presents.
That Christmas he sent me a rifle just to spite her, then spent the next summer teaching me how to shoot with it.
2. In my book, this is actually #1, but my last story is one I think the board will appreciate more, so for today's purposes I'll allow this one to take second billing. As I mentioned earlier, Papaw is my stepmom's dad. I have no blood relation to him at all. He's got more than a half dozen blood-grandkids that he knew ever before I came along. But my first Christmas out at his place is one I'll never forget. At the time, he lived in a backwoods Kentucky town--the sort where everybody looks at you crossways if you're a stranger. He'd taken me out fishing for the first time, and we stopped in a bait shop. He was talking to a friend of his and I wandered off on my own looking around. I guess something or other made the shopkeeper suspicious of me, so he came up and says, "Sonny, what are you doing here?" in a very stern, angry voice.
"I'm just here with my Papaw."
"Who's your Papaw?"
"Ol' Ronnie!"
"Bullshit, Sonny. I know Ronny, and you DAMN sure ain't no kin o' his."
At this point, Papaw walks up and starts yelling at the shopkeeper: "DON'T YOU EVER TALK SHIT ABOUT MY GRANDSON, YOU ASSHOLE, OR I'LL **** YOUR SHIT UP!!!"
Consequence? Profuse apologies, a free milkshake, and a six-pack for Papaw. Best fishing trip EVER.
1. Like I said: Papaw was an old-school Kentucky coal miner. Lived in backwoods Kentucky his whole life until the government bought out his old neighborhood for some kind of development about twenty years back, at which time he retired to backwoods Tennessee. Anyway, he was a die-hard Kentucky fan his whole life. Football, Basketball, whatever.
But Papaw LOVED the fact that Peyton Manning returned to Tennessee for his senior year of college. God help you if you EVER spoke ill of Peyton in his presence after that. Even when he and Tim Couch had that epic QB battle in 97, Papaw was firmly in the Peyton camp. One of my uncles (Papaw's oldest and favorite son, actually) started talking shit about how Couch was the superior quarterback.
Papaw's response: "Listen, you little asshole. You're in MY house. You're eating MY food. You're sitting on MY couch, watching MY TV. If your sorry ass says ONE MORE GODDAMNED THING about Peyton Manning, I'll tan your ass worse than I ever have for the fifty-some-odd years your dumb ass has been alive. You'll never forget it, either!"
The other Kentucky fans kept their disdain for Peyton Manning very quietly to themselves ever after.
...Anyways, sorry for the long post, guys. Hope the mods don't shit themselves and kill it before everyone else has a chance to see this. I thought about censoring it a bit, but my Papaw was not the sort of man who'd put up with that sort of thing, so whatever. If your Papaw's still around, give him a hug for me.
Cheers, guys.
