Grandparents- Part 2: Grandfathers

 "I've seen him plow a field of corn all day- that's reality. His overalls all blacked with dirt, but his face was still full of dignity."     

            - Alabama Sky, by Larry Shell/Alabama

I don't think I realized how lucky I was to have two grandfathers I knew as a child and a young adult.  Looking back, it's incredible just how influential they both were, in very different ways.  In fact, the reality is these two men I called "Grandad" and "Grandaddy" could not have been more different in attitude, demeanor, and the way they approached life.  Because I was in middle school and, then college,  when they died, I think a lot of what I remember about them is very much painted with the lens of childhood, both in good ways and bad. 

I am also named for these two men- my first name is the last name of one, and my middle name is the first name of the other.  I don't know if I should, but I feel some responsibility to honor their names. 

I find myself at a point in life where I would very much like to peel away those lenses to know what they were like. Maybe that's one of the beauties of grandparenthood:  you get to be remembered through child's eyes?  

My Grandfather Russell, my Mom's stepdad, died from some kind of rare disease or disorder.  I don't really know what it was.  I remember knowing that he was sick, that he didn't have long to live, and that we all thought it was a miracle he lived another 7 years after he was diagnosed.  He died when I was in late elementary school or early middle school, and he was the first death of a family member I really remember experiencing.  

I hope I don't offend anyone with this, but I remember thinking Grandad Russell was a little mean.  Definitely, I felt that way as a child. I felt less that way as I emerged from childhood into my pre-teen and teenage years.  Looking back, I think he just wanted children to fit a really specific pattern of behavior, and maybe my brother and I did not always fit that pattern.  He wasn't mean.  He was specific, and he was stern.  I'm also, now, very aware that he was probably pretty sick for most of the time I knew him, and- I’ve been accused of being petty specific, and a little stern myself, so I have had to let my memory cut him a little slack.   

Having said all of those things, it's also worth noting that my Grandfather Russell was a stylish, proper man. I know I have never told anyone this, but when I started my professional career, I spent a lot of time trying to emulate the style of Grandad Russell.  Mind you, I was becoming a professional in the early 1990s, and he was one in the 1970s, so I don't mean big lapels and polyester suits, but more the distinct sense of style that popped.  I grew up wearing boots, new jeans, and Western shirts to be "dressed up," so the idea of a non-western suit, dress shoes, etc. became really appealing to me.  In my middle age, I seem to be living with some of both.  A style somewhere between the two. 

But I have to admit, to this day, when I pick out ties, I think, "Man, Grandad Russell would love the way this one pops."   

I also learned from him to work hard and play hard.  He took his work deadly seriously, and he played as hard as he worked.  He enjoyed Cadillacs, traveling, flashy jewelry, nice clothes, dancing, dog racing, and mixing/drinking "adult" beverages.  He loved his family.  

As I reflect on my Grandad Russell, I think this is remarkable: I was not conscious he was not my biological grandfather until I was 10 or 11 years old.  He was my grandfather.  That was all I knew, and it was all that mattered.  By the time I was old enough to understand those things, he'd already helped foster a family atmosphere where biology didn't matter as much as relationships.  That's not a bad lesson, ya'll.  (He'd hate that I wrote "ya'll".)

I think I miss him more now than I did as a kid when we lost him.   

My paternal Grandaddy Tidwell, from whom I get my middle name, could not have been more different than Grandad Russell.   Grandaddy was a farmer, a cattleman, a husband, a daddy, a grandaddy, and a domino player.  Maybe not always in that order.  He loved his grandchildren intensely.  

If Grandad Russell had a modern sense of style, Grandaddy Tidwell had a comfortable and utilitarian style.  I never saw him wear anything but Big Smith overalls and an old cotton shirt. He carried a "hankie" in one back pocket, a wallet in the other, and a pair of "pinchers" (Cee-Tee slip joint pliers) in a front pocket that seemed built for that very purpose. He was tall and skinny as a rail. I always thought he had a "noble" face.  

As a young child, I remember him smelling like tobacco and smoke.  He rolled his own cigarette until his health made him stop smoking, and then he constantly had brown stains on his chin from the old-school plug tobacco he chewed non-stop.    He ate everything doctors say we shouldn't eat, and it was all fried, and his heart was healthy as an ox the day he died. He never saw a pepper too hot to eat.  He had an infectious laugh.  He could wiggle his ears, and that was an endless source of entertainment.  He also had a temper and could bark with the best of them, but his sense of humor and good-natured jokes dramatically overshadowed the occasional verbal outbursts. 

In spite of those verbal outbursts, he seemed to have endless patience for the most simple things.  He could watch cattle or a drilling rig for hours.  He'd just sit in his old truck and watch.  He wouldn't talk or listen to music, he would just watch.  I would want to go with him and be really excited about sitting with him for all of 5 minutes.  Then it would seem like an eternity.  

I might come back at some point and write some "Grandaddy Tidwell stories," because there is some definite entertainment value there....

As he moved into his late 60s, arthritis started to wreak havoc on his body.  His fingers started to turn at the joints, and I know he hurt. He also seemed to be perpetually cold, so the house was always unbearably hot in those later years.  While an accident took him, I think his body was just getting close to done toward the end.   

I'll always be grateful for one weekend right toward the end of his life.  My wife and I had been married a year or so, and we went to spend a weekend with my grandparents.  Grandaddy loved is grandkids, but he was "wary" of our romantic attachments.  Maybe after 10 kids, all the in-laws, and grandkids, he really just had learned all the names he wanted to by that point in life?  Up to that weekend, he referred to my wife as "That girl of Russell's".  

It was just the four of us, and he made Debbie play dominoes with him as his partner. This demand was no small thing.  Grandaddy took dominoes deadly seriously.  They proceeded to thrash Grandmother and me at the game mercilessly for what seemed like an endless evening.   He laughed, he encouraged her, he made fun of Grandmother and I's playing, and he learned Debbie's name.  

We lost him to complications of a car accident a year or so later.   

I carry these two men with me, everywhere I go.  I hope I carry some of the best of them, and I hope I passed some of those things on to my son- who never knew these two really impactful men.  I know that I can't put on a suit, or pick up a pair of CeeTee pliers without thinking of them. 

I know I'm blessed for my time with them.