Big Daddy

(my unedited thoughts about Big Daddy, in response to Dave's post about Big Daddy.)

I have few memories of Big Daddy as just Big Daddy.  It was always “Grandmother and Big Daddy.”  Almost like it was all one word.  Always together, never one without the other.

We moved back to the States when I was about 11, and Big Daddy died when I was about 17.  So there were only a few years there where I really knew him.  They lived in Jackson, a long day’s drive from Charleston and from San Antonio, so we didn’t see them that often.

I do remember their home at 219 Robin Hood in Jackson, on the corner of Manila and Robin Hood.  There were big trees in the yard, and in the fall, the leaves were magnificent.  There were no sidewalks in the neighborhood.  Little drainage ditches ran alongside the road and a large pipe of sorts was under each driveway.

Grandmother and Big Daddy’s house had a carport and a screened in porch.  To one side, there were neighbors with children.  To the other side, on Manila, lived Newman, who was later to become a fixation of Grandmother’s when her mind began to go.  (She was sure Newman was stealing cans of vegetables from her.)  Across the street on Robin Hood lived Mrs. Bumpas, a widow, whom we would sometimes visit because she was lonely.  Across the street on the Manila side lived the Burkhalters (maybe Burkholders?) who were close friends with Grandmother and Big Daddy.

Grandmother and Big Daddy’s house had two bedrooms, their room and the "front bedroom."  There was a formal living room, which was only used for company or on Christmas morning.  It had a fake fireplace.  There was a formal dining room next to it where I would often put out a large puzzle to work on while I was at their house.

The den was small, but it was where we spent most of our time.  There was a brown couch that made into a bed.  Grandmother and Big Daddy would sleep there when we came.  There was also Big Daddy’s recliner and Grandmother’s rocker.  And a large TV, or at least it seemed large to me at the time.  The room had two doors, one to the kitchen and the other to the hallway where the bath and bedrooms were.  There was paneling on the walls.

Grandmother and Big Daddy were always up very early.  When we were at their house, they were always up and dressed and done with breakfast before anyone else got up.

Big Daddy always wore a hat when he was outside.  He was tall, maybe 6 feet, especially compared to Grandmother who must have been something less than 5 feet tall.  Big Daddy had a tremor.   He liked dessert, and Grandmother was a pro at baking excellent pies and cakes.

When Grandmother and Big Daddy came to see us, it was clear that they enjoyed the visit, but after a few days,  they just couldn’t wait to get home.  I often wondered what their hurry was, because neither one was employed.

I remember going to their house the summer of 72.  I was just beginning to really “own” my faith.  I was reading the Bible as if for the first time.  I liked to waken early, even back then, and sit outside in a metal lawn chair and read my Bible.  Big Daddy liked sitting out in those chairs too, and I was told he was known as the “mayor of Robin Hood.”

Big Daddy was sick only a few weeks before he died.  He had not felt well for months, some GI disturbance, I think.  But when he began to turn yellow, the doctors decided to do exploratory surgery to see what might be wrong.  They found him full of cancer.  Mom was there before the rest of us.  Maybe she went when he was scheduled for surgery.  Dad, Dave, Nancy and I left one morning, having been told that Big Daddy hadn’t long to live.  He died while we were driving.

Death was, and still is, hard to understand.  I felt it mostly through watching my mother and grandmother’s grief.  I remember going to the funeral for visitation which was necessary but uncomfortable.  Looking at Big Daddy in the casket, I had the strong impression that he most definitely was NOT there.

At 17, I was quite impressionable.  I was wondering what to do with my life.  I heard my grandmother go on and on about the care Big Daddy received at the hands of the nurses at the Catholic hospital.  I decided then that I would like to be a nurse and give comfort like those nurses.  I wasn’t sure I could handle the sciences because that had not been my strength in high school.  But I was certainly going to try.  I never really looked back after that.  Science was not as bad as I thought; turns out I had some pretty bad teachers in high school, and some pretty good ones in college.  And after more years than I care to count, I know that nursing is where I belonged all along.