ENTERTAINING GRANDKIDS

 Our grandson Madden came for his annual summer visit. For two folks who haven’t had children in the house for a few years, keeping up with a young’un is sometimes difficult. For the most part, however, I think the boy has had a good time, and I know his grandparents have as well.  

I’m sure my grandmothers and at least one grandfather loved us. The other male was so sour all the time that I’m not sure he liked anything or anyone in this world. Their love was never shown by taking time to play with us or take us to places. My brothers and I might stay at their houses if a situation arose. The Rector grandparents lived on Louisiana Avenue in Lonsdale; the Balch set lived on Cureton Road, no more than a mile from our house. Mother’s parents stayed with us and her through a simultaneous case of the mumps. I stayed with them during the day when I severely sprained my ankle. My paternal grandfather died when I was 5 or 6, so Mamaw Rector would come keep us boys when our parents had things to do. She was sweet as sugar and always complaining about her health.  

Both women dipped snuff; Mamaw Rector watched soap operas and kept a gallon can beside her chair for spitting. Mamaw Balch was always finding something to do as she listened on radio to one preacher after another go on about the sins of the flesh and the flames in hell. Both women tolerated us, but they never were outspoken about their feelings toward us. I don’t remember kisses from Lessie Mae, but Clara Rector always pasted a snuff-filled smooch on our faces.  

These days, grandparents work to come up with things for grandchildren to do. For some reason, children can’t stand to just sit with nothing to entertain them. Madden has this entire set up that he lugs with him. With those items he can play games over the Internet. I don’t even understand how he sets the whole thing up. However, the boy is quite satisfied when he is using the technology.  

Amy believes that it is important to do things with him. This week we traveled to Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary. For some reason the place seemed to be closed, so we hopped back in the car and left, but not before I told Madden that this was the kind of place he’d find his ass if he ever did something stupid. We traveled to Oak Ridge and rented a paddle boat. My legs gave out quickly, but the three of us rotated pedaling down the waterway.  

The next day, we went to the zoo. For three hours Madden, with map in hand, led us through the place. I hadn’t been to the zoo in several years and was surprised at all the changes. Madden loved the trip and said Knoxville’s Zoo was far better than Nashville's. 

We still have a couple of days left to do things, but I am wearing out. The rain is supposed to set in, and that will limit our options of things to see. That’s okay. Madden is amazingly content and wouldn’t mind too much if we didn’t go anywhere.  

For me, the best times have been swimming, riding in the car, and eating supper. It’s at those places that Madden talks with us about a world of things. He gets to know us better, and we do the same. Maybe my grandparents had it right: staying home and just talking were the ways to get better acquainted. I’m going to miss Madden when he goes home, but I need a bit of rest before tackling another week with him. I just hope he fondly remembers the times we were able to be together.  

SLEEP THROUGH ALL THE GRUMBLING

 Just like most elders of any time period, I’m having trouble with some of the crazy ideas that folks have created. To be more specific, I’m lost as a last year’s Easter egg when it comes to being “woke.” Perhaps my failure to understand is due to my age. Maybe I just need more socially conscious education.  Whatever the reason, I know I simply find the entire matter a little more than I can stand.  

In researching “wokeness,” I discovered that its use first appeared in the 1940’s and that it symbolized social issues and the fights against racism and social injustice. At times, the term has slipped to the background, only to be revived with the beginning of the Black Lives Matter movement. I can appreciate use of the term as a means of fighting injustices. When I do hear another person say, “Stay woke,” I want to scream, “Stay awake!” In this world, however, using the incorrect tense of a verb or make nouns verbs by adding “ing” is somehow acceptable.  

At any rate, I see how we should be woke to some things. I’ve always thought that our black brothers and sisters should have the same rights as white folks. I’m woke to the need to weed out the lousy cops so that the majority of good ones can protect citizens, regardless of color. It is important for us to take care of the planet.  

What’s happened is that every group of activists has now become woke. They belittle anyone who dares to disagree with their goals. Individuals must agree with every move and idea that comes from the group; otherwise, those people are called all sorts of names and accused of all sorts of terrible acts.  

I found online one example of what seems to be outrageous wokeness. It was refraining from using anti-animal language. Hey, no one loves animals more than I do. However, using old sayings like, “Don’t beat a dead horse” or “Bring home the bacon” are not anti-animal language. They are idioms. No one other than persons with too much time on their hands or with sour outlooks on life is offended by such things. I’m thankful every time Amy goes to Costco and returns with a big package of bacon. Three pieces of bacon and a couple of boiled eggs make a good breakfast.  

What’s happened to us? Why are we so touchy all of a sudden? As I said earlier, some causes are worthwhile, but too many of the cries of injustice come from people who are worried or offended by things of little consequence to the human race. We might spend our time making sure everyone is treated fairly and equally.  

I am just the least bit tired of being berated for being an old white man. I had no part of choosing my parents, although I am thankful for the mother and dad I had. I was never taught to hurt others physically or emotionally. Yes, I’ve met some people that didn’t impress me. They have been few and far between. The vast majority of students I taught over the years are special to me. For the most part, I’ve always thought of all of us being in the same boat, we must work together to conquer real problems.  

Most people just try to get through a day of work and have enough energy to enjoy family or friends. I can’t even turn on the news without hearing so much ridiculousness that I want to scream. My new line of attack against such foolishness is to lean the recliner back a bit more and sleep through all the grumbling. 

PORCH LIGHT

 I remember when Amy and I were young. We married in December 1974 and moved into UT student housing on New Year’s Day. Our first place was a concrete block box with a concrete slab that was covered with some of the ugliest and cheapest carpet ever made. The place was furnished with hand-me-downs and a chair I bought while I was in college. For close to fifty years, we’ve been accumulating more stuff. 

We moved from that apartment to a house that hadn’t been lived in for several years, and then we purchased a house built by the Doyle High School building trades classes. It was a typical three-bedroom room rancher. The shag carpet was an almost chartreuse.  We bought new living room furniture and accepted some more giveaway pieces from family. One bedroom had a small sleeper couch so that visitors had a place to lay their weary heads. We were proud homeowners who couldn’t wait for the day to decorate the place with pieces that fit our style.  

In 1978, we built our house. My mother gave us a piece of property with the promise that a path from our house to hers wouldn’t be worn into the soil. It happened, but the culprit was she on her way to our house to see grandchildren or to meet them halfway to her house as they walked.  

We started with a 1250 square foot house with 2 bedrooms. An addition was necessary when Dallas was on the way. Another renovation took place when we needed a place for the children to play. A third one included a nine-hundred square foot porch on which I now am sitting as the rain pours. We’ve updated the kitchen and Amy’s bathroom. At this point, we’re finished. The only thing we plan to do is fix things and replace worn out items.  

Amy and I have now changed our approach about things. Instead of adding new things, we’re trying to get rid of them. Untold numbers of trips have been made to KARM and other places to donate all sorts of things. People ask why we don’t hold a garage sale. The simple answer is it takes too much time for too little profit, and of course, some things don’t sell. So, they have to be loaded and taken to...KARM. I believe in cutting out the middleman as much as possible. 

Amy has talked to Lacey and Dallas about things around the house. She tells them to put their names on anything they would like either now or after we are gone. From this, l’ve learned some things about the younger generation. 

First, they don’t like to talk about a time when their parents are gone. I understand that but know it is going to happen. If we take care of some of this property now, the two of them will have an easier time later.  

Second, young folks aren’t all that crazy about antiques. We loved old washstands and dressers and tables. For the most part, our children simply have no desire to set those old pieces in their houses.  

Third, your children will form attachments to the craziest things that you have. Years ago, Amy’s Aunt Mildred gave us a white porcelain cat for a present. It was one of those things a person looks at and wonders why it’s there. At any rate, that porcelain feline has survived the years. Lacey and Dallas always begin to argue, good naturedly, about who gets the cat. I don’t understand, but I’m glad I won’t be around when the final decision is made.  

Fourth, age brings with it common sense. Amy and I aren’t all that fond of having so much clutter in the house. A couple knows it’s time to get rid of things when even under the beds they have storage bins crammed full of stuff.  

Before anyone asks, the answer is “no.” We aren’t ready to wholesale open up our house to let folks take stuff out. That’s a job our children should enjoy immensely after our times have come and gone. At that point, they’ll discover what are the truly valuable items in their hearts. Maybe it will be something as odd as a porcelain cat.  

PORCELAIN CAT

 I remember when Amy and I were young. We married in December 1974 and moved into UT student housing on New Year’s Day. Our first place was a concrete block box with a concrete slab that was covered with some of the ugliest and cheapest carpet ever made. The place was furnished with hand-me-downs and a chair I bought while I was in college. For close to fifty years, we’ve been accumulating more stuff. 

We moved from that apartment to a house that hadn’t been lived in for several years, and then we purchased a house built by the Doyle High School building trades classes. It was a typical three-bedroom room rancher. The shag carpet was an almost chartreuse.  We bought new living room furniture and accepted some more giveaway pieces from family. One bedroom had a small sleeper couch so that visitors had a place to lay their weary heads. We were proud homeowners who couldn’t wait for the day to decorate the place with pieces that fit our style.  

In 1978, we built our house. My mother gave us a piece of property with the promise that a path from our house to hers wouldn’t be worn into the soil. It happened, but the culprit was she on her way to our house to see grandchildren or to meet them halfway to her house as they walked.  

We started with a 1250 square foot house with 2 bedrooms. An addition was necessary when Dallas was on the way. Another renovation took place when we needed a place for the children to play. A third one included a nine-hundred square foot porch on which I now am sitting as the rain pours. We’ve updated the kitchen and Amy’s bathroom. At this point, we’re finished. The only thing we plan to do is fix things and replace worn out items.  

Amy and I have now changed our approach about things. Instead of adding new things, we’re trying to get rid of them. Untold numbers of trips have been made to KARM and other places to donate all sorts of things. People ask why we don’t hold a garage sale. The simple answer is it takes too much time for too little profit, and of course, some things don’t sell. So, they have to be loaded and taken to...KARM. I believe in cutting out the middleman as much as possible. 

Amy has talked to Lacey and Dallas about things around the house. She tells them to put their names on anything they would like either now or after we are gone. From this, l’ve learned some things about the younger generation. 

First, they don’t like to talk about a time when their parents are gone. I understand that but know it is going to happen. If we take care of some of this property now, the two of them will have an easier time later.  

Second, young folks aren’t all that crazy about antiques. We loved old washstands and dressers and tables. For the most part, our children simply have no desire to set those old pieces in their houses.  

Third, your children will form attachments to the craziest things that you have. Years ago, Amy’s Aunt Mildred gave us a white porcelain cat for a present. It was one of those things a person looks at and wonders why it’s there. At any rate, that porcelain feline has survived the years. Lacey and Dallas always begin to argue, good naturedly, about who gets the cat. I don’t understand, but I’m glad I won’t be around when the final decision is made.  

Fourth, age brings with it common sense. Amy and I aren’t all that fond of having so much clutter in the house. A couple knows it’s time to get rid of things when even under the beds they have storage bins crammed full of stuff.  

Before anyone asks, the answer is “no.” We aren’t ready to wholesale open up our house to let folks take stuff out. That’s a job our children should enjoy immensely after our times have come and gone. At that point, they’ll discover what are the truly valuable items in their hearts. Maybe it will be something as odd as a porcelain cat.