Big Daddy was special to all of us. So special to me, that I hope to adopt his title one day, unless Middle or Youngest object.
Even so, I'm not writing today to focus on that sentiment, or to put my hope to a vote, but rather to state briefly how I think Big Daddy was special to others in the family.
First, of course, he was special to Granny. I mean, as fair-minded as he was, she was the apple of his eye and she returned that fatherly affection "in spades." From what I could see, in his eyes she could do no wrong, and she adored him. As a grown woman she still referred to him as "Daddy," even while taking on the caretaker role as he aged.
Papa also held him in high esteem, no doubt because in many ways, Big Daddy was Papa's substitute father (Papa lost his father at the age of 10, and Big Daddy just adopted him into the family when he became seriously involved with Granny).
I know Papa looked to Big Daddy for advice, for counsel and even for encouragement, and that Big Daddy supplied it all in abundance. He loved Papa like a natural son, and Papa also reciprocated. I even heard Papa call him "Daddy" more than once.
Then, to Middle, Youngest and me, Big Daddy was our only Grandfather. We sat in his lap, listened to the coins jingle in his pocket, shared his coffee at 5 a.m. and missed him when he disappeared at 8:30 p.m. to bathe and shave before he went to bed at nine. We even watched him nodding his head as he dozed off at the 11 o'clock service on Sundays at "First Church," the Southern way of referring to First BaBtist Church, Jackson (I write it like they say it, for sure).
We saw him take care of Arthur and Sudie and sweet talk all the older widows who were aching for some appropriate masculine attention.
He even took all the grand kids to the zoo when we got in Grandmother's hair, and graciously hosted Papa's mother in his home on special occasions, making her feel important even though she and Grandmother did not always see eye-to-eye.
While we seldom mentioned his grandfatherly title without attaching it to Grandmother ("We're going to Grandmother and Big Daddy's for Christmas"), he was always the more approachable of the two, and his face is the image that comes up when I think of Jackson.
There is one thing however that I can't overlook.
One thing that seemed to dominate his demeanor.
One thing that stands out prominently when you say his name.
Specifically, regardless the object of his attention, he was the consummate tease.
He made our more stoic Grandmother giggle by asking "Whacha got behind the door Mildred" (Grandmother hid her famous cake behind the door in the kitchen).
He pulled Middle's pig tails from behind and then looked away quickly as if someone else did it.
He badgered me with questions about girlfriends (and like any self respecting teenager, I was usually pretty closed-mouthed about my girlfriends).
His blue eyes always twinkled as he tickled Youngest until she begged for mercy, and then he'd sit down and help her with the number puzzle.
He gave the three of us "Co-Colas" from the patio closet saying "this is between you and me, don'tchu tell your Grandmother you puddin' heads."
Big Daddy just made everyone around him feel accepted and loved. He was a family peacemaker. He was fun, and in my mind's eye, he stood ten feet tall. His benevolence was exceeded only by his personal affection for his family, and I felt special in his presence.
These memories of Big Daddy, however, are the memories of a child and an adolescent, and I do wish I had known him as an adult; man-to-man; peer to peer. But, he died in the fall of 1973 just as I was entering young adulthood at the University of Texas.
In the months before his passing, I knew he was sick, but did not know he was in a life threatening condition until very close to the end. His death was the first among our close family members that I observed (albeit from a distance), so even when he was admitted to the hospital and endured a short surgery, I still believed (in fact, knew) that he was immortal and invulnerable, like the rest of us, and assumed he would just "get better."When I learned he was likely to die, I didn't know what to do or how to feel. The idea of death was foreign, so final. No one I had known had died except for the brother of a friend who died in high school in a car wreck. I couldn't imagine Big Daddy passing. He was an institution, the status quo, a presumption.
He was the one who told Granny when she announced her engagement to Papa, "If I'd known you wanted a ring, I'd have bought you one."He was the man who talked with us over MARS radio from Mississippi to Morocco ("I love you . . . over").
He was the man who rushed to make the 12 hour drive from Jackson to Charleston when we returned from France, and then cried when he left, only to return within an hour to say he wanted to stay "just a bit longer" (his return made our day an made him even more of a family institution).
For these reasons, the idea of his eminent passing in the fall of 1973 simply wasn't real to me.
I did ask if I could visit him in the hospital, but Granny and Papa proposed that I stay at school. Education was of paramount importance, and Big Daddy "would get suspicious about his condition if everyone starts to visit" (he never asked, and apparently, no one ever told him he was terminal--but on reflection, he must have known).
I certainly don't harbor any resentment; everyone was just doing what they thought right at the time, and my visit probably would have been more for me than him, anyway. Granny and her sister were there. Grandmother was by his side. Those were the people he needed. They loved him and took care of him to the end. I would have been someone for whom he would have kept "a stiff upper lip." He lost nothing by my absence, though I'm sure I lost a great deal. I think I would have grown some if I had seen him then, there at the threshold of my adulthood. Even if he had no specific advice to pass on to me encapsulating the wisdom he accumulated in his life, I think it would have benefited me to be with him at that time.
As it turned out, after he passed, I flew into Jackson one day and out the next for his funeral, so I could miss as little class as possible (even though I was then-observing a very undisciplined class schedule anyway).
When I saw him at the funeral, it was hard to recognize Big Daddy there.
I was put off by the funeral industry anyway, and while I understand his funeral was an attempt to honor his life, it was a little morbid, as they all are. His casket was open. He appeared thinner than I remembered, undoubtedly because of the illness that robbed him of life. He was not wearing his silver, Truman-era glasses that were his signature, and I had never seen him without them, and these changes made him difficult to recognize.
The words spoken and the hymns sung were meant to be inspiring, but to me it was all a hazy dream. He was gone. I knew by what I had been taught, that he was in Heaven, but how, why, what happened, why wasn't he spared? These were all questions racing in my mind as I returned to Austin.
As I was told later, at the end, Big Daddy knew he would not survive the illness. Just a few days before he died, the doctors performed surgery to remove something cancerous, and when opened they him up, saw the extent of the cancer, and closed immediately. When he returned to the room and awakened, he knew he had not been in surgery long enough to remove whatever, so even though he never discussed it with anyone, he had to know something was wrong.
It was at that point that he instructed Granny to remove from the pantry a bottle of wine he had obtained to kill some of the pain he suffered (he was not a drinking man of any consequence, though I most certainly never knew him to be legalistic in any way). He told Granny he did not want his grandchildren to see the wine and assume it was something he endorsed.
During his last days Granny talked with him about spiritual things, and he confirmed he was trusting in Christ and looking forward to Heaven. She took comfort in those discussions, and even though he "rested his eyes" at First Church and had little patience for legalisms of the times, I expect he embraced saving faith in a way that we understand to be effective.
©2007 David R. Childress. All Rights Reserved.
And in case you don't navigate to the comments, Youngest writes:
Wow. I'm in tears. I was only 12 when Big Daddy got sick, barely 13 when he died. Though there is some familiarity with the stories you tell, my memories are much hazier. Thank you for sharing. I tell my children all the time about the incredible heritage from which they come, how blessed they are to be a part of such a long line of believers. You have provided another poignant example.
I also remember Mom saying the last time she and Grandmother took Big Daddy to the hospital, he waved goodbye to the house as they drove away. Mom said it was as if he knew he would never be coming back. I think she said it broke her heart because he had a tear in his eye. Now that I am a grown woman with an elderly father myself, my heart aches for her and what she must have been feeling. I'm so sorry to have been such a selfish teenager.
Middle states:
You remember many things I do not. But maybe I can add a little to your recollections.I remember
Mom saying if there was a disagreement between her and Dad, Big Daddy always took Dad’s side. She would say it playfully, but I think the truth was, if there ever was a spat, Big Daddy was not going to be the kind of father who came between his son-in-law and his “little girl.”
I remember her saying too, the only mistake she thought he ever made was refusing to pay for her college education if she married before she was done. I think his point was you are not my responsibility anymore, and you two need to learn to live within your means. No more, no less.
Sharing his coffee at 5am --- I don’t remember anyone else up in the early morning! I do remember being up early with him and Grandmother, before anyone else in the household.
I don’t remember a lot about his being sick. I suppose I was wrapped up in my own teenage life, and the daily teenage joys and crises seem to drown out the significance of more important things. I remember Mom going to Jackson. I only remember realizing the significance when we got in the car with Dad and drove to Jackson, Mom already being there (I think.) I believe he died while we were en route, but we did not know. It was just as well.
As I recall, Big Daddy was sick with some sort of GI symptoms the summer before he died. I think he was concerned and fearful, but diagnostic tests then were not what they are today. I think it was when he got jaundiced that they realized something serious was going on, thus the brief surgery. He used to say something was wrong with his pantry (his pancreas), and while he may or may not have known it was cancer, he did know something was wrong with his pancreas.
I don’t know when he sold that service station, but at some point he sold a service station and had the buyer pay him in payments over many years (maybe 15 or something?) Mom felt it was because he wanted to provide Grandmother with an income after he was gone.
I don’t much care for funerals either, thinking they are mostly a big racket, way over priced and designed more to make some industry prosper than to really help people. They catch you when you are vulnerable and take advantage of you. Give me a pine box, and try to say some nice things about me, and oh, if I have any parts that someone could possibly use, for heaven’s sake, take them out before you put me in the ground!
I remember seeing Big Daddy in the casket and thinking only one thing. That’s just a shell. He was so “not there.” And with him not in the shell, I just didn’t even want to look anymore. I wanted to remember what I had known.I do remember the hymns. Especially I remember that nothing in particular was requested, and yet they chose “Precious Lord, take my hand.” Remember the part “I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.”
Mom felt that perfectly described how Big Daddy felt at the end. His illness had made him weary and tired and he was ready to go.For me personally, I was so touched by Grandmother’s tales of the nurses at the hospital (a Catholic hospital, if I remember correctly). I wanted to be like them. For the first time, I had clear goal of what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a nurse and care for people like my Big Daddy.
[Also,] If we regret having been selfish teenagers, don't you think perhaps our own parents understood because they had once been such teenagers? (Hard to imagine, but don't you think it's likely?)
Even so, when we see our teens' immaturity, though there is frustration and impatience at times, I always found it had to be seasoned with grace, because I knew I had been such a one.More than regretting my selfish behavior, I regret that I cannot share with Mom that I really do get it now!
If she were able, I am certain we would share much joy together commiserating similar trials weathered.
It will not always be this way!
As the ancient Narnian prophecy says:
"Wrong will be made right,
when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of His roar,
sorrow will be no more,
When He bares His teeth,
winter meets its death, and
When He shakes His mane,
we shall have spring again"
4 comments:
Wow. I'm in tears. I was only 12 when Big Daddy got sick, barely 13 when he died. Though there is some familiarity with the stories you tell, my memories are much hazier. Thank you for sharing. I tell my children all the time about the incredible heritage from which they come, how blessed they are to be a part of such a long line of believers. You have provided another poignant example.
You remember many things I do not. But maybe I can add a little to your recollections.
I remember Mom saying if there was a disagreement between her and Dad, Big Daddy always took Dad’s side. She would say it playfully, but I think the truth was, if there ever was a spat, Big Daddy was not going to be the kind of father who came between his son-in-law and his “little girl.”
I remember her saying too, the only mistake she thought he ever made was refusing to pay for her college education if she married before she was done. I think his point was you are not my responsibility anymore, and you two need to learn to live within your means. No more, no less.
Sharing his coffee at 5am --- I don’t remember anyone else up in the early morning! I do remember being up early with him and Grandmother, before anyone else in the household.
I don’t remember a lot about his being sick. I suppose I was wrapped up in my own teenage life, and the daily teenage joys and crises seem to drown out the significance of more important things. I remember Mom going to Jackson. I only remember realizing the significance when we got in the car with Dad and drove to Jackson, Mom already being there (I think.) I believe he died while we were en route, but we did not know. It was just as well.
As I recall, Big Daddy was sick with some sort of GI symptoms the summer before he died. I think he was concerned and fearful, but diagnostic tests then were not what they are today. I think it was when he got jaundiced that they realized something serious was going on, thus the brief surgery. He used to say something was wrong with his pantry (his pancreas), and while he may or may not have known it was cancer, he did know something was wrong with his pancreas.
I don’t know when he sold that service station, but at some point he sold a service station and had the buyer pay him in payments over many years (maybe 15 or something?) Mom felt it was because he wanted to provide Grandmother with an income after he was gone.
I don’t much care for funerals either, thinking they are mostly a big racket, way over priced and designed more to make some industry prosper than to really help people. They catch you when you are vulnerable and take advantage of you. Give me a pine box, and try to say some nice things about me, and oh, if I have any parts that someone could possibly use, for heaven’s sake, take them out before you put me in the ground!
I remember seeing Big Daddy in the casket and thinking only one thing. That’s just a shell. He was so “not there.” And with him not in the shell, I just didn’t even want to look anymore. I wanted to remember what I had known.
I do remember the hymns. Especially I remember that nothing in particular was requested, and yet they chose “Precious Lord, take my hand.” Remember the part “I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.” Mom felt that perfectly described how Big Daddy felt at the end. His illness had made him weary and tired and he was ready to go.
For me personally, I was so touched by Grandmother’s tales of the nurses at the hospital (a Catholic hospital, if I remember correctly). I wanted to be like them. For the first time, I had clear goal of what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a nurse and care for people like my Big Daddy.
I also remember Mom saying the last time she and Grandmother took Big Daddy to the hospital, he waved goodbye to the house as they drove away. Mom said it was as if he knew he would never be coming back. I think she said it broke her heart because he had a tear in his eye. Now that I am a grown woman with an elderly father myself, my heart aches for her and what she must have been feeling. I'm so sorry to have been such a selfish teenager.
If we regret having been selfish teenagers, don't you think perhaps our own parents understood because they had once been such teenagers? (Hard to imagine, but don't you think it's likely?)
Even so, when we see our teens' immaturity, though there is frustration and impatience at times, I always found it had to be seasoned with grace, because I knew I had been such a one.
More than regretting my selfish behavior, I regret that I cannot share with Mom that I really do get it now! If she were able, I am certain we would share much joy together commiserating similar trials weathered.
It will not always be this way! As the ancient Narnian prophecy says:
'Wrong will be made right, when Aslan comes in sight, at
the sound of His roar, sorrow will be no more, when He
bares His teeth, winter meets its death, and when He
shakes His mane, we shall have spring again'
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