My daddy was born in 1914 in the ridges of Northeast Alabama. He was deserted by his father when he was a school-age boy and “raised” by his single mother in the midst of the Great Depression. He was raised dirt-poor.Continue reading “Daddy Bought a Nissan”
Our collective great-aunt, Governor Kay Ivey of Alabama just had a press conference with a “Stay-At-Home” order. Don’t you just love Aunt Kay with her South Alabama drawl; all our Southern politicians of old talked like this once upon a time, it was a requirement. I really like her, I really do. I would like to sit and have a chicken liver dinner with her, complete with potato salad, baked beans, and ice tea.
This subject has been incubating in my mind for a few years. I am quite qualified for this subject because I was reared in the midst of old men. My Dad was forty when I was born so by the time I could listen with good reason, I was saturated with the wit of “The Greatest Generation”. I am further qualified because now I am looked at, as that once revered title of, “Old Man”. I have been a “hoary head” since my forties.
Old men are not what they appear to be. They look weakened, wrinkled, frumpy, and a little dazed but that is not what they are at all. Inside is a spirit that can still run like lightning, pick up a rock and throw it beyond reason, and make some giggly girl tear off his chatty ring at recess in the Spring. He is old but still a boy deep inside.