Paw-Paw. 8-5-11

If my dad was a handful, my Paw-Paw was even more so. Long after he passed, his brother told me the real story. "They say those horses got spooked, but I think he was pushing those horses too hard. He was mad that day when he sat out, and I think he set out too fast." Lesson: Don't take out your anger on a mowing machine. He lost both of his arms; fortunately, they were able to re-attach one. My paw-paw was someone that no one forgot, and people would beg to do work for him. Somehow you just felt so good doing it, encouraged by “Now you’re gettin’ right” when you were doing it just the way he wanted.

He had a house at the lake that was always the place to be. And we would spend long hours on the pontoon <he knew all of the animals on the lake, or at least he convinced me that he did ;)>, and before that on his little fishing boat, "Ol' Sinker." They would catch me a fish, put it in my bucket, and I would sit there fishing with MY little fishing pole. He had amazing fish stories, and for a man with only one arm, the length of the fish was left to your imagination. People were always giving him things. I remember when I was little bitty, we pulled up to his old trailer, and there were watermelons as far as you could see. Someone had given him so many watermelons. I ate watermelon, after watermelon, after watermelon, but they were so good, that you just wanted to eat more, more, more!

When my dad was growing up, Paw-Paw had a service station. From tell of it, you'd think it was a front for organized crime! There was always a poker game going on in back, and there was always a seat at the table for the local law. I remember Paw-Paw's poker games at the house would last all day and all night and all day and all night. And Paw-Paw's arrival for the holidays was always greeted by sacks and sacks of White Castles. Dad I could keep up with, but not Paw-Paw. We would have big country breakfast on weekends, with heaps of biscuits and gravy. But I just couldn't stomach those over-ripe bananas that he savored.

And I can already tell it on the ultrasound. At 10 weeks, Boop was throwing a temper tantrum. A spitfire, just like his Paw-Paw. A mess, but HEAPs and HEAPs of fun!