Originally Published 8/8/08 in the Upper Cumberland NOW!
Hey, Ya’ll!
(The Lowlander’s Guide to Speech in the Highlands)
Well, shoot! If we can’t laugh at ourselves, then who are we gonna laugh at? (Yes, I intentionally ended that sentence with a preposition. It’s done all the time here in the Upper Cumberland).
I love the way we talk here in Tennessee. I’m sure some of you do not. I not only love it, I embrace it. I’m proud of it. It’s who I am, and I don’t necessarily want to change it.
I thought I would take a moment here to let some of the newcomers know what some of our expressions mean and the correct pronunciation of some our most-used words here in the highlands. Those of you that have moved here from “up north” (and it’s all just “up north” to me, anything north of Louisville) from Michigan, Ohio, Wisconsin, and those that have transplanted from Florida, I welcome you to our wonderful corner of the world. You may be a little perplexed by our speech, as we are by yours. Here’s your chance, if you want it, to try and understand us.
I’ve got a couple of music students from “up north”. They are two of the most genuinely nice people that I know. Well, one of them is actually originally from Southern Kentucky and then spent most of her life north. The other, Dale, is from Wisconsin. Dale loves our speech patterns. He gets a kick out of them. He tries, but just can’t master the accent.
From just my own observations, there are 3 distinct dialects in Tennessee. They are the same as the divisions of the state itself: East, Middle, and West. I spent the first 18 years of my life in East Tennessee, my husband is from West Tennessee, and I’ve lived here in Middle Tennessee for 30 years. I hadn’t really noticed the dialect differences until I went back to my first high school reunion and my friends from high school told me that they didn’t remember me being so “country” back in high school. My brother, who was also raised in Knoxville, and has also moved to the middle part of the state, has fallen into the same speech patterns that I use. Our family members tell us that we talk differently than we used to. I think this is just a nice way of telling us that we have gotten to be as country as turnip greens.
The whole problem with dialects and not speaking proper English is that stereotypes go along with them, and I guess that is the thought process behind this article. What I want to say most of all to the newcomers from other parts of the country is this: PLEASE DON’T MISTAKE MY ACCENT FOR STUPID. Most of us can lose the accent when and if we want. I hardly ever want to. I can carry on a reasonably intelligent conversation in spite of my dialect. The stereotype of southern accents being associated with being less than intelligent is probably due to movies and television shows that we have watched. We as southerners watched those, too, and laughed right along with you. We just didn’t make the mistake of thinking that all of the people from the hills were like the Clampetts from the Beverly Hillbillies or the Darlin’s from Andy Griffith. We can no more say that all southerners are stupid than we can say that all “northerners” are know-it-alls.
This article is dedicated to those of you who are new to our area. Welcome to our little part of the world! This guide may help you get along better:
1. Ya’ll: It’s ya’ll, not you-all. (This is the one Dale has trouble with. He tries so hard to say it, but it always comes out “yoowall”. Sorry, Dale, I love ya, but you’ll have to keep trying.) This is also another word for “you’uns”.
2. Arya’ll, whenya’ll, and heya’ll: Whatever word you are saying before the word “ya’ll” should actually become part of the word. For instance, “are ya’ll” becomes “arya’ll”, and of course hey ya’ll becomes heya’ll.
3. Anya’ll: This one deserves it’s own number in the line-up. Anya’ll means have any of you. Ex: “Anya’ll” seen my car keys?”
4. “Fell off” means lost weight. When I shed a few pounds and my brother saw me, he said, “Well! You done fell off, haven’t you?”
5. Everwho: Whomever. I don’t know how that one got changed around, but I love it. It cracks me up.
6. Chance and Dance: Sometimes pronounced chaince, and daince. I don’t personally use this pronunciation, but everwho does, likes it that way.
7. Fixin’ to: If there were one phrase that I could take out my speech, it would be this one. Try as I may, I can’t seem to kick the habit. For those of you who don’t know, it means “getting ready to” or preparing to. Ex: “I’m fixin’ to go to town, do you want to go? This is your last chaince!”
8. Kindly: Kind of. Again, I don’t personally use this one, but my parents do. It drives my kids crazy when they say, “It’s kindly hot today!”
9. Aw right ten: (All right, then) It means okay, or I acknowledge what you’re saying. My friend Gail uses this one a lot. Once again, I embrace this language. It cracks me up. It makes me smile.
10. Land Sakes, Sakes Alive, Say they Law, and Good Golly Moses: These are exclamatory terms meaning wow, gee, or oh my goodness.
11. Poke: A sack. “Get me a poke to put these beans in.”
12. Tote: To carry. “I with you’d tote this poke of beans in for me”.
13. Reckon: “I reckon you’d better tote these beans if you know what’s good for you.”
14. Of a mornin’: In the morning. “I like to have my coffee on the porch of a mornin’”.
And some of my favorite expressions:
1. “It’ll make your tongue slap your brains out. This, of course, means that something tastes really good.
2. “Like a sore-tailed tom cat in a roomful of rockin’ chairs” which describes being worried.
3. “I love it like a hog loves slop”. Surely you can understand this one, ain’t you never raised no hogs?
Our mannerisms, like our speech patterns, are a little different than what you may be used to. For instance, when my car meets yours on the road, and I lift one finger off of the steering wheel, I’m just saying hello. Speaking of manners, when our children or we say “Ma’am” or “Sir”, we’re not sassing you. These are truly terms of respect. We were taught to address our elders in such a manner. Likewise, when our eyes meet in the aisle at the grocery store, and we smile at you? Please don’t worry; we’re not up to anything. We were taught to smile at strangers.
So, welcome to our part of the world. We’re glad you’re here, as long as you don’t insist that we do things your way. We’ve been doing them our way for years. It’s perhaps a slower pace than you may be accustomed. Enjoy! Take time to smell the honeysuckle, and come on up to the porch and “set a spell”. Oh, and those flying insects that came out in the spring about size of a hummingbird? Those were mayflies, not mosquitoes. See ya’ll!
(I welcome your comments, criticisms, and suggestions. You may contact me at phyllisbrown2008@gmail.com).
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Are We Scaring Our Children, or Scared FOR Our Children?
Originally published October, 2008 in the Upper Cumberland NOW
Are We Scaring Our Children, or Scared FOR Our Children?
I remember being privately relieved when each of my children reached the age of one, thinking that they were then statistically past the age of sudden infant death syndrome. I remember being secretly ecstatic when they quit gymnastics and I could quit watching them with my heart in my throat try to do back handsprings on the floor and walkovers on the beam. Even now, when they are 22 and 25, I locate them in my head when I hear an ambulance and I breathe a little easier when the ambulance goes away from where I think they are at that time of day. Pessimistic of me I know, but I can’t seem to conquer it. I never wanted them to ride in the same car when they were young drivers, thinking somehow in my warped mind that losing one of them would be horrible, but losing both would be unimaginably unthinkable.
Over protective? Possibly. But maybe not. After all, they did sleep in their own cribs from day one. They did take gymnastics for all those years. They swung from tree branches, played on the monkey bars, tried to fly off of the deck, and the oldest did, on occasion, take the other one to school. But still I worried.
My kids never saw a stranger. They were raised in the business that I had at the time, a sporting goods store. They grew up talking to all the customers, and as far as they were concerned, everybody was their friend. Oh, there were a few blunders along the way, like the time one of them as a toddler walked very slowly and very stiffly up to the counter with a fishing lure stuck on her little lips. Luckily the barbs of the hooks didn’t go through, but I felt guilty, nonetheless. There was the time I let one of them go to the bank with one of our regular customers to get a sucker (Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!). I was in a cold sweat from the time they pulled out of the parking lot and I realized what I had done and what the man could do to her to in the eight long minutes that they were gone.
We have probably all, at one time or another, briefly lost our kids at Wal-Mart or the grocery store or the mall. As we frantically abandon our carts and run wildly through the store, whip lashing our own necks looking down each aisle, we have visions of child molesters going through our heads. Then, when we find our child, we are very unsure as to whether the occasion calls for a hug or a scolding or both. (I vote both.)
So then, there’s this woman, Lenore Skinazy, of New York City, who let her 9-year-old son find his own way home from the Manhattan Bloomingdale’s, and she did it on purpose. He had been begging her to let him find his way home from somewhere, anywhere, so she did. She and her son received international attention (unintentional on her part) for the deed. I just got through reading her article titled “Let’s Stop Scaring Our Kids” in this month's Readers Digest. I wonder if Ms. Skinazy doesn’t have some good points.
According to the article, it’s TV that has scared all of us to death. We hear story after story about children that have wondered off, children that have been kidnapped, and children that have been hurt because of irresponsible parenting. Ms Skinazy armed her child with a subway map, a transit card, $20 for an emergency, and a couple of quarters for a pay phone. I wonder if we can arm our own children with a knowledge that sometimes bad things can happen; and can we give them that knowledge without scaring them beyond reason.
When my children were small, say under the age of 10, I went to church with a woman who also had two daughters. She had cautioned her children so diligently about talking to strangers that whenever anyone spoke to them, they would run away screaming “Stranger! Stranger!” to their mother. My kids were the polar opposites, perhaps being way too trusting. There’s probably a happy medium in there somewhere.
According to Ms. Skinazy, since writing the article and getting all the publicity, she has spoken to a dad who won’t let his eight-year-old out to play in his own driveway, and a mom who won’t let her daughter even go to the mailbox alone, because in her quiet suburban neighborhood there would be no one to witness if someone were to snatch her daughter. And all of this is done even though according to the Crimes Against Children Research Center, crimes against children are down to levels we haven’t seen since the early 70’s. So, I wonder, are the crimes against kids down because people have stopped trying to do the crimes or because we are protecting our kids better?
When did we have to stop letting our kids be kids? When did it become dangerous to be out after dark, and terrifying for kids to walk anywhere alone? When did the monkey bars become dangerous? I certainly remember times when my mother would tell my sister, brother and I to “go outside and play, and don’t come in until I call you for supper, unless you are hurt.” (Of course on those hot muggy days, there were times when ants “bit” us and scratches from bike wrecks became wounds of gargantuan proportion, and we HAD to go in.) I grew up in the 60’s and 70’s, and even then when I would walk alone up the street to my best friend Rebecca’s house my mother would caution me about talking to strangers in cars.
It’s sad really, because just about the time it became unsafe for kids to play outside without adult supervision it also became the time when we saw the obesity levels in children start to escalate. Coincidence? Probably not. Of course you also have to factor in the computer games that started with Nintendo and has become more entertaining over the years to the point that for a while the only parts of our children’s bodies that were getting exercise were their thumbs and fingers. Thank goodness for the Wii, which at least exercises some of the other body parts.
One other little tidbit, and I will shut up. I took a class at church when my children were small. It was called “Training Up a Child”. I learned some very valuable lessons in that class that helped my children to grow up as perfect as they are. (That was sarcasm; they’re not perfect in anybody’s eyes but mine.) The lesson that comes to mind right now is this: Never say No if you can possibly say Yes. Think about it! Listen to these phrases: No, no, no, no, no, no, No! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, No! Which “no” at the end of the sentence has more meaning? Kids like to do things that are fun to them, not necessarily those things that we as adults think are fun. So for me, it was, “Yes, you can play out in the rain.” “Yes, you can wash the dog in the rain.” Yes, you can play with your boat in the puddles.” “Yes, you can have a picnic outside in the rain.” But “NO, you cannot hold your little sister facedown in the puddle”. See what was important there? All those no’s amounted to just a little bit of extra work there for me. A few wet clothes, a few wet towels, and a wet dog. But when I said yes, yes, yes, then the NO became more important.
Oh, I know it’s so easy for me as the parent of grown children to sit and write about how to rear children. Hey, I’ve been out of that job for about 5 years now. If I had listened to some of the things my mother’s and father’s admonishing though, things would have been easier. So train up your children. Love them, support them, play with them, protect them, teach them, and yes, even like them when they are teenagers. It won’t be long until they are gone from home.
Are We Scaring Our Children, or Scared FOR Our Children?
I remember being privately relieved when each of my children reached the age of one, thinking that they were then statistically past the age of sudden infant death syndrome. I remember being secretly ecstatic when they quit gymnastics and I could quit watching them with my heart in my throat try to do back handsprings on the floor and walkovers on the beam. Even now, when they are 22 and 25, I locate them in my head when I hear an ambulance and I breathe a little easier when the ambulance goes away from where I think they are at that time of day. Pessimistic of me I know, but I can’t seem to conquer it. I never wanted them to ride in the same car when they were young drivers, thinking somehow in my warped mind that losing one of them would be horrible, but losing both would be unimaginably unthinkable.
Over protective? Possibly. But maybe not. After all, they did sleep in their own cribs from day one. They did take gymnastics for all those years. They swung from tree branches, played on the monkey bars, tried to fly off of the deck, and the oldest did, on occasion, take the other one to school. But still I worried.
My kids never saw a stranger. They were raised in the business that I had at the time, a sporting goods store. They grew up talking to all the customers, and as far as they were concerned, everybody was their friend. Oh, there were a few blunders along the way, like the time one of them as a toddler walked very slowly and very stiffly up to the counter with a fishing lure stuck on her little lips. Luckily the barbs of the hooks didn’t go through, but I felt guilty, nonetheless. There was the time I let one of them go to the bank with one of our regular customers to get a sucker (Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!). I was in a cold sweat from the time they pulled out of the parking lot and I realized what I had done and what the man could do to her to in the eight long minutes that they were gone.
We have probably all, at one time or another, briefly lost our kids at Wal-Mart or the grocery store or the mall. As we frantically abandon our carts and run wildly through the store, whip lashing our own necks looking down each aisle, we have visions of child molesters going through our heads. Then, when we find our child, we are very unsure as to whether the occasion calls for a hug or a scolding or both. (I vote both.)
So then, there’s this woman, Lenore Skinazy, of New York City, who let her 9-year-old son find his own way home from the Manhattan Bloomingdale’s, and she did it on purpose. He had been begging her to let him find his way home from somewhere, anywhere, so she did. She and her son received international attention (unintentional on her part) for the deed. I just got through reading her article titled “Let’s Stop Scaring Our Kids” in this month's Readers Digest. I wonder if Ms. Skinazy doesn’t have some good points.
According to the article, it’s TV that has scared all of us to death. We hear story after story about children that have wondered off, children that have been kidnapped, and children that have been hurt because of irresponsible parenting. Ms Skinazy armed her child with a subway map, a transit card, $20 for an emergency, and a couple of quarters for a pay phone. I wonder if we can arm our own children with a knowledge that sometimes bad things can happen; and can we give them that knowledge without scaring them beyond reason.
When my children were small, say under the age of 10, I went to church with a woman who also had two daughters. She had cautioned her children so diligently about talking to strangers that whenever anyone spoke to them, they would run away screaming “Stranger! Stranger!” to their mother. My kids were the polar opposites, perhaps being way too trusting. There’s probably a happy medium in there somewhere.
According to Ms. Skinazy, since writing the article and getting all the publicity, she has spoken to a dad who won’t let his eight-year-old out to play in his own driveway, and a mom who won’t let her daughter even go to the mailbox alone, because in her quiet suburban neighborhood there would be no one to witness if someone were to snatch her daughter. And all of this is done even though according to the Crimes Against Children Research Center, crimes against children are down to levels we haven’t seen since the early 70’s. So, I wonder, are the crimes against kids down because people have stopped trying to do the crimes or because we are protecting our kids better?
When did we have to stop letting our kids be kids? When did it become dangerous to be out after dark, and terrifying for kids to walk anywhere alone? When did the monkey bars become dangerous? I certainly remember times when my mother would tell my sister, brother and I to “go outside and play, and don’t come in until I call you for supper, unless you are hurt.” (Of course on those hot muggy days, there were times when ants “bit” us and scratches from bike wrecks became wounds of gargantuan proportion, and we HAD to go in.) I grew up in the 60’s and 70’s, and even then when I would walk alone up the street to my best friend Rebecca’s house my mother would caution me about talking to strangers in cars.
It’s sad really, because just about the time it became unsafe for kids to play outside without adult supervision it also became the time when we saw the obesity levels in children start to escalate. Coincidence? Probably not. Of course you also have to factor in the computer games that started with Nintendo and has become more entertaining over the years to the point that for a while the only parts of our children’s bodies that were getting exercise were their thumbs and fingers. Thank goodness for the Wii, which at least exercises some of the other body parts.
One other little tidbit, and I will shut up. I took a class at church when my children were small. It was called “Training Up a Child”. I learned some very valuable lessons in that class that helped my children to grow up as perfect as they are. (That was sarcasm; they’re not perfect in anybody’s eyes but mine.) The lesson that comes to mind right now is this: Never say No if you can possibly say Yes. Think about it! Listen to these phrases: No, no, no, no, no, no, No! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, No! Which “no” at the end of the sentence has more meaning? Kids like to do things that are fun to them, not necessarily those things that we as adults think are fun. So for me, it was, “Yes, you can play out in the rain.” “Yes, you can wash the dog in the rain.” Yes, you can play with your boat in the puddles.” “Yes, you can have a picnic outside in the rain.” But “NO, you cannot hold your little sister facedown in the puddle”. See what was important there? All those no’s amounted to just a little bit of extra work there for me. A few wet clothes, a few wet towels, and a wet dog. But when I said yes, yes, yes, then the NO became more important.
Oh, I know it’s so easy for me as the parent of grown children to sit and write about how to rear children. Hey, I’ve been out of that job for about 5 years now. If I had listened to some of the things my mother’s and father’s admonishing though, things would have been easier. So train up your children. Love them, support them, play with them, protect them, teach them, and yes, even like them when they are teenagers. It won’t be long until they are gone from home.
All Jammed UP
OAll Jammed Up
I had a “first” this past weekend. I took my hammered dulcimer and myself up to Owensboro, Kentucky for the annual Ohio Valley Gathering, and I went alone. Something I’ve always wanted to do, this going alone, and I don’t really know why, other than being able to concentrate solely on the music. As a general rule, I usually go with a family member. I’ve been to several festivals with my sister, several with my brother, several with my parents, and several with all of us together. It always seemed like I spent entirely too much time doing trivial things that kept me from the music, like eating, for instance. By going alone I was allowed the luxury of “making do”, eating only when hungry, sleeping only when exhausted, bathing only in consideration of others. This left the rest of the time to play the music.
There are those of us who play, not because we can, but because we have to. That’s the only way I know how to describe this driving need to experience the music. I’ve come a long way from the years I spent at Tennessee Tech, studying the works of Vivaldi, Scarlatti, Beethoven, and Bach. No, now I play tunes with names like “Squirrel Heads and Gravy”, “Flop Ol’ Mule”, and “Devil Ate the Groundhog”, and “Cookin’ Soup Beans”. The names are entertainment enough, perhaps, but the tunes are rich in music theory. (This one starts in A Mixolydian, and goes to A minor in the B part. This other one is in 4/4 time, but is “crooked” meaning it has a 2/4 measure at the end of the B part.)
The Ohio Valley Gathering is primarily a festival for dulcimers, but while there were plenty of Appalachian dulcimers there, there were also several hammered dulcimers and other more traditional instruments, all acoustic. I found myself jamming mostly with the guitar players, the mandolins, the banjos, and the upright bass. There were a couple of concertinas thrown into the mix along with the usual harmonicas and penny whistles.
Geez, what fun! I played at one sitting for seven hours, and it only seemed like a few minutes. I parked myself in the lobby of the Executive Inn at Rivermont, and people came and went all day. I was playing mostly with people that I had never even met before. I couldn’t tell you what there names were, even after sharing music for hours, but I will recognize them at the next gathering, just like I had people come up to me this year and say, “I remember playing with you up in Evansville”. I will remember the man in the bowler hat, because he shared a lovely tune that he had written with the rest of us. I will remember the old woman in the wheel chair, because she simply loved to play. I will remember the woman with the beautiful singing voice.
We played Irish Aires, ballads, and jigs that were born way before our great-great grandfathers were a just a twinkle in anybody’s eye. We played old fiddle tunes, (my favorites) until our hearts were pounding the same rhythm as the beat. We played a few old church songs when requested, and loved the glistening in the eyes of the elderly that made the requests.
Oh yeah, I’ve been refreshed. I’ve been renewed. I’m all jammed up, (at least until the next big gathering at Cumberland Gap the first weekend in May).
Jammed up, yes. Jammed out? Won’t happen!
riginally published in April 2008 in the Upper Cumberland NOW
I had a “first” this past weekend. I took my hammered dulcimer and myself up to Owensboro, Kentucky for the annual Ohio Valley Gathering, and I went alone. Something I’ve always wanted to do, this going alone, and I don’t really know why, other than being able to concentrate solely on the music. As a general rule, I usually go with a family member. I’ve been to several festivals with my sister, several with my brother, several with my parents, and several with all of us together. It always seemed like I spent entirely too much time doing trivial things that kept me from the music, like eating, for instance. By going alone I was allowed the luxury of “making do”, eating only when hungry, sleeping only when exhausted, bathing only in consideration of others. This left the rest of the time to play the music.
There are those of us who play, not because we can, but because we have to. That’s the only way I know how to describe this driving need to experience the music. I’ve come a long way from the years I spent at Tennessee Tech, studying the works of Vivaldi, Scarlatti, Beethoven, and Bach. No, now I play tunes with names like “Squirrel Heads and Gravy”, “Flop Ol’ Mule”, and “Devil Ate the Groundhog”, and “Cookin’ Soup Beans”. The names are entertainment enough, perhaps, but the tunes are rich in music theory. (This one starts in A Mixolydian, and goes to A minor in the B part. This other one is in 4/4 time, but is “crooked” meaning it has a 2/4 measure at the end of the B part.)
The Ohio Valley Gathering is primarily a festival for dulcimers, but while there were plenty of Appalachian dulcimers there, there were also several hammered dulcimers and other more traditional instruments, all acoustic. I found myself jamming mostly with the guitar players, the mandolins, the banjos, and the upright bass. There were a couple of concertinas thrown into the mix along with the usual harmonicas and penny whistles.
Geez, what fun! I played at one sitting for seven hours, and it only seemed like a few minutes. I parked myself in the lobby of the Executive Inn at Rivermont, and people came and went all day. I was playing mostly with people that I had never even met before. I couldn’t tell you what there names were, even after sharing music for hours, but I will recognize them at the next gathering, just like I had people come up to me this year and say, “I remember playing with you up in Evansville”. I will remember the man in the bowler hat, because he shared a lovely tune that he had written with the rest of us. I will remember the old woman in the wheel chair, because she simply loved to play. I will remember the woman with the beautiful singing voice.
We played Irish Aires, ballads, and jigs that were born way before our great-great grandfathers were a just a twinkle in anybody’s eye. We played old fiddle tunes, (my favorites) until our hearts were pounding the same rhythm as the beat. We played a few old church songs when requested, and loved the glistening in the eyes of the elderly that made the requests.
Oh yeah, I’ve been refreshed. I’ve been renewed. I’m all jammed up, (at least until the next big gathering at Cumberland Gap the first weekend in May).
Jammed up, yes. Jammed out? Won’t happen!
riginally published in April 2008 in the Upper Cumberland NOW
A Million Atta-Boys and a Shirt
Originally published Father's Day Week, 2008 in the Upper Cumberland NOW
A Million Atta-Boys and a Shirt
A thousand thank you’s, ten thousand words of gratitude, a hundred thousand units of respect, and a million “atta boys”. All of these and a shirt go to my father for Father’s Day. All of these and whatever inadequate token I gave go to my mother in a belated Happy Mother’s Day. For how can I possibly thank the two people that have always been there? How can I possibly tell them how much I love, honor, respect, and appreciate them.
My parents live in Knoxville (Karns actually). They are the living epitome of the classic love story. They were the boy and girl next door. They met when Daddy was 14 and Mama was 13. They ran off and got married in 1953, when Daddy was 18 and Mama was 17. Fifty-five short years, three children, and seven grown grandchildren later, they are still a team.
We weren’t well off when I was a child. We weren’t poor, just your average middle-of-the-road Americans like Andy, Aunt Bea, Opey, Barney, and Floyd. Daddy was an electrician, and Mama was first a stay-at-home Mom until later when she went to school and became a nurse. As children, my brother, sister, and I didn’t realize that we didn’t have a lot of money. Our wealth came in the form of time. Time that our parents spent with us. Time that they spent on our behalf. There were countless hours of playing catch, croquet, and badminton in the backyard. There were the countless hours they spent pulling us around the lake on skis. Pulling us, I might add, in a wooden boat that Daddy built himself, so we would have one. We spent time hiking in the mountains, fishing in the pond and Granny’s, and building snowmen in the snow. Our vacations consisted not of a trip to the beach but tent camping on Norris Lake. On those trips, Mama would make us peach cobbler, and cook it in a Dutch oven hanging from a tripod over the fire. Daddy would play checkers with us when it rained. We sang songs, went on hikes to “the rocks”, and were amazed at the power our Dad had to change the direction of the campfire smoke. (We weren’t real bright.)
Later on, Daddy was a Boy Scout leader, and Mama was a Girl Scout leader. After that they were leaders in the 4-H horse and pony club, where my sister and I spent so much of our time. Daddy let us hang around and play with the soldering gun while he talked on his ham radio. Mama provided our dolls not with just a few clothes but entire wardrobes, which she sewed herself. Sometimes those clothes matched our own, as she made all our clothes, too.
What they couldn’t give us in material possessions, they gave us in time. Rather than taking us to the movies, we stayed home and watched “Friday Night at the Movies” on TV, where Mama always provided popcorn and orange juice milkshakes, and you know what? It was a grand ol’ time! By the end of the movie, my sister and I were feigning sleep so that our Daddy would carry us up to our beds. Rather than going snow-skiing, we would walk down to the local sledding hill and spend the day trudging up the hill and flying back down.
I don’t remember my parents ever getting outrageously mad, even when my sister, my cousin, and I picked durn near every flower and leaf off of all the shrubbery and strained it through water down the slide to make perfume. All the bushes were naked, but we had fun. I don’t remember them getting angry when my sister and I had the fight while we were painting the rabbit cage and painted each other black. They smoothed my ruffled feathers when we played “Tarzan” and as the youngest I had to be “Cheetah”. (I wanted to be Jane!) They consoled me when my brother got to be Samson, my sister got to be Hercules, and I had to be stupid ol’ Son of Hercules.
In the later years, my parents took my children and their cousins to the beach. They took them to Disney World, they took them to Washington, D.C. They have rented cabins in the mountains so that we could all get together in one place. We still spend a lot of time together. After Daddy retired and we all got into this music thing, Daddy built us all dulcimers.
So, thanks, Mama and Daddy. You have been and still are the greatest! You’ve provided me with everything a person really needs. You’ve provided me with example. If can achieve even half of what you have, I’ll be doing all right. Atta Boy, and I hope you like the shirt.
A Million Atta-Boys and a Shirt
A thousand thank you’s, ten thousand words of gratitude, a hundred thousand units of respect, and a million “atta boys”. All of these and a shirt go to my father for Father’s Day. All of these and whatever inadequate token I gave go to my mother in a belated Happy Mother’s Day. For how can I possibly thank the two people that have always been there? How can I possibly tell them how much I love, honor, respect, and appreciate them.
My parents live in Knoxville (Karns actually). They are the living epitome of the classic love story. They were the boy and girl next door. They met when Daddy was 14 and Mama was 13. They ran off and got married in 1953, when Daddy was 18 and Mama was 17. Fifty-five short years, three children, and seven grown grandchildren later, they are still a team.
We weren’t well off when I was a child. We weren’t poor, just your average middle-of-the-road Americans like Andy, Aunt Bea, Opey, Barney, and Floyd. Daddy was an electrician, and Mama was first a stay-at-home Mom until later when she went to school and became a nurse. As children, my brother, sister, and I didn’t realize that we didn’t have a lot of money. Our wealth came in the form of time. Time that our parents spent with us. Time that they spent on our behalf. There were countless hours of playing catch, croquet, and badminton in the backyard. There were the countless hours they spent pulling us around the lake on skis. Pulling us, I might add, in a wooden boat that Daddy built himself, so we would have one. We spent time hiking in the mountains, fishing in the pond and Granny’s, and building snowmen in the snow. Our vacations consisted not of a trip to the beach but tent camping on Norris Lake. On those trips, Mama would make us peach cobbler, and cook it in a Dutch oven hanging from a tripod over the fire. Daddy would play checkers with us when it rained. We sang songs, went on hikes to “the rocks”, and were amazed at the power our Dad had to change the direction of the campfire smoke. (We weren’t real bright.)
Later on, Daddy was a Boy Scout leader, and Mama was a Girl Scout leader. After that they were leaders in the 4-H horse and pony club, where my sister and I spent so much of our time. Daddy let us hang around and play with the soldering gun while he talked on his ham radio. Mama provided our dolls not with just a few clothes but entire wardrobes, which she sewed herself. Sometimes those clothes matched our own, as she made all our clothes, too.
What they couldn’t give us in material possessions, they gave us in time. Rather than taking us to the movies, we stayed home and watched “Friday Night at the Movies” on TV, where Mama always provided popcorn and orange juice milkshakes, and you know what? It was a grand ol’ time! By the end of the movie, my sister and I were feigning sleep so that our Daddy would carry us up to our beds. Rather than going snow-skiing, we would walk down to the local sledding hill and spend the day trudging up the hill and flying back down.
I don’t remember my parents ever getting outrageously mad, even when my sister, my cousin, and I picked durn near every flower and leaf off of all the shrubbery and strained it through water down the slide to make perfume. All the bushes were naked, but we had fun. I don’t remember them getting angry when my sister and I had the fight while we were painting the rabbit cage and painted each other black. They smoothed my ruffled feathers when we played “Tarzan” and as the youngest I had to be “Cheetah”. (I wanted to be Jane!) They consoled me when my brother got to be Samson, my sister got to be Hercules, and I had to be stupid ol’ Son of Hercules.
In the later years, my parents took my children and their cousins to the beach. They took them to Disney World, they took them to Washington, D.C. They have rented cabins in the mountains so that we could all get together in one place. We still spend a lot of time together. After Daddy retired and we all got into this music thing, Daddy built us all dulcimers.
So, thanks, Mama and Daddy. You have been and still are the greatest! You’ve provided me with everything a person really needs. You’ve provided me with example. If can achieve even half of what you have, I’ll be doing all right. Atta Boy, and I hope you like the shirt.
A Letter to Buddy
Originally published mid March of 2009 in the Upper Cumberland NOW.
Sorry About This….
I tend to be rather…um…single minded. In other words, when I get something on my mind, I tend to think of only that, until the situation is resolved, the event has passed, or something else comes along. I get this trait from my father. Daddy seems to become obsessed with things at least until he moves on to something else. Over the years, he’s been obsessed by ham radios, boy scouts, boats and water skiing, horses, and now traditional Appalachian music. Over the years I’ve become obsessed by the guitar, English smocking, physical fitness, horses, traditional Appalachian music, and now my grandson, Brayden, a.k.a. Buddy.
I say all of that to say this…you won’t be hearing any words of wisdom (that was sarcasm) from me this issue. You won’t be hearing about my dog. You won’t be hearing about the injustices in our justice system or politics. All I can seem to think about these days is Buddy, and my daughter and son-in-law. I go about the motions of working, but all the while lurking just under the surface is Buddy.
It’s always been “family first” with me, and for that I won’t apologize. I do apologize for this article being about said family again. I know you, the reader, may be tired of hearing about it. When I get something on my mind, I can’t let it go, and out comes the article…. Here’s what’s on my mind:
A Letter to Buddy
Dear Buddy,
Today you are 3 weeks old, even though you weren’t really supposed to be here for another 3 ½ weeks. I’m so proud of the way you are trying to grow and trying to be well. I know you probably don’t feel very good with all that’s going on.
Just some things you need to know: You know that pretty lady and good-looking man that keep smiling at you and holding you close? That’s your Mommy and Daddy, although you probably already know that. They’re the ones that are there with you all the time while you are still in the hospital. They’ll be the ones that will be with you the entire time even when you go home. See, Buddy, there’s a whole other world outside the hospital that you don’t know about yet. When you get well enough in a few more weeks, you’ll get to go home, to a place where there will only be you and your Mommy and Daddy. It’s a great place, and you are really going to like your room. Your Mommy and Daddy have been waiting for you for a long time, and they got your room all ready for you while they were waiting. Your room is a very happy place with lots of stuff to look at. It’s painted as if you were outside, with green grass and bright blue sky that filled with big, puffy, white clouds. And when you sleep at night, there will be stars glowing in the dark over your crib.
You’ve had it pretty rough so far, Buddy, but I just want you to know that it’s going to get better. So far, you’ve had 2 surgeries, and you’ve got a couple more to go, but they’ll be over before you know it. You’re going to get bigger and stronger, and then when you get big enough, you will get a new kidney. And then, Buddy, you’ll be just fine!
We’ve got so much to look forward to! Your Mommy and Daddy have got big plans for you. So do Pa and I; Grandma and Papa Goose; Pap and Nana; and Aunt Boo Boo and Uncle Jason.
See, Buddy, I’m your Grandma, but you can call me Gran. If you can’t say Gran, why then we’ll just go with whatever you CAN say. Your Mommy was once a little bitty baby like you, and she was my baby. That was a long time ago. I’m married to your Pa, and we live just up the road from where you are going to live. Pa’s got all sorts of fun things that he wants to do with you. You’ll be able to go out with Pa and feed the horses at the barn. Pa’s even got a tractor that’s just like his except it’s little like you. It’s just your size! Your tractor has pedals, and you’ll be able to make the engine sounds as you go along. I need you to help me with the garden. It’s a really big garden, Buddy, and Gran can’t do it without your help. I’m going to get you a garden hoe, a rake, and a wheelbarrow that are just your size so you can help me pull the weeds, pick the beans, and other stuff like that. I'll need your help with all kinds of things. When you don’t want to work anymore, then you can play with Daisy. Daisy is my dog, but she can be yours, too. When you get a little older, you and Daisy can run together. I’ve got a porch on my house that goes all the way around. You’ll be able to ride your tricycle all the way around, and have races with Daisy.
I’ve got some songs that I want to teach you, too. If you want, I’ll teach you to play the guitar and the hammered dulcimer.
Your Aunt Boo Boo wants to teach you how to ride horses. That will be fun!
Your Papa Goose wants to get you on the back of his Harley. You’re already wearing the Harley hat that he got you. Your Grandma has got all sorts of things that she wants to do with you, too. All of us can hardly wait until you get home and get a little bigger! We’ve got fish to catch, balls to throw, and some serious wrestling to do!
Buddy, your Mommy and Daddy love you so very much. They loved you even when you just as big a peanut, and you lived inside your Mommy’s belly. They have waited a long, long time for you to get here, and now they have to wait even longer before they can bring you home.
There’s a big world outside the NICU that is just waiting for you to explore. There’s a big ball of fire up in the sky. It’s called the sun, and it will warm your skin even when the days are chilly. There’s a thing called rain, where water falls out of the sky and makes puddles to splash in. Sometimes, when it’s cold, that rain comes out of the sky in the form of snow. Snow is white, fluffy, and cold. It’s a lot of fun to play in. Sometimes, the wind blows. Wind is invisible, but you will feel it blowing across your face.
I wasn’t prepared for this, Buddy! Everybody told me that it was truly a special thing, this feeling that grandparents have for their grandchildren. But nobody can really prepare you for this kind of feeling. I wasn’t prepared for what I felt when you were 5 days old and I got to hold you for the very first time. My heart just swelled up and bubbled over, Buddy. I love you so much. I can’t wait for your first visit to Gran’s and Pa’s.
I guess I just want you to know we’re here, Buddy. We’re here for whatever you need. We’re waiting for you to go home from the hospital to your home, and then come visit ours.
I love you,
Gran
Sorry About This….
I tend to be rather…um…single minded. In other words, when I get something on my mind, I tend to think of only that, until the situation is resolved, the event has passed, or something else comes along. I get this trait from my father. Daddy seems to become obsessed with things at least until he moves on to something else. Over the years, he’s been obsessed by ham radios, boy scouts, boats and water skiing, horses, and now traditional Appalachian music. Over the years I’ve become obsessed by the guitar, English smocking, physical fitness, horses, traditional Appalachian music, and now my grandson, Brayden, a.k.a. Buddy.
I say all of that to say this…you won’t be hearing any words of wisdom (that was sarcasm) from me this issue. You won’t be hearing about my dog. You won’t be hearing about the injustices in our justice system or politics. All I can seem to think about these days is Buddy, and my daughter and son-in-law. I go about the motions of working, but all the while lurking just under the surface is Buddy.
It’s always been “family first” with me, and for that I won’t apologize. I do apologize for this article being about said family again. I know you, the reader, may be tired of hearing about it. When I get something on my mind, I can’t let it go, and out comes the article…. Here’s what’s on my mind:
A Letter to Buddy
Dear Buddy,
Today you are 3 weeks old, even though you weren’t really supposed to be here for another 3 ½ weeks. I’m so proud of the way you are trying to grow and trying to be well. I know you probably don’t feel very good with all that’s going on.
Just some things you need to know: You know that pretty lady and good-looking man that keep smiling at you and holding you close? That’s your Mommy and Daddy, although you probably already know that. They’re the ones that are there with you all the time while you are still in the hospital. They’ll be the ones that will be with you the entire time even when you go home. See, Buddy, there’s a whole other world outside the hospital that you don’t know about yet. When you get well enough in a few more weeks, you’ll get to go home, to a place where there will only be you and your Mommy and Daddy. It’s a great place, and you are really going to like your room. Your Mommy and Daddy have been waiting for you for a long time, and they got your room all ready for you while they were waiting. Your room is a very happy place with lots of stuff to look at. It’s painted as if you were outside, with green grass and bright blue sky that filled with big, puffy, white clouds. And when you sleep at night, there will be stars glowing in the dark over your crib.
You’ve had it pretty rough so far, Buddy, but I just want you to know that it’s going to get better. So far, you’ve had 2 surgeries, and you’ve got a couple more to go, but they’ll be over before you know it. You’re going to get bigger and stronger, and then when you get big enough, you will get a new kidney. And then, Buddy, you’ll be just fine!
We’ve got so much to look forward to! Your Mommy and Daddy have got big plans for you. So do Pa and I; Grandma and Papa Goose; Pap and Nana; and Aunt Boo Boo and Uncle Jason.
See, Buddy, I’m your Grandma, but you can call me Gran. If you can’t say Gran, why then we’ll just go with whatever you CAN say. Your Mommy was once a little bitty baby like you, and she was my baby. That was a long time ago. I’m married to your Pa, and we live just up the road from where you are going to live. Pa’s got all sorts of fun things that he wants to do with you. You’ll be able to go out with Pa and feed the horses at the barn. Pa’s even got a tractor that’s just like his except it’s little like you. It’s just your size! Your tractor has pedals, and you’ll be able to make the engine sounds as you go along. I need you to help me with the garden. It’s a really big garden, Buddy, and Gran can’t do it without your help. I’m going to get you a garden hoe, a rake, and a wheelbarrow that are just your size so you can help me pull the weeds, pick the beans, and other stuff like that. I'll need your help with all kinds of things. When you don’t want to work anymore, then you can play with Daisy. Daisy is my dog, but she can be yours, too. When you get a little older, you and Daisy can run together. I’ve got a porch on my house that goes all the way around. You’ll be able to ride your tricycle all the way around, and have races with Daisy.
I’ve got some songs that I want to teach you, too. If you want, I’ll teach you to play the guitar and the hammered dulcimer.
Your Aunt Boo Boo wants to teach you how to ride horses. That will be fun!
Your Papa Goose wants to get you on the back of his Harley. You’re already wearing the Harley hat that he got you. Your Grandma has got all sorts of things that she wants to do with you, too. All of us can hardly wait until you get home and get a little bigger! We’ve got fish to catch, balls to throw, and some serious wrestling to do!
Buddy, your Mommy and Daddy love you so very much. They loved you even when you just as big a peanut, and you lived inside your Mommy’s belly. They have waited a long, long time for you to get here, and now they have to wait even longer before they can bring you home.
There’s a big world outside the NICU that is just waiting for you to explore. There’s a big ball of fire up in the sky. It’s called the sun, and it will warm your skin even when the days are chilly. There’s a thing called rain, where water falls out of the sky and makes puddles to splash in. Sometimes, when it’s cold, that rain comes out of the sky in the form of snow. Snow is white, fluffy, and cold. It’s a lot of fun to play in. Sometimes, the wind blows. Wind is invisible, but you will feel it blowing across your face.
I wasn’t prepared for this, Buddy! Everybody told me that it was truly a special thing, this feeling that grandparents have for their grandchildren. But nobody can really prepare you for this kind of feeling. I wasn’t prepared for what I felt when you were 5 days old and I got to hold you for the very first time. My heart just swelled up and bubbled over, Buddy. I love you so much. I can’t wait for your first visit to Gran’s and Pa’s.
I guess I just want you to know we’re here, Buddy. We’re here for whatever you need. We’re waiting for you to go home from the hospital to your home, and then come visit ours.
I love you,
Gran
The Most Amazing Mother
The Most Amazing Mother Tuesday, March 23, 2010 at 4:22pm
The most amazing mother that I know lives just down the street. She's not my mother, as you might think. No, she's my daughter, Jenny Braswell Goolsby.
Faced with trials that most of us have only read about in Guideposts, she's amazingly strong, amazingly competent, and amazingly capable.
When I raised my children, Jenny and Kelly, they were unbelievably healthy. We had one round with a broken arm, and a few scraped knees, and a little bit of superventricular tachacardia. (Is that how that's spelled?) No allergies, no regular medicines, no shots other than regular immunizations. I went to the hospital, came home two days later with healthy babies. I brought them up and watched them grow...no problems.
It hasn't been the same for my daughter, Jenny and my son-in-law Kyle. Brayden was born 6 1/2 weeks premature. They took him early because he needed to come out. A problem in the womb would leave him with kidney issues for the rest of his life.
For his entire life, practically, he's had labs drawn every two weeks, sometimes more often. He eats sometimes through his mouth, but more often through a feeding tube. He throws up half of what he eats. He's on dialysis 9 hours a day, 6 days a week. He has had several rounds of peritonitis. He has already had more needles poked into him in his little life than most of us will ever have. He lives with constant nausea. 16 medicines a day, just to keep him healthy until the big day. And he smiles the biggest smiles I've ever seen, because he's a secure baby--secure in his parents' love.
Now, 13 months and 9 surgeries later, he faces the big one; the kidney transplant. My daughter is donating the kidney. That alone makes her my hero, and that's probably enough, but the way she has handled all of this has just been amazing.
I'm not saying that she's a better Mama than any of us would have been in her situation, but I am saying that with the cards that have been dealt her, I think Brayden is one lucky little guy to have her.
She's not only been a great mother this year, she's been a nurse (and a damn good one), a chemist (with lab results constantly running through her head), a wife, a daughter, and an educator. That's a lot of hats to wear, considering I used to think it bothersome that I couldn't clean up the house with the kids making messes as fast as I could clean them up, and wouldn't it have been nice just once to go to the grocery store alone. I would hope that someday Jenny will have such trivial thoughts, rather than, "Is his potassium/sodium/creatinine high (or low) because of this? Or is it that? How silly I was, with my healthy babies, compared to what she deals with 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for the past 13 months.
So yes, Jenny is the most amazing mother that I know. Partial, well, yes; but to see how happy that little guy is in spite of all he's been through, that says a lot about his parents--both of them.
The most amazing mother that I know lives just down the street. She's not my mother, as you might think. No, she's my daughter, Jenny Braswell Goolsby.
Faced with trials that most of us have only read about in Guideposts, she's amazingly strong, amazingly competent, and amazingly capable.
When I raised my children, Jenny and Kelly, they were unbelievably healthy. We had one round with a broken arm, and a few scraped knees, and a little bit of superventricular tachacardia. (Is that how that's spelled?) No allergies, no regular medicines, no shots other than regular immunizations. I went to the hospital, came home two days later with healthy babies. I brought them up and watched them grow...no problems.
It hasn't been the same for my daughter, Jenny and my son-in-law Kyle. Brayden was born 6 1/2 weeks premature. They took him early because he needed to come out. A problem in the womb would leave him with kidney issues for the rest of his life.
For his entire life, practically, he's had labs drawn every two weeks, sometimes more often. He eats sometimes through his mouth, but more often through a feeding tube. He throws up half of what he eats. He's on dialysis 9 hours a day, 6 days a week. He has had several rounds of peritonitis. He has already had more needles poked into him in his little life than most of us will ever have. He lives with constant nausea. 16 medicines a day, just to keep him healthy until the big day. And he smiles the biggest smiles I've ever seen, because he's a secure baby--secure in his parents' love.
Now, 13 months and 9 surgeries later, he faces the big one; the kidney transplant. My daughter is donating the kidney. That alone makes her my hero, and that's probably enough, but the way she has handled all of this has just been amazing.
I'm not saying that she's a better Mama than any of us would have been in her situation, but I am saying that with the cards that have been dealt her, I think Brayden is one lucky little guy to have her.
She's not only been a great mother this year, she's been a nurse (and a damn good one), a chemist (with lab results constantly running through her head), a wife, a daughter, and an educator. That's a lot of hats to wear, considering I used to think it bothersome that I couldn't clean up the house with the kids making messes as fast as I could clean them up, and wouldn't it have been nice just once to go to the grocery store alone. I would hope that someday Jenny will have such trivial thoughts, rather than, "Is his potassium/sodium/creatinine high (or low) because of this? Or is it that? How silly I was, with my healthy babies, compared to what she deals with 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for the past 13 months.
So yes, Jenny is the most amazing mother that I know. Partial, well, yes; but to see how happy that little guy is in spite of all he's been through, that says a lot about his parents--both of them.
So Still
This was about 9 days after Brayden's transplant...
So Still by Phyllis Woods Brown Wednesday, April 21, 2010 at 4:37pm
So Still…
You’ve been so still—while our hearts pounded in our chests
So still, while we sat and watched the monitors.
You’ve been so still—while the nurses scrambled to fix you, to ease you, to mend you, and the doctors spoke with quiet words.
You’ve been so still—not your normal wiggling self.
No noses being “beeped”, no ball held high over your head with pride,
No “Ma-ma”, “Da-ddy”, or “Dai-sy”.
No toothy little grins.
You’ve been so still—while we waited and waited,
And waited some more for 9 long days, and 8 long nights.
So still, so still, so…STILL!
You’ve been so still—while we willed you to move, willed you to improve,
Willed you to take a turn for the better.
You’ve been so still—while your Mommy brushed your hair, rubbed your back,
And cut your fingernails.
While your Daddy whispered quietly in your ear,
And your jungle monkeys danced a little dance in your music box.
So still, while we updated family and friends,
And pleas were offered up on your behalf.
You’ve been so still—while the Hands on the clock wound slowly ‘round,
Twelve, twelve, twelve, twelve twelve.
Midnight and Noon, Midnight and Noon.
Tuesday, and then Tuesday again.
And STILL you were still.
So stilll.
So still is my heart, now that you’re awake!
So at peace, so comforted, so rested!
And now that this is over, now that you are wiggling again, smiling again,
living again,
This I know, Brayden Jay:
You ARE my heart, and I will cherish you until the day that I am…
So Still.
So Still by Phyllis Woods Brown Wednesday, April 21, 2010 at 4:37pm
So Still…
You’ve been so still—while our hearts pounded in our chests
So still, while we sat and watched the monitors.
You’ve been so still—while the nurses scrambled to fix you, to ease you, to mend you, and the doctors spoke with quiet words.
You’ve been so still—not your normal wiggling self.
No noses being “beeped”, no ball held high over your head with pride,
No “Ma-ma”, “Da-ddy”, or “Dai-sy”.
No toothy little grins.
You’ve been so still—while we waited and waited,
And waited some more for 9 long days, and 8 long nights.
So still, so still, so…STILL!
You’ve been so still—while we willed you to move, willed you to improve,
Willed you to take a turn for the better.
You’ve been so still—while your Mommy brushed your hair, rubbed your back,
And cut your fingernails.
While your Daddy whispered quietly in your ear,
And your jungle monkeys danced a little dance in your music box.
So still, while we updated family and friends,
And pleas were offered up on your behalf.
You’ve been so still—while the Hands on the clock wound slowly ‘round,
Twelve, twelve, twelve, twelve twelve.
Midnight and Noon, Midnight and Noon.
Tuesday, and then Tuesday again.
And STILL you were still.
So stilll.
So still is my heart, now that you’re awake!
So at peace, so comforted, so rested!
And now that this is over, now that you are wiggling again, smiling again,
living again,
This I know, Brayden Jay:
You ARE my heart, and I will cherish you until the day that I am…
So Still.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)