Elmo on the PorchRecently I have again become embroiled in a name controversy, so I feel some clarification is in order. During most of my life most people knew me as Bob, a nickname for Robert. When I first came to North Carolina I was given a severe verbal beating, by a person who eventually became my best client, about how I was disrespecting my parents by not using the name they gave me. When I was finally able to get a word in edge ways, I explained that I was raised in the same city as my father and grandfather and as I was a third and to use either Robert (the name my father used) or Elmo (the name my grandfather used) could cause some confusion. Therefore, my parents chose to call me Bob.
After moving to Monroe, I found every activity I participated was loaded with Bob's. Along about the same time, I started suffering with a stiff neck. In my wisdom I determined my stiff neck problem was caused jerking my head around every time some one hollered Bob. In an effort to relieve the neck condition I decided to change names. Robert sounded to formal, but I knew I could never meet the standards of my Grandfather Elmo. After careful consideration I decided as he was my grandfather he might forgive me for defaming his name so Elmo was my choice. Besides I would have a unique name, who besides me would accept being called Elmo.
Beimg Elmo has partially relieved the neck issues, but has not been without its down sides. I recently went to the pastor of a local church for a little spiritual guidance. After entering his office and him closing the door. His first statement was "What is your real name, because we cannot talk if you are not truthful. " I tried to explain that Elmo was my real name. He refused to believe me. At which time I did as Jesus instructed, I got up walked to the door stopped and brushed the dust off my feet and left. I have never seen a preacher with such a truly dumbfounded look on his face? However, I am not sure he recognized my little act of protest. Later when I decided to become a member of a local church (a different one from above) I had to show them my drivers license before they would believe my name.
Oh, before some one makes a snide comment about the little sign attached to Elmo's arm (Shown above), it is true. Just push my button and see how trying I can get.
Defame the name of thy grandfather...
ReplyDelete"Elmo," I have known you for many years and have been friends with you a few years less than I have known you. I have been close friends with you a few years less than that. I think you are being too hard on yourself. You are a wise and trustworthy old coot. :) You have a heart bigger than my shoes (or anyone I know) can fill. I suppose that you, like EVERYONE ELSE has things that he/she may not be proud of or wish they had done different but look at yourself today. You are a great person and one to be loved and honored.
If I may, allow me to speak of grandfathers first and then of fathers. It seems fitting since my own dad is laying in a hospital bed alone in ICU at Columbia post lung cancer surgery.
My grandfather was a great man and I loved him dearly. He went to be with Jesus early last decade. For many, many years he drank heavily. Mawmaw paid all the bills and bought the house they both died in. I heard of grandma's concerns for his drinking. I heard my mom speak of eating dinner as a child when all of a sudden grandpa slung everything outside in the yard in a drunken rage. Sad, I must admit. I said all that to say this, "I was his grandson and I didn't care about any of that. I never had to experience it." He taught me so much. I helped him garden. I helped him dig a sistern (spelling?) I stole cigarettes from him and sneaked a smoke. He quit drinking many years before he died and made things right. I was real young the last time he drank or this post may read way different. Pawpaw and I were both born on April 16th. I was his pride and joy. He loved me and I loved him. I am sure that he wouldn't respect every decision I have made in my life - just as I think he should have done things differently. The fact remains that there is a special bond between grandpa and grandson that spent as much time together as I did with mine and you did with yours Elmo. Your grandfather would be glad to know he was "honored" in that way by you taking his name. I guarantee. The same way my grandpa lit up each year when "our" birthdays rolled around. That was something we shared and we both were equally proud of it. We celebrated each year with a card game of Smut and the loser had ashes from the fireplace rubbed on his nose by the winner. I take a moment each year when my birthday rolls around to think of pawpaw and all the times we shared - good or bad. Those are times that should be cherished and don't dare defame yourself with words of unworthyness. You're too special to your grandfather for that. It's just short of disrespectful on your part to think that he wouldn't cherish you Mr. Bob, being called "ELMO" by your closest friends that love you like he did.
About dad in another post.
About dad...
ReplyDeleteI was on my way to Columbia this morning to be with mom while dad had surgery for lung cancer. It was a trying and emotional day. Listening to the radio, I heard three grown men talking about what their dads didn't teach them. Each of them weren't able to change the oil in their cars or re-line the brakes. No spark plugs, etc. No hammers, no nails, no wrenches, no screwdrivers. Kudos to my dad for "forcing" me to go to the shop when anything like that needed to be done. I didn't care about it long ago but I am sure glad I have the wisdom that was passed on to me by my dad in that respect. I think of the pleasure I have of working on stuff and fixing it without paying someone else to do it, not to mention being without my vehicle while the repairs are being made. I remember one time I fixed the brakes on an old red Ford truck for this friend of mine and we talked and talked. We learned a lot about each other and had one of the best times I can remember together. I couldn't have shared that moment with my friend had it not been my dads willingness to spend time teaching me - even though he could have done it faster by himself.
I read a book once titled Rich Dad, Poor Dad. Subtitled loosely... what men of wealth teach their kids about money that poor men can't. We weren't rich growing up, nor even well to do but we had more than enough. "More than enough" is a title of another book I have read but I'll save that for another day. Anyway, dad didn't really teach me how to become a millionaire in the stock market, but rather to save a little and be smart with your money. I'm as broke as I have been in years so I guess he missed the mark, but hey! I don't have to hire anyone to change my oil or fix my brakes. Shouldn't I be wishing for the millions? No, because time at the shop with dad is more important than money. Time with my friend mentioned above (plus many others) is mre important than that. Both types of lessons would have been nice but if I had to choose, I'd take what was god given to me.
That reminds me of a time the other day when a close friend of mine told me that his daughter asked for a screwdriver. In jest, I told him that he should be with her helping her with whatever use she had with the tool. It's the little moments that seem so pointless at the time that really build memories.
A song that plays often on the radio saddens me each time I hear it. A dad is singing about his daughter. Metaphorically, he sings about his daughter being Cinderella and he is going to dance with her as much as he can because he knows something that the prince never knew. At midnight - another metaphor for growing up, death, etc. - again, at mignight... she'll be gone. We only have one chance on this ole' earth. Make it count. Even if it is as simple as holding a board while the other turns a screw.
My dad is awesome. There is something to be learned from him everyday I see or talk to him. Granted, I do most of the work when we are around each other nowadays, but his wisdom and direction is always there to guide me even when I think I know better. I quickly find out that he's tried it "my" way years earlier and knows that it doesn't work. I relent and do it his way and guess what? You know the rest of the story Paul Harvey.
Right now I hope dad is resting comfortably with a morphine drip after having one-half of one lung removed. I hope his breathing has gotten better and his blood pressure has risen since I saw him last at 3 this afternoon. The surgery went well the doctor says. The toughest part begins today as he struggles to recover at his age. Dad looked at me today and said through an oxygen mask and "Morphine Goggles," there's my beautiful little baby boy. Right after that he told mom to give him a kiss.
That's real life guys. That's real love. Cherish those around you. Love yourselves so that you may be loved.