Cuts You Up
I'm so adamant about not lying to the Boy(s) that they make a game of trying to catch me in one. As close as they usually get is when I say something like, 'It's going to rain later.' And then. When it doesn't. Rain. Later. They'll (usually The Younger Boy who plays harder at this game than the Elder) say, 'It didn't rain. Later. You lied.'
I tell you that for this.
I'm going to lie. Right here. Right now. By doing something I said I wouldn't do. Again.
I'm going to break a self imposed aboynamedstu edict by blogging directly about the Boy(s) in a very Team Tinsley BLOG sort of a way. I consider this lie worthy. My dear dead Mom would classify it a white lie which implies it isn't hurtful. The Boy(s) might disagree. Especially the Younger. Because this is very much about him. And it would certainly embarrass him.
My reasoning is two fold. If you care. Which I guess you do, since you are reading this.
It's a gloriously good moment that I want to save for posterity about the Younger Boy at the tender age of six. And. It's my kwanza gift to you, Dear BLOG reader.
It's long too. Backstory. Which is necessary in a Don Henley getting to the heart of the matter sort of way.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
Oklahoma is OK my ass. Oklahoma was depressing. And a cluster fuck, infrastructure wise. To add insult to injury, the first thing I saw as we pulled into my Grandma's (a.k.a. Old Granny) driveway was that Danimal wuz here. Or there, as it were. In the form of spray painted graffiti on the side of Old Granny's neighbor's house. Which is abandoned. Literally. It's a crack den waiting for crack heads. I wrote about my uneasy relationship with my hometown on the Team Tinsley BLOG way back in 2005. Back then, on a scale of 1 to 10, I'd say my unease was a six, maybe seven. Today, it's a fucking ten.
One of the reasons is that since I wrote this my Mom died. Old Granny is my Mom's Mom. Who was an only child. Like me. Pretty much everyone else in Old Granny's life is dead. Or in such sorry shape that they don't get around all that good. So it's me watching over her in a very remote sort of a way. A few years ago, after we set up that I'd be watching over Old Granny in a legal and financial sort of a way, in addition to being her Grandson sort of a way, I made a promise to myself that I'd get up to see her at least four times a year. I'd visit at least once each season to get my eyes on her to see how she was doing and give her a chance to see the Boy(s). This promise has been a lot easier to live up to since my Dad moved back to the area which is again, a result of my Mom dying. I don't think she'd ever have returned to the area. But I digress. My point is I can now kill two birds with one road trip. I can see both Old Granny and Pops. Which makes life a little easier for us since we often get sucked into today's overextended hectic paced way of living.
How we do these trips is like this. Day 1 is with Old Granny. Day 2 is with Pops (and Janie.) Generally we get up early and drive to Old Granny's. Spend most of the day with her. Take her to dinner. Usually the Rib Crib. She then takes the Boy(s) to Wal-Mart for a prize (read gift.) Mind you both the Rib Crib and Wal-Mart are a block from her house. We then come home and try and sleep in her cramped little house (in beds that are older than me.) When we wake up, we usually stay for an hour or so, and then we're off to Pops (who lives 25 minutes away.)
These are extremely short trips is my point. Less than 24 hours at Old Granny's which is really all we need. Because The Boy(s) are like two bulls in a china shop at her house. And the neighborhood is such that it's not really a kid friendly place to play outside without some serious adult supervision. It would be great if we could go do something, but Old Granny was ran over (seriously) in the mid 1990s, and that injury (they thought at one point they were going to have amputate her foot and part of her leg up to the shin) coupled with advanced age (Old Granny was born in 1923) makes her damn near cripple.
She's fine in her house. Actually, that's not true. She's the poster child for the 'I've fallen and can't get up' Life Alert ad. But she seems to make it ok with a cane in her house. And I've long accepted that moving her (without her consent) would be tantamount to killing her. Because whatever lucidity she has left is tethered to that place. She's lived in her current house since before I was born (1967 for those playing along at home.) And before that she lived in a house that is next door (she now rents that house.) All in all Old Granny has lived there since 1940. Seventy years. And what does that longevity get her. Walking out her front door and being faced with the fact that Danimal wuz here as she hobbles out to get the Sand Springs fucking Leader.
It's sad. And to be responsible for it, and her, is troubling to me on multiple layers.
But this isn't about me. Even though up until now it has seemed as if it were. This is about The Little Warrior. Which everyone says is a min-me. Not only in looks (It is uncanny how closely he resembles me at the same age.) But also in personality. The thing most don't get though is that Wy is like the current adult version of aboynamestu. When I was Wy's age I was extremely bashful. Quiet. I was a lot more like the Older Boy as a kid. So, it's a very strange thing for me to see Wy, who short of having red hair and more freckles could be my double at the same age, yet act like I act, now, personality wise. Which to be honest, worries me at times. Especially his temper. And his sassiness. Which is equal parts good, because he is so cocksure at such a young age, but also bad because he can be a handful. And since our personalities are so much alike, we butt heads, bad.
Which is what was happening on our Fall visit to Old Granny. Wy was being horrible. To be honest, he was being a dick. Not listening to what we were saying. Complaining about being bored which is disrespectful considering our window of time with Old Granny and the fact that she can't get out and about easily. He was wanting his prize. Payoff for his visit. I guess. Again. Dick. Bad.
This was tricked up further by the fact that after spending Saturday at Old Granny's we planned on going to the Tulsa State Fair on Sunday, which was the final day. To add insult to injury, subtext wise, this was Sunday, October 10, 2010, what would have been my Mom's 69th birthday.
The plan was to meet Pops and Janie at the fair when it opened which precluded that we leave Ruby the Dog (who always comes with us on the Oklahoma trips) at Old Granny's for the day. My original plan was to spend the day with Pops and Janie at the fair and then come back to Old Granny's, worn out, eat dinner, go to sleep, wake up, drive back to the Messoplex.
At some point during the day though, the Boy(s) decided they didn't want to deviate from our routine, and said they wanted to stay at Pops house that night. To be fair, Pops house is a lot more fun than Old Granny's. They can play out front (they bring their scooters and go up and down his street which has a nice hill, something that is sadly a novelty for them, based on their flat land Messoplex living.) Pops has wifi. Cable in multiple rooms. A hot tub. And we can get out and about. If I'm honest, I'd rather stay at Pops, too.
So. After a nice, albeit long day at the fair I had to decide if we'd go over to Pops and Janie's for dinner and to stay the night. Or. Stay with Old Granny. And I kept vacillating on what we should do. I knew Old Granny would be sad that we weren't staying. And I felt bad that we'd had her babysit Ruby the Dog, only to come and get her and our shit and split to go see Pops and Janie. On the flip side Pops and Janie really wanted us to come over and spend some time at their home. Which is what the Boy(s) wanted to do.
I guess in a perfect world we could have invited and taken Old Granny to dinner with us over at Pops. But my world, like most, is far from perfect.
In the end I made the hard decision to not stay at Old Granny's, and started loading up the van. Which made Old Granny start to cry.
I should note that Old Granny crying when we are leaving for a visit isn't unusual. She's cried like this as long as I can remember. Which always freaked me out as a kid. I never understood it. Still don't. Really. Because she's a reserved woman in pretty much everything else she does. And it doesn't add up with her personality. In my head. I also feel at some level, she's working it. I can't tell you how many times I've offered to bring her to and fro (in my car so she doesn't have to fly even) to our house so she could have a nice visit with the Team. Or spend a holiday. She always declines. Today. I don't think she could make this type of visit. As I said earlier, whatever lucidity she has left is tied to that house. Get her out of it, and she is quite literally a deer in headlights. But this is a more recent development. There were years when she could have traveled, easily, since she was retired, and had a lot of free time on her hands whereas we have school, work, and live in a city that is 250 miles away.
So. There we are. Me playing the Dad as Sherpa role and packing up all our shit to drive over to Pops (where I'd have to unload it and then repack it again the next morning) while Old Granny sat in her chair crying and telling us she wished we didn't have to leave.
Not fun. And a lot uncomfortable for the Elder Boy and My Lovely Bride. But not so uncomfortable for me (for reasons I've already outlined) and the Younger Boy, because he was being a dick. He continued to show his ass as I finalized packing up and told MLB and The Elder Boy to start getting it together and say their Good Byes to Old Granny.
Side note. Every time we say our good byes. I think. Is this the last time. Our last one? I've been thinking that since 1995. My Mom used to joke, that Old Granny would out live her. Alas. She was right.
As MLB and The Elder Boy said their good byes to Old Granny, I went to the van for something and found Wy dicking around outside.
I asked what he was doing and told him he needed to go inside and say good bye.
At which point he broke down, out of nowhere, and started crying, hard.
I was blown away.
It was the absolute last thing I could have imagined happening.
"What wrong?" I asked him. Clueless. Thinking maybe he felt sick from all the crap he ate at the Fair. Or maybe he had hurt himself messing around in Old Granny's un-kid-friendly yard.
He cried harder.
"Wy?" I asked. Alarmed. "What's the matter? What's going on?"
Nothing. He kept crying.
I stood there dumbfounded. I was about to go get MLB when she came out onto the porch and saw him crying and gave me a look that suggested she thought I had busted his ass based on how he had been acting.
I shrugged and said, "I have no idea what's the matter?!?"
Then looking at Wy I asked for the third time, "Wy. What is the matter?"
"She's all alone." He cried.
"Who?" I asked.
"Old Granny," he sobbed.
Sweet Mother of all that is good. For the second time in less than five minutes I was completely dumbfounded. So I did what I do best, since I suck ass in real time. I asked a question with an obvious answer.
"You're sad because we're leaving Old Granny?"
He shook his head to indicate yes, and sobbed some more.
I was blown away. To the point of inaction. I stood there. Looking at MLB who eventually went into Mom mode and tried to comfort him.
After a few moments I said, "If we're going to go to Pops and Janie's, we need to go, Bub. They'll have dinner ready for us. Let's go say good-bye to Old Granny. We'll come back up and visit."
Nothing. He just stood there.
"Let's go, Bub." I said again. Gently. "We'll come back this Winter to see Old Granny again."
"Give me a minute," he said doing this very Fonzie like move with his arms and hands. "I don't want her to see me crying."
Then giving me a very adult look he added, "It will upset her more."
Fuck me. Hard. I was (and still am) BLOWN away.
So I quietly stood there watching my six and half year old son getting it together so he wouldn't upset Old Granny by crying in front of her.
After he got it together he looked at me, wiped a stray tear out of his eye and said, "Let's go say good bye."
Until I BLOG again...Move the heart, Switch the pace, Look for what seems out of place.
I tell you that for this.
I'm going to lie. Right here. Right now. By doing something I said I wouldn't do. Again.
I'm going to break a self imposed aboynamedstu edict by blogging directly about the Boy(s) in a very Team Tinsley BLOG sort of a way. I consider this lie worthy. My dear dead Mom would classify it a white lie which implies it isn't hurtful. The Boy(s) might disagree. Especially the Younger. Because this is very much about him. And it would certainly embarrass him.
My reasoning is two fold. If you care. Which I guess you do, since you are reading this.
It's a gloriously good moment that I want to save for posterity about the Younger Boy at the tender age of six. And. It's my kwanza gift to you, Dear BLOG reader.
It's long too. Backstory. Which is necessary in a Don Henley getting to the heart of the matter sort of way.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
Oklahoma is OK my ass. Oklahoma was depressing. And a cluster fuck, infrastructure wise. To add insult to injury, the first thing I saw as we pulled into my Grandma's (a.k.a. Old Granny) driveway was that Danimal wuz here. Or there, as it were. In the form of spray painted graffiti on the side of Old Granny's neighbor's house. Which is abandoned. Literally. It's a crack den waiting for crack heads. I wrote about my uneasy relationship with my hometown on the Team Tinsley BLOG way back in 2005. Back then, on a scale of 1 to 10, I'd say my unease was a six, maybe seven. Today, it's a fucking ten.
One of the reasons is that since I wrote this my Mom died. Old Granny is my Mom's Mom. Who was an only child. Like me. Pretty much everyone else in Old Granny's life is dead. Or in such sorry shape that they don't get around all that good. So it's me watching over her in a very remote sort of a way. A few years ago, after we set up that I'd be watching over Old Granny in a legal and financial sort of a way, in addition to being her Grandson sort of a way, I made a promise to myself that I'd get up to see her at least four times a year. I'd visit at least once each season to get my eyes on her to see how she was doing and give her a chance to see the Boy(s). This promise has been a lot easier to live up to since my Dad moved back to the area which is again, a result of my Mom dying. I don't think she'd ever have returned to the area. But I digress. My point is I can now kill two birds with one road trip. I can see both Old Granny and Pops. Which makes life a little easier for us since we often get sucked into today's overextended hectic paced way of living.
How we do these trips is like this. Day 1 is with Old Granny. Day 2 is with Pops (and Janie.) Generally we get up early and drive to Old Granny's. Spend most of the day with her. Take her to dinner. Usually the Rib Crib. She then takes the Boy(s) to Wal-Mart for a prize (read gift.) Mind you both the Rib Crib and Wal-Mart are a block from her house. We then come home and try and sleep in her cramped little house (in beds that are older than me.) When we wake up, we usually stay for an hour or so, and then we're off to Pops (who lives 25 minutes away.)
These are extremely short trips is my point. Less than 24 hours at Old Granny's which is really all we need. Because The Boy(s) are like two bulls in a china shop at her house. And the neighborhood is such that it's not really a kid friendly place to play outside without some serious adult supervision. It would be great if we could go do something, but Old Granny was ran over (seriously) in the mid 1990s, and that injury (they thought at one point they were going to have amputate her foot and part of her leg up to the shin) coupled with advanced age (Old Granny was born in 1923) makes her damn near cripple.
She's fine in her house. Actually, that's not true. She's the poster child for the 'I've fallen and can't get up' Life Alert ad. But she seems to make it ok with a cane in her house. And I've long accepted that moving her (without her consent) would be tantamount to killing her. Because whatever lucidity she has left is tethered to that place. She's lived in her current house since before I was born (1967 for those playing along at home.) And before that she lived in a house that is next door (she now rents that house.) All in all Old Granny has lived there since 1940. Seventy years. And what does that longevity get her. Walking out her front door and being faced with the fact that Danimal wuz here as she hobbles out to get the Sand Springs fucking Leader.
It's sad. And to be responsible for it, and her, is troubling to me on multiple layers.
But this isn't about me. Even though up until now it has seemed as if it were. This is about The Little Warrior. Which everyone says is a min-me. Not only in looks (It is uncanny how closely he resembles me at the same age.) But also in personality. The thing most don't get though is that Wy is like the current adult version of aboynamestu. When I was Wy's age I was extremely bashful. Quiet. I was a lot more like the Older Boy as a kid. So, it's a very strange thing for me to see Wy, who short of having red hair and more freckles could be my double at the same age, yet act like I act, now, personality wise. Which to be honest, worries me at times. Especially his temper. And his sassiness. Which is equal parts good, because he is so cocksure at such a young age, but also bad because he can be a handful. And since our personalities are so much alike, we butt heads, bad.
Which is what was happening on our Fall visit to Old Granny. Wy was being horrible. To be honest, he was being a dick. Not listening to what we were saying. Complaining about being bored which is disrespectful considering our window of time with Old Granny and the fact that she can't get out and about easily. He was wanting his prize. Payoff for his visit. I guess. Again. Dick. Bad.
This was tricked up further by the fact that after spending Saturday at Old Granny's we planned on going to the Tulsa State Fair on Sunday, which was the final day. To add insult to injury, subtext wise, this was Sunday, October 10, 2010, what would have been my Mom's 69th birthday.
The plan was to meet Pops and Janie at the fair when it opened which precluded that we leave Ruby the Dog (who always comes with us on the Oklahoma trips) at Old Granny's for the day. My original plan was to spend the day with Pops and Janie at the fair and then come back to Old Granny's, worn out, eat dinner, go to sleep, wake up, drive back to the Messoplex.
At some point during the day though, the Boy(s) decided they didn't want to deviate from our routine, and said they wanted to stay at Pops house that night. To be fair, Pops house is a lot more fun than Old Granny's. They can play out front (they bring their scooters and go up and down his street which has a nice hill, something that is sadly a novelty for them, based on their flat land Messoplex living.) Pops has wifi. Cable in multiple rooms. A hot tub. And we can get out and about. If I'm honest, I'd rather stay at Pops, too.
So. After a nice, albeit long day at the fair I had to decide if we'd go over to Pops and Janie's for dinner and to stay the night. Or. Stay with Old Granny. And I kept vacillating on what we should do. I knew Old Granny would be sad that we weren't staying. And I felt bad that we'd had her babysit Ruby the Dog, only to come and get her and our shit and split to go see Pops and Janie. On the flip side Pops and Janie really wanted us to come over and spend some time at their home. Which is what the Boy(s) wanted to do.
I guess in a perfect world we could have invited and taken Old Granny to dinner with us over at Pops. But my world, like most, is far from perfect.
In the end I made the hard decision to not stay at Old Granny's, and started loading up the van. Which made Old Granny start to cry.
I should note that Old Granny crying when we are leaving for a visit isn't unusual. She's cried like this as long as I can remember. Which always freaked me out as a kid. I never understood it. Still don't. Really. Because she's a reserved woman in pretty much everything else she does. And it doesn't add up with her personality. In my head. I also feel at some level, she's working it. I can't tell you how many times I've offered to bring her to and fro (in my car so she doesn't have to fly even) to our house so she could have a nice visit with the Team. Or spend a holiday. She always declines. Today. I don't think she could make this type of visit. As I said earlier, whatever lucidity she has left is tied to that house. Get her out of it, and she is quite literally a deer in headlights. But this is a more recent development. There were years when she could have traveled, easily, since she was retired, and had a lot of free time on her hands whereas we have school, work, and live in a city that is 250 miles away.
So. There we are. Me playing the Dad as Sherpa role and packing up all our shit to drive over to Pops (where I'd have to unload it and then repack it again the next morning) while Old Granny sat in her chair crying and telling us she wished we didn't have to leave.
Not fun. And a lot uncomfortable for the Elder Boy and My Lovely Bride. But not so uncomfortable for me (for reasons I've already outlined) and the Younger Boy, because he was being a dick. He continued to show his ass as I finalized packing up and told MLB and The Elder Boy to start getting it together and say their Good Byes to Old Granny.
Side note. Every time we say our good byes. I think. Is this the last time. Our last one? I've been thinking that since 1995. My Mom used to joke, that Old Granny would out live her. Alas. She was right.
As MLB and The Elder Boy said their good byes to Old Granny, I went to the van for something and found Wy dicking around outside.
I asked what he was doing and told him he needed to go inside and say good bye.
At which point he broke down, out of nowhere, and started crying, hard.
I was blown away.
It was the absolute last thing I could have imagined happening.
"What wrong?" I asked him. Clueless. Thinking maybe he felt sick from all the crap he ate at the Fair. Or maybe he had hurt himself messing around in Old Granny's un-kid-friendly yard.
He cried harder.
"Wy?" I asked. Alarmed. "What's the matter? What's going on?"
Nothing. He kept crying.
I stood there dumbfounded. I was about to go get MLB when she came out onto the porch and saw him crying and gave me a look that suggested she thought I had busted his ass based on how he had been acting.
I shrugged and said, "I have no idea what's the matter?!?"
Then looking at Wy I asked for the third time, "Wy. What is the matter?"
"She's all alone." He cried.
"Who?" I asked.
"Old Granny," he sobbed.
Sweet Mother of all that is good. For the second time in less than five minutes I was completely dumbfounded. So I did what I do best, since I suck ass in real time. I asked a question with an obvious answer.
"You're sad because we're leaving Old Granny?"
He shook his head to indicate yes, and sobbed some more.
I was blown away. To the point of inaction. I stood there. Looking at MLB who eventually went into Mom mode and tried to comfort him.
After a few moments I said, "If we're going to go to Pops and Janie's, we need to go, Bub. They'll have dinner ready for us. Let's go say good-bye to Old Granny. We'll come back up and visit."
Nothing. He just stood there.
"Let's go, Bub." I said again. Gently. "We'll come back this Winter to see Old Granny again."
"Give me a minute," he said doing this very Fonzie like move with his arms and hands. "I don't want her to see me crying."
Then giving me a very adult look he added, "It will upset her more."
Fuck me. Hard. I was (and still am) BLOWN away.
So I quietly stood there watching my six and half year old son getting it together so he wouldn't upset Old Granny by crying in front of her.
After he got it together he looked at me, wiped a stray tear out of his eye and said, "Let's go say good bye."
Until I BLOG again...Move the heart, Switch the pace, Look for what seems out of place.
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