Road Trip

Mom and I packed up and drove to Grenada Friday. We visited my great aunt and uncle (Mom's aunt on her dad's side). My uncle turned 80 on Thursday. A few years ago, he was diagnosed with Parkinson's and Alzheimer's. I didn't know what I would find. When I was little, they were always the fun ones, the ones I wanted to be with. In the sense that we all have to accept that our parents are imperfect human beings, sinful and fallible, I have had to accept this with my aunt, especially (she is the more talkative one so I know her better), realizing that it is not she who has changed, but I as I have grown older and ceased to see anyone through rose-colored glasses.

We were there for one night and left early Saturday, but while there, my uncle talked to me some. He has always been quiet, with a bit of a stutter. When you are a child, you don't think to ask people about themselves, but Mom and my aunt went out to WalMart. My aunt warned me that he might not talk to me; she was doubtful that he even knew who I was. I sat next to him on the couch and read him a chapter of a really funny book that I like, trying to see if he would take it in. I finished and asked if he wanted to keep going or take a break. He said, "Let's take a break." Then, he asked me how my husband was doing at the bank, showing me that he knew a little bit of who I was. I seized the opportunity to ask him about himself. I had read an article about how while Alzheimer's patients may not remember what is going on from day to day, they can often remember their past.

Well, I got treated to more knowledge of my uncle than I have ever known. I got to hear about his days as a disability insurance salesman and how he would go visit his clients in the hospital to give them a hard time about "spending his money" when they were sick. He told me about how he had a lot of black clients and how he got along well with them -- remember, this is an 80-year-old man who lived through Civil Rights and integration, and it wasn't the norm to be friendly with "the blacks", as they used to call the group of people that my generation looks at and so many see no difference. I am thankful for how far we have come. I can see where my uncle would have had good relationships with so many black people. He is a sweet man.

He told me about swimming in the creek when he was little and the sound the snakes would make when they dropped into the water. He told me about how his grandparents raised him (I didn't know this!) on their farm outside of Hattiesburg, growing potatoes, corn and watermelons. He talked about how his grandfather would put a big X on a watermelon and he could share those with his friends but they were seed watermelons and they had to save ALL the seeds for the next years' planting. He talked about plowing barefoot behind the big red mule who only went fast when she was headed back to the barn. He shared about his first job driving an 18-wheeler for his dad with his friend who went by the name "Sports Model", another of my uncle's good relationships with a black friend. He told me about getting drafted to Korea, and how he serviced telephone poles on the base in Seoul.

I was so fascinated by my uncle but also by thoughts of what we call "a simpler time". While things were simpler because of lack of technology, there were still broken families, broken homes, broken people. The human condition has not changed, though there is more opportunity for evil to rear it's head now because we accept it's presence so much more readily. My uncle has never talked much and apparently has become even more silent. I am so thankful that I got over not knowing what to expect and went, and I am thankful for the window of time that I was there to hear the stories of this quiet man! Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I feel so blessed.