i got one of those 'getting to know you' emails recently and it got me to thinking about how things have turned out for me - i will soon be 50 and there are days i don't feel older than 25 going on 14 - memories of my childhood are as fresh as if they had happened yesterday - yet, i have a hard time with what i actually did yesterday - i don't know what that says about growing old - it doesn't really concern me - it seems to concern those around me more than it does me - sometimes its the way i choose to remember - i'll remember the good times - forget the bad - i'll remember how loving momma and daddy were to one another - not how they fought or why - i'll remember how close bubba and i were - not how it was when he was mean - and i'll remember how much love there was when we got together as a big 'family' and had these week-end long gatherings and bar-b-ques with everyone we ever knew in attendance and all the kids sleeping here and there - spread out on folding beds all over the big front porch of the house on the hill - and not the parade of 'uncles' who took advantage of free liquor and loving children.
i'll remember - i was a little boy with little boy dreams - dreams of sunshine - dreams of stardust - dream of cornfields and dreams of safety ...

400+ acres in the middle of waco - the most beautiful setting - acres upon acres of trees reaching for the sky - cliffs and overhangs - white rock - jagged and thrilling - at one time, and maybe it still is, it was the largest natural municipal park in the southwest - it was dedicated as a park in may of 1910 - donated to the city by the cameron family - william cameron - its the type of setting that may have been designed or envisioned by frederick law olmsted - the same guy who designed central park in new york -
they even have a lovers leap - with a legend - about young native americans leaping to their death in the name of love.
we used to hold family reunions there - in a club house - high on a hill - surrounded by trees and laughter -
when i was about 9 or 10 - bubba and i - and a cousin - ventured away from the families and crowd - scouting - back when you let your kids explore without fear for their safety - there was a beautiful timber staircase with intricate timber railings leading down the side of the hill to the paved parking lot below - the stairs were short and winding - bubba took a turn and under the railings he skipped - i followed - cuz was already half way down - having long ago abandoned the staircase of trees laid into the side of the hill - bubba and i were about a quarter of the way down when we were attacked by ground hornets - i don't remember knowing what it was that was biting me so viciously - just that it hurt like the dickens and all i could think to do was drop and roll - i didn't know where the stings were coming from, i just knew they were hurting bad - and someone was crying - loud - and people were screaming - and leaves were sticking to my face - and i had to get out of my clothes - i was running and rolling and running at the same time - then i was in the middle of the parking lot - screaming and crying - the pain was intense - strangers were running up to me - comforting me - but i wanted my momma and daddy - the rest of it is all a blur - i remember the doctor saying i was lucky - and i remember thinking - he was out of his mind - i was in more pain than i could ever remember and every 'little' part on my little body was swollen and puffy - my eyes were almost swollen shut - my who-ha was swollen - bubba and i had stings over 70% of our bodies.
that's one of those stories that people who tell, begin it by saying - remember that time -
still it's a beautiful park. if you are ever driving through waco - stop and take a look - i would just be more likely to lock my doors today.

at the top of the hall closet - was a small overnight suitcase - paperboard - striped pattern - inside, were all the scraps of paper from daddys life. when he died - my sisters - the youngest and oldest - disagreed over the sacredness of that suitcase - we all knew it existed - no one had ever dared to peek inside - it held untold pieces of his life - our lives - we whispered - as brothers and sisters often do - it held the adoption papers of whichever one of us seemed less at the time - later, when we packed momma up and moved her from their home to a new home for herself - all her own - momma gave me daddys suitcase - i had it for a week before i opened it - and then it was by accident - it had become so old and worn that at some point daddy had tied a strip of t-shirt fabric around it to help hold it shut - so i sat down in the middle of my bedroom floor and - dealt.

there were no adoption papers - there were newspaper articles on distant cousins - images of people who looked like someone i should know - but sadly didn't - wedding announcements - birth announcements - paycheck stubs - union cards - various wallets - cigarette lighters with his name and initials scratched into the sides - a permanent forever signature - as i rubbed my finger tips across those scratches - my mind wandered ..

what matters most... when all is said and done .. it's not the things you hang onto or have that make you who you are - i don't think - i spend a good part of my day sorting through treasures, trinkets and junk people leave behind - things they thought they couldn't do without - pieces of lives that in some way helped define a who or a where - the stories i encounter would depress many - lives torn apart and discarded - it's hard sometimes to make the decision to toss something, something someone thought enough to place behind lock and key, away from danger and harm - mostly cards from grandmothers, letters from sons and daughters barred from society, photos of forgotten children, a toy, an odd brooch or two.

what i know - hold what is here and now. reach out and say

i love you-

i miss you

and

i am sorry if i hurt you.

and in doing this, i think we become who we were meant to be.

my grandmother - mother to my father - sina dimple crockett - most everyone called her 'dimple' - some would add an 's' at the end of that. we kids called her 'Gran'.

my earliest memory of her - honestly, is being spanked by her - or as we used to say, 'whooped'.

her father - who we called 'poppa' - insisted she spank me after i 'threw a fit' - or he would do it for her - so she spanked me - sent me outside to pull a switch from the tree in the front yard - then she grabbed one hand and she and i danced around the trunk of that tree for what seemed like an eternity.

i remember being more shocked that she would whip me, than anything that had ever happened in my young life. i remember thinking that i would tell my daddy on her - i remember crying. and i remember marching back into the house - poppas house - and picking up each of the raisins i had thrown on the floor when i was given them instead of the candy i requested.

i am not sure when the photo was taken, but that is Gran before she was Gran - when she was just Sina Dimple Crockett... to me, she says Texas.

sisters - middle sis and baby sis - east texas - april 1965 -
i have always been a little jealous of the bond i witness between sisters - sisters here and sisters there. sisters through thick and thin. sister woman. sister friend. emotions to the surface and raw.

tried, but never felt that bond with my brothers - guess it was because i always felt 'different'. older brother and i - were so very close when we were younger - he fell and i bruised - i cried and he shed the tears - and then our roads divided - he went down one path and i went down another. in the eyes of an outsider - one good and one bad. which was which. i miss him.

baby brother and i - so far apart in ages that i often feel more parent than brother - so i measure what i say and how. i see my father in him and wonder does he see the same in me - hows work - the family and i like your new car -

i am not good at - comforting without emotion - solving without involvement - being a 'man' - a good little soldier - i work on it - but still feel i fall short -

i think i have sister blood in me -

it snowed here this morning - here in central texas - just a light dusting of powder, on anything that faced ft. worth - brought back a flood of memories - i don't think it snowed that much when we were growing up - but i do remember two occasions -one involved snow ice cream - daddy sent us into the side yard to gather enough snow - i remember thinking it was a joke he was pulling on us - he was good at pulling jokes and tricks on ya' - still i was intrigued - making such a sweet treat from snow - so there we went - out into the side yard - the one less traveled - eagerly, with the BIG brown and gold colonial pattern pyrex bowl in hand - scooping up
freshly fallen snow with our arsenal of serving spoons and batman jelly glasses - stopping to throw a hastily assembled snow ball at one another and hurrying back inside - gathering around the chrome kitchen table - little ones, knees first on the matching chairs - watching as he mixed the cream and the sugar and the vanilla - waiting - listening for that moment when he would say "Ta Da!" or "Presto Change-O" - him telling us every step he took - the reason behind every turn of the big wooden spoon in the bowl - waiting for him to tap that spoon on the side of the bowl - like a dinner bell signal - didn't that mean it was done - ready - quickly we took our places in line - youngest to oldest - sometimes - sometimes ladies first - he liked to change it up like that - we, patiently waiting for our scoop of creamy sweet snow ice cream - such a sweet treat - and it was free - "didn't cost us a dime", as daddy would say and then as we sat indian style in the middle of the living room floor - we kids would discuss who had the biggest hand in helping create what we were enjoying - mostly, we would agree, it was God.

(the pic - my grandmother - sina dimple crockett rash - with her father - my great grandfather - thomas absolum 'abb' crockett)

i voted yesterday - not that it was the first time i have ever voted - but there was something - special - about what took place yesterday.
there was a sense of history being made. i marked the spot in my mind - so 20 years from now - i can point to it and say, that is where i voted and made my choice - her or him. that is where the newness originated - for me.

i remember growing up, votes and voting seemed like a 'secret' process. i don't remember daddy or momma ever discussing with anyone who they voted for. maybe they did, i just don't remember.

i do remember him saying, if you don't stand up - you can't be counted.

i believe he would be happy with the way things are going -

(the pic - my daddy on the right and a buddy of his - sometime during the korean war)