Papaw

Seated in a little breakfast nook this morning I heard a song on the radio about a grandson and his grandfather. It reminded me of my Papaw. I have not thought of him in sometime. He died when I was a sophomore in high school. I count his death as one of the top three most grievous events in my life. I wept and wept for hours when I heard. Unconsolable weeping.

I still remember my last conversation with him. He was in the hospital battling leukemia. I asked how he was doing. He replied, "I wouldn't win a foot race." I told him I would run for the two of us. He died before I ever got to see him again.

He died before he ever saw me play a down of high school football. He had been a great athlete in his younger days starring in football, basketball, baseball and track. I idolized him. He was the closest thing to a father I ever had and he died way too soon for me. Just writing about him brings back a surge of emotions.

He bought me my first baseball glove. He taught me how to throw and catch. I can see us now in mind in the backyard working on catching grounders and fly balls. A tradition I passed onto my boys. Papaw and I used to lay in his bed watching Monday Night Football or baseball games. I treasure those memories.

Out of all his grandkids I was the only one who stuck with athletics. He saw that drive in me and I think it gave us a special bond. Not that he didn't love all his grandkids but he and I shared something special. That is why his death hit me the hardest. I am saddened he never saw me play for his beloved Lufkin Panthers or in college. As a young athlete all I wanted to do was to make him proud.

The last year he got to see me play he never saw me play. I rode the bench that year. Played second string and hated it. I vowed it would not happen again. I devoted myself to weight lifting and running while my friends went separate ways.  I never played second string for an entire season again all the way through my last year of playing in college. It pangs me that he did not see me. I would have loved to have him met at the end of a game. Even if he offered constructive criticism. I wish he could have been there. I am betting he wished the same thing while he battled the disease that eventually took his life.

He was a hard man. He worked hard. We lived modestly. I saw we lived modestly because much of my childhood we lived with my grandparents. He used to take me to get a haircut. I felt like a grown up man when he took me into the barbershop. He and I used to go "take care of business." He took me to an old fashioned meat market. We used to go to farmer's markets and stop off at vegetable stands. I never knew what taking care of business meant but I felt honored he invited me to go with him and showed me off to all the people he knew around town.

I know Papaw loved me. I do not doubt that one bit. He never told me though. He also never told me even once he was proud of me. No mater how I tried, how hard I worked, or trained he never told me he loved me or was proud of me. I found out later when he died from one of his old football teammates that he bragged on me to them all the time when they got together. They used to meet once a month for the "Old Panthers Club." He took me to eat with them once. They swapped stories while I buried my head in my food. I did not know what an honor it was for me attend that meeting. I do now.

Papaw took me to my first football game. We set on the front row. As a youngster It felt more impressive to walk into Abe Martin Stadium for the first time than when I walked into AT&T Stadium where the Dallas Cowboys play. The Panthers won that night and from that moment I was hooked on the game of football. No way I could have known that Jesus would save me and transform my life in that very stadium several years later.

Every little boy and little girl ought to know the joy of having a Papaw. Sadly my four sons have never known that. Both their grandfathers died before they could meet them. I'm thankful for a sweet couple named Joe and Jan who have sort of adopted my boys as their other grandchildren. We usually have lunch with them each Sunday after worship. I thank God for those two. Joe is the closest thing to a Papaw my boys will ever know. He loves them and they love him.

I am determined I will work hard to be a good Papaw if given the chance. I am grateful for this trip down memory lane. One day I hope to give my future grandchildren just a fraction of what my Papaw gave me. Papaw I love you and miss you. I will see you one day. Meet me at the Pearly Gates.