The Moments - Chapter 21: Even Though We Can't See Vern, He's Always There

              I didn’t really “fall apart” when my Granddaddy died.  From the time Mama told me he was gone (which was expected for a few days) until his funeral, I only remember crying a little once.  It wasn’t that I didn’t feel the loss or that I wasn’t in mourning.  Unfortunately, the last year or so of his life had seen him suffer so much, physically and mentally, primarily due to the effects of Alzheimer’s disease, to the point that my immediate reaction was of relief for him.  He was out of pain.  He could be himself again.  I missed Granddaddy and hated the idea of this world without him, but I knew that none of us here could help him anymore and that he was overdue for the relief that only God could have waiting for him with those he already missed from this life.  At the funeral home, I told several people that I knew he was alright and that I’d never felt more at ease about death in my life.  That was in mid-May of 2009.  Back then, I often recorded movies and documentaries on my DVR to watch on relaxing weekends or after work if I had no other plans.  A few weeks after Granddaddy’s death, Nashville Public Television ran the documentary “He Touched Me: The Gospel Music of Elvis Presley” (an amazing program).  I had seen portions of it before but looked forward to watching it in its entirety, complete with interviews of Elvis’s friends and associates and clips of them joining the King of Rock ‘n Roll to sing the music he loved more than any other.  A flood of memories consumed me as I heard those accounts of a musical era of which Granddaddy was a part and about which he had told me stories and as I heard the kind of quartet voices I grew up around singing some of the songs I had first heard at church with Granddaddy leading the congregation or from the Gospel quartet in which he sang tenor (nobody sang like the Rhodes Brothers).  As the show ended and the credits rolled with the full recording of Elvis singing “He Touched Me,” I sat alone in my apartment and wept as if I had just then learned that my Granddaddy was gone.  I fully felt it.  And I was reminded that, for me, the day Granddaddy died was, to borrow from Don McLean, the day the music died.

 

               Two-and-a-half years later, I had a son.  One of my greatest regrets is that Joey did not get to know all of my grandparents in this life.  They each would have loved him.  However, I think he has helped me maintain a connection with them as he has grown and I have watched his personality evolve – particularly with my Granddaddy Vernon.  I guess I generated some of those connection points, but most have been through Joey’s own nature and actions.  A while before Joey was born, I asked my Grandmama if I could borrow a couple of Granddaddy’s CDs for a while.  They were the last two gifts I had given him – a greatest hits compilation of The Statler Brothers (we used to watch their variety show on TNN) and a 2-disc “Hee Haw Gospel Quartet” collection.  I listened to them a lot on my own.  After Joey was born, I was picky about what would play on the car stereo if he was with me.  Even a radio station I trusted may have thrown something in that wouldn’t be good for the senses of my few-month-old baby boy.  So, most of the time during Joey’s first year, I would rotate between the same four or five trusted CDs when I wanted to have music in the car for us.  The most frequently played were the “Hee Haw” Gospel CDs and a couple of Elvis CDs that I had long possessed (we know the impact hearing the King had!).  Many of the songs on the “Hee Haw” set are songs I grew up singing in church.  Beyond wanting Joey to hear some of those great hymns very early, I also saw playing them as giving him a little dose of what it would’ve been like to grow up around his Great-Granddaddy Vernon. 

               After Joey was big enough to ride in a forward-facing carseat, he noticed another link to his Great-Granddaddy.  Shortly after he passed away, Grandmama divided up some of Granddaddy’s jewelry among the men of the family.  I got a simple and stylish gold ring with a rectangular 6-diamond set that fits me perfectly.  From the time it was given, I took to wearing it constantly.  After Joey started sitting in the car in a position by which he could see and interact with me more, I would often turn around and tickle his feet or make funny faces at him when we were stopped.  As the months progressed and his ability to respond developed, he would say more detailed things in response what I said or did.  Not long after he was eighteen months old, whenever I would reach my right hand back toward him, he would grab it and say, “Daddy got the ring on.”  Eventually, he would start grabbing my ring finger and attempt to pull it off.  Sometimes, in or out of the car, when Joey would focus his attention on Granddaddy’s ring, I would remind him who it belonged to and tell him that it will be his someday.  As many times as I heard that line from Joey over several months, I sometimes say “Daddy got the ring on,” to myself as I put it on in the morning.

               The mornings have also seen some other Vernon-isms play out between Joey and me.  When my brother and cousin and I were kids, we used to crack up when Granddaddy would sit at the table and make funny faces at us while we were getting ready to eat (and at other times).  Sometimes, it was just a goofy blank stare, but he was a master of it.  I’m reminded of that now when Joey breaks out in random goofy faces at the kitchen table, often looking like a young version of Granddaddy and making some of the very same faces at me.  I assume it will be quite a while before Joey can push his false teeth halfway out of his mouth waiting for someone to look over and laugh (Cousin Shane and I can recall a time when Granddaddy dozed off in the middle of that gag.).  A face at the table, whether entertaining at the moment or not, is primarily there to be fed.  A frequent culinary practice of Granddaddy’s was to add peanut butter to anything on which it was remotely appropriate.  My favorite was always Pop-Tarts.  Over the last couple of years, Joey has seen me do the same when we eat the all-American toaster pastry and seems fascinated by it, though he doesn’t request it for his own.  Anytime he points out that I have peanut butter on my Pop-Tart, I remind him, “This is how your Great-Granddaddy used to do it.  And it’s good!”

               Naturally, to me, the most significant way in which Joey exemplifies his descent from Granddaddy is through his love of music and his fascination with musical instruments.  In advance of his second Christmas, when he could really define things he wanted, all Joey would ask Santa to bring was “a guitar and a microphone.”  His priorities were clear and he never added to the list.  Joey stayed attached to his guitars and microphones in both his homes well after the Christmas trees were put away.  Not allowing this to simply be a fad, Joey named “an Elvis guitar” as one of the two things for which he asked the following year (last Christmas).  He likes other instruments too, but the guitar is tops in Joey’s world – just as it was for his Great-Granddaddy.  Granddaddy was a great picker and always appeared to be having the most fun when there was a guitar in his hand.  He got a lot of pleasure out of singing, too.  But an extra light went on when he held his Martin guitar and put it to work.  I think, to him that was the ultimate tool of a showman.  Joey seems to feel that way as well.  Whether Joey is actually strumming one of his guitars or simply holding it to feel “in the zone” while hearing a song or watching an Elvis movie, it is his ultimate accessory.  Joey also clearly loves to sing, and will follow along with any song he knows on a CD or movie before quoting the spoken lines.  For all the vocally and musically-talented individuals that can be counted among my mother’s family, I am nowhere near being one.  Granddaddy tried to teach me how to play guitar a couple times and, while I’m sorry I didn’t try more intently, I always maintained that I didn’t/don’t have the mental capacity for it.  I am glad to see, at least now, that Joey shows such potential.  Maybe he won’t be a practicing musician at all.  Maybe he will become a chart-topping professional.  If he does anything with music, I hope he will just follow in Granddaddy’s footsteps and use that talent and interest to bless and entertain others with a smile that floats from his mouth to the ears of others. 

               After realizing that Joey had become quite a fan of Ernest P. Worrell, my Grandmama once asked me, “Do you think Joey believes that Ernest is talking to your Granddaddy when he says ‘Hey Vern!’?”  I told her I didn’t think so, but that it was possible.  For a few months, during his most frequent Ernest viewing, Joey said and asked some things that suggested he might indeed have thought so.  Between the fact that I don’t commonly refer to Granddaddy as “Granddaddy Vernon” and that you can’t see the Vern that Ernest knows, that phase ended quickly and with little confusion.  I guess Vern was the ultimate viewer of Ernest’s life, though.  And, if folks in Heaven can look down over us here, then our Vernon (and even Ernest, in the form of the late great Jim Varney) may be watching Joey and me as we experience life together.  Whether he can see us now or not and regardless of the fact that Joey has never seen him in the flesh, Granddaddy is always around – in spirit and in memory and in how Joey brings him in front of us through all the little ways he “becomes him.”  I look forward to seeing my Granddaddy again someday.  But, I am happy to find him here so often through my son.  Perhaps it was fitting that hearing Elvis sing “He Touched Me” touched me so deeply after losing my Granddaddy in 2009.  Little did I know that a young Elvis devotee would bring part of Granddaddy back for me and keep “the day the music died” from being quite so final.