TODAY WE HAD LUNCH at a place called Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen. It's sort of a New Orleans / Cajun inspired place. It reminded me of trips to Louisiana to visit my Dad's family. Those roots start in the northern part of the state in a small community called Dubach, and stretch south all the way to New Iberia, north to the Memphis area, west to the DFW area and then north again to Oklahoma. My memories of visiting as a kid are deep and mysterious. On the long drive from Tulsa my little brother Rusty and I were prepped for each visit. "Remember to always say, 'Yes Ma'am. No Ma'am. Yes Sir. No Sir.' At least TRY every food on your plate; without comment." This was an adventure in itself. Meals would almost always include something newly caught or shot. Usually there was a bowl of rice and something called butter beans and other foods foreign to a Tulsa boy's palate. It was all, at the same time, elegant, exotic and delicious.
There was a mystique about it, a culture I could imagine belonging to Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn; or Jem and Scout Finch. The tall pine trees and still waters, the patterns of speech and choice of words; spending time there gave me a glimpse of how my Dad might have experienced his boyhood. I wish we could have spent more time with our cousins and aunts and uncles from that side of the family tree.
Of my Dad's siblings, only my Aunt Betty is living. Although I didn't get to spend a lot of time with her, the time we had was life-changing. She is a wonderful musician, teacher and encourager. She was a devoted leader in her church. She helped teach me the value of a lifelong pursuit of music and she taught me the value of the role of women in the church. Aunt Betty is proof that not only should women be leaders in church, but if there had not been strong women leaders, the church would have suffered more than it has already. She epitomizes a no-nonsense kind of unconditional grace.
One of my favorite memories was a time when I was 14 or so. I was playing drums in a band that was actually getting to play a few gigs: School dances, Teen Towns, Battles of the Bands, etc. It created a bit of angst because my Dad was a Baptist pastor, and at that time, Baptists and dancing were kind of like me and crawfish etouffee--they wanted nothing to do with it.
There was a guy from Dubach who was enjoying some local fame as a rock musician. He and his band practiced at the long-shuttered old movie theatre in town. My Aunt Betty had been his music teacher at school. We were in Dubach for a visit and she contacted him and arranged for me to sit in on one of the rehearsals. I vividly remember sitting there with my Aunt Betty while the band played, "I Had Too Much To Dream Last Night", and thinking: if my Aunt Betty says that it's okay for a baptist kid to play rock and roll, then it's okay with God too. The drummer even let me sit in on one of the songs. Stuff like that makes a kid love music and his Aunt Betty.
I'm proud to have Louisiana roots, even though those roots include having the Fuller hairline. I'm grateful for the memories of fun times with family there; with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins who lived the southern culture of respect and reverence but also enjoyed occasional irreverence and a good, hearty laugh.
At the Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen, My Amazing-Missus and I were splitting an entree. I know she would have chosen the Shrimp and Grits (her roots are in South Carolina). I'm confused about grits and something she likes to eat called Malt-O-Meal "cereal". I like food that I can chew at least once. Anyway, since we're now retirees living on a fixed income, when we go to a place like Pappadeaux we're going to split a dish: it's smart financially and reduces the likelihood of the sin of gluttony. I have tried grits. It was one of those things that could show up on the breakfast table in Louisiana where we were required to try a taste of everything.
We were having lunch with a couple. Follow closely now: the guy of this couple is My Amazing-Missus' oldest brother, whom we call Hugh, but everyone else in the world calls Fred. The lady is my first cousin, Coral, who is the daughter of my mother's sister, my other Aunt Betty. Coral and Hugh met at our wedding and later had one of their own. They spend the winter in South Texas and we are here to visit for a few weeks.
It's a great match. Coral and Arlene sew and sew and sew. Hugh and I sit and solve the world's problems. Then we take them to Hobby Lobby and some obscure, out-of-the-way quilt shop where they can restock on thread, fabric, and inspiration while we follow them around.
Yesterday we were in a new quilt shop find. Hugh pointed to a quilt hanging on the wall. "That one is pretty," he said. "That's your basic double wedding ring pattern," I replied. He called our spouses over for verification, discovered I was correct and then prescribed a quick trip to Harbor Freight to somehow recapture a bit of our manhood.
As I said, Coral and I are cousins. We grew up living next door to each other. I was raised dually by my parents and my Aunt Betty and Uncle Bob. I feel almost guilty having TWO aunt Bettys when some people have never had even one. My Louisiana Aunt Betty is tall and lean. My Tulsa Aunt Betty was neither, but outside of my own parents I don't think there is anyone who loved me more. She too, was always the encourager, especially when it came to music. She sealed the deal for me being able to be a baptist rock and roll drummer by arranging for our band to play at a youth group dance in their church's fellowship hall. Lightning didn't strike the church, and as far as I know, among the teens there that night, no children were conceived.
Most of the cousins on my Mom's side lived in Tulsa. On summer Saturday nights we would gather for burgers or tacos, a ball game and catching fireflies. My Uncle Vernon would bring his hair trimmers and give us a flat top haircut so that all we would need to be ready for Sunday school the next morning was a bath and shoeshine. It was an idyllic time and place to grow up.
The only cousins that we didn't grow up near were those of my Uncle Bill and Aunt Joyce. They moved to California when we were young. Chuck, the oldest of their crew, and I were close to the same age, along with our cousin Tom. I envied both of these guys. I could just imagine Chuck surfing and skateboarding in Southern California and how boss that would be. Tom was a great athlete. Did I mention I played in the band?
It's funny how having time and space in the warm sunshine of south Texas can cause an old man to remember and ramble on about family and growing up. My Uncle Bill still lives in California. Just as my Louisiana Aunt Betty is the only living sibling of my Dad's, Uncle Bill is the last of my Mom's. Their brother, my Uncle David (and my namesake) died too soon and too young, even though he lived a long, good life. I wish I had just a portion of his amazing sense of humor. He always called me David Lee, he was the only one that did. I appreciated the uniqueness of that bond.
When our Mom passed, Uncle Bill was so gracious and helped us to make sure that Mom and Dad could be buried near family. I wish Uncle Bill and my Louisiana Aunt Betty could live forever. I'm afraid of the complete loss of a generation of family. But, I'm grateful that we are family.
