RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT..... My HEROES growing up.

RAMBLINGS IN THE NIGHT…..My Heroes growing up.

What is a hero? I looked up the definition of hero in the dictionary, just to give you what it means.   A hero is a person, typically a man, who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities. HMMM very interesting, description of a hero. Why is it typically a man? Women can be heroes. I understand why a hero is admired. They are usually courageous and brave. They also possess qualities that noble and qualities we wish to see in ourselves.

Now you are probably wondering what the hell I am going to be talking about tonight. If you asked someone today who their hero is most young people and adults would probably say something like, so and so sports star, or some musician, even a politician maybe. Some would say a parent or a grandparent. A few years ago the slogan or catch phrase was, “I wanna be like Mike.” There was even a movie, “Be Like Mike.”  Yes Michael Jordan was a great basketball star. He made millions of dollars. And I’m sure that he has done some remarkable things with his money.

That doesn’t scream hero to me. When I think of hero, I picture brave men and women achieving something in the face of insurmountable odds. Like a fireman rushing into a blazing building to save a life, at the risk of losing his or her own life. The brave men and women, who on a daily basis put their lives on the line, and go by the name Sailor, Marine, or Soldier. To me these are real heroes.

Now when I was growing up in the last century…lol that would be the 70’s and the 80’s, my heroes were my Grandpa Jim and my Uncle Delmas. They were my heroes for different reasons. My Grandpa Jim was my hero because he rescued me out of a difficult situation. He had to put up with me during my teenage years. That is enough to make anyone a hero…lol Uncle Delmas was my hero from the time I was a small child til now. I remember being at Zane Buchanan’s stores with my Mom and Dad, I might have been 5 years old. Uncle Delmas came in, and was speaking to my Dad. Dad introduced me to Uncle Delmas, and he gave me a quarter.

Now a quarter does not seem like a lot of money by today’s standards. And it’s not. But for a child in 1975 a quarter could buy a lot of candy. There was something about Uncle Delmas that has stuck with me all these years since Dad first introduced us. It was a mix of things, like the way he carried himself, he was confident, and most of all he had compassion and kindness.

I remember as I got older and was able to do things. He would come and get me to help him on his farm. Uncle Delmas owned his own Construction Company, D. L. Shuler Construction. He started it himself and later brought in my Uncle JJ into the business. I’ll tell you about Uncle JJ sometime in a different story. But Uncle Delmas had a farm and raised cattle. So hay had to be cut and put up to feed the cattle during the winter months. So when I was old enough to help out on the farm he would get me to work for him. I loved his farm. We would work and do what needed to be done. And during lunch we’d fix bologna and tomato sandwiches with mayo and black pepper, and wash it down with an RC Cola. If it was work that allowed us to communicate with each other while we were working he would tell me stories about growing up when he was a kid. Or about the Great War, referring to WWII.  

Now it was during the summer of my 19^th or 20^th year. Uncle Delmas asked me to help him out for a couple of weeks putting up a new fence along the creek on his farm. He had a pile of old phone poles and we cut them into 10 foot sections. Then we shaved off one end to so it looked like a stake. These 10 foot post weighed over a hundred lbs. and it took both of us to life them up onto the spike end. Then we would maneuver it into position where Uncle Delmas wanted it. Then he would get on his backhoe and using the back bucket drive the post into the ground, with me holding the post upright, while he was beating it into the ground. Yes I was a little nervous, but I trusted Uncle Delmas with my life and knew he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.

We’d stop off each day for lunch and set on the patio with our sandwiches and RC Colas and I’d listen to him tell about life. His life. We were having lunch and he got to talking about WWII.  He was telling me about going to France and landing at Normandy. About the march from France through to Germany. He was there on D-Day. My Grandma Rubies brother Uncle Ray was there as well. Uncle Delmas saw him get blowed up. They were good friends and grew up together. I listened as he told me of the awfulness of war, and he hoped I never had to live through it. I set and listened to him as tears run down his cheeks about losing family and friends over there. And he wondered why he survived and they didn’t. My grandma Pauline’s Brother Uncle Bud was there with Delmas and Ray. Uncle Bud made to Germany. Then he was killed, blown up.

Uncle Delmas is 93 yrs. old. If he lives til May of this year he will be 94. And though he doesn’t farm or raise cattle any more, he is still pretty active. Last spring I went home for the funeral of my Aunt Ruth, Uncle Delmas’ sister. My Grandpa Carl’s sister. Though I don’t live back home as always it put a smile on Uncle Delmas face when I walked in. I followed behind him in the funeral procession, as we headed from the funeral home the cemetery at Mountain Creek Baptist Church. I let Uncle Delmas lean on me as we walked to the graveside for the preacher to say last rites.

I had planned to leave immediately after the graveside service and head back to Asheville. But I changed my plans because Delmas asked me to stay a while. I couldn’t refuse his request. Here was a man that I looked up too while growing up and hung around. Whatever he wanted I was glad to do.

Now my earliest memories have my Grandpa Jim in them. He was there all my life. His house was situated just below the house I grew up in. Growing up we ate supper at his house. Mom cooked supper every night for the whole family. There would be 15 to 20 people there at supper time. Papaw Jim watched me grow up. I was 25 yrs. old when he passed away on 06^th of August 1996. He was 80 yrs. old.

Now Papaw Jim saved my life. The summer between my 8^th grade year and my starting high school in the 9^th grade, my parents started having marital problems. I’ll not bore you with the details other than to say that their problems were causing me problems. To the point that one afternoon in the early fall of my freshman year of high school I got home from school and walked straight into Papaw Jims house and said we needed to talk.

He could tell that I was serious and that something important was on my mind. I think my request sort of came as a shock to him. I asked him to let me move in with him. He asked why. I told him that Mom and Dad fought and argued all the time, from sun up to sun set. I wasn’t getting enough sleep because of it and it was affecting my grades at school. Papaw listened to everything I had to say and my reason for moving out of my home and into his.  He studied on my request for about two breathes and said go get your things and bring them on down.

I walked up to the house. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen when I walked in. They were arguing about God only knows what it was about now. I walked straight to my bedroom and started packing the things I wanted to move in with Papaw. Mom comes in and asks what I thought I was doing and I told her I was moving in with Papaw Jim. She said NO YOU ARE NOT. And I said YES I AM. She threatened to give me a whooping if I didn’t put my clothes back in the closest. And about that time my salvation came through the door. Papaw walked in looked at Mom and said Deborah Jean the boy is moving in with me and that is the end of the discussion.

Mom tried to argue with Papaw, but he held up his hand and told her to be quiet. He told her that the fussing and fighting that she and dad were doing was disruptive and it was causing me stress. He said I didn’t need to be living in that type of environment. So I collected my things and left. A few days later Mom and Dad split up. Mom moved in with my Grandma Pauline. Dad stayed in the house, but I wasn’t safe from his anger and hate of Mom.

Dad would wait until Papaw left for his job each morning then he would descend on me as I was trying to get ready for school and cuss me out. Talk to me like a dog and then rake Mom over the coals. This went on for a couple of months before Papaw intervened and rescued me again. Dad came in one morning thinking that Papaw had left for work and started in on me. Cussing me like a dog. What Dad didn’t know was that Papaw was in the kitchen. Papaw listened to the cussing for just long enough for Dad to get wound up and going when Papaw stepped into the living and tore my Dad a new asshole. Let’s just stop and say that my Dad never again stepped foot into Papaw house while I lived there.

These two men Papaw Jim and Uncle Delmas were and are my heroes. I looked up to them while I was growing up. And even after I was grown I came to them for advice and guidance. Their words of wisdom to me as a young teenager and young man still resound in my mind. No they are not famous. They didn’t or don’t live in million dollar mansions. But I wouldn’t trade them for any sports start or movie star. Can you say that about your heroes?

WRITTEN 28FEB2016