Roland Roosevelt May, Sr. - Papaw

I'm really not good with dates.  Andy is.  Just ask him when anything happened, and he will be able to tell you 90% of the time. 

But it never fails that on May 8, I remember that is it Papaw's birthday.  Don't do that for any of the other 3 of my grandparents; I know that Grandma Annie was in July sometime, and my beloved Mamaw (Papaw's wife) was in May also.  Grandpa Graves (Young) - I have no idea.  But Papaw's for some reason is burnt into my brain.

I want my girls and my grandkids to know him; he was (and I'm shaking my head as I think of how I want to put this!) a rascal.  Yep; that's it.  A rascal. 

In these days of the Eagle Ford Shale play down here in South Texas, where oil field workers fill our streets and stores and restaurants, my Papaw walks among them in spirit.  Nothing they do, or say, or think would surprise him.  Refineries in South Texas that he helped build in the 40s,50s and 60s have been refurbished and given new life.
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     Papaw was not one of those doting grandfathers who took you on his lap to tell you stories or read you a book.  Most of the times, actually, we ran from him because he had some prank to pull or a quick jab or tickle to aggravate you.  I remember so much of him being on the fringe of all the activity, chawing on that ever-present unlit cigar, with his hawaiian-patterned shirt unbuttoned over a white t-shirt. 

      It was said that our Mamaw married "beneath" herself when she married him.  Her beloved brothers were not happy with her choice, and many times had to help support her and the never-ending stream of children they had while "Curly" was off working on a rig.  "Curly" came from the almost nappy hair that was snow white all the years I remember him.  But one look at a picture of him in his early years, with that broad smile and those crisp, blue eyes would make it obvious that Mamaw was powerless over his charm.   Mamaw had a teaching degree; Papaw had oil field dirt under his nails.  

       Together, they had 5 girls; Lenora, Mary, Joyce, Margaret, and Myrna.  Then came the twins - Roland, Jr. (another rascal!) and Robert.  All not two years apart.  Robert died in infancy.  Mama told me that when the twins were born, Papaw announced: "That's enough, 'Nez."  (Mamaw was Inez, and she evidently planned on more  babies.)  They never really lived together as a family for long stretches, sometimes traveling with him to a job, but often living in Poteet around the Davidsons.  Mamaw held down the fort and raised the kids; my mama would tell me that that made be married harder for her; she'd never lived with a man around.  Poor,  but happy.  Bonded and made strong by adversity. 

       I remember going down to Alice, where they settled, for Easters with the cousins.  I remember seeing all the sons-in-laws hanging out at the cars with Papaw, laughing and smoking and telling jokes. It was easy.  It was sweet.  It was safe.  We all ran amok around them, never really seeking attention from them, but wanting to just be around. 

     The place in Alice was like a wonderland.  There was the old school bus, grown up in weeds that we played in for hours, the cage of the never-ending wild animal catch (oppossums were the most fun to antagonize!), the outdoor bathroom with the shower filled with frogs, and, of course, the roundhouse.  Papaw built it out of concrete to withstand hurricanes, and later it branched out into a bigger house.  When the state widened Hwy. 281 after they'd died, they had to use TNT to blow up the round house, it was so strongly build.  When hurricanes threatened the coast, Papaw would make a hand-lettered sign "safe house, stop here".  Cars of people would pull into the yard and hunker down on pallets in the "big room" to ride out the storm.  Safe harbor for anyone needing it.  Probably nothing to eat but beans and cornbread, but you didn't have to worry about your safety.

     And then, there was "the red thing" on the patio.  an odd, polygon of concrete about seat high, painted this maroonish color.  Gathered around it, it was either a place to sit and visit or a place for hordes of wild cousins to run and jump off.  Sharp corners scraped the skin off your legs when you ran past it.  Whatever paint he used on the top of it, it came off on your clothes.  Ruined many a shorts on that thing.  It was also blown up along with the house, and somehow, I got a piece of it.  It sits on my back porch right now; a testament to great times.  

     Papaw had his own house.  Guess it came from too many years of living apart - it sat behind the house just a bit.  One big room, made of tin.  Filled with his fishing stuff and those cheesy magazine pictures of models in bikinis leaning on cars.  I only stuck my head in a couple of times; the area was kind of creepy to a young girl.  He was happy there; just close enough to 'Nez, yet with his own space.  The area around it was grown up in a controlled sort of way, which nestled him cozily in to his world.

    In later years, Papaw came to live in Poteet down the road from my house.  He thrived in the nursing home; it was close enough for him to walk down for a visit or dinner, and yet he still was on his own.  He had a girlfriend.  He was happy.  One day, after he'd helped her with her lunch, we pushed her back to her room, and fell dead in the doorway.  Alive, then dead. 
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     A bunch of us cousins loaded up in Randall's car and followed the hearse down to Alice for his burial next to Mamaw.  Together now, for eternity.  Afterwards, we stopped by the house.  The woman who lived there then knew the family, and was gracious to let us walk among the place that had been so pivotal to our lives.  As we walked out to Papaw's house, my cousin Deeann found a concrete stepping stone with her tiny foot and hand prints set in it.  The owner let us dig it up and bring it back with us.  What a precious memory that is to me; that day of recollection and joy, even following death.

     Too many times, we want people to conform.  We want people to "behave" in socially acceptable ways.  We want adults to be adults.  Papaw was a rascal; you never knew what mysterious meat he'd cooked and brought to the table - literally.  Those eyes twinkled into his 80s, and that spirit lived fully in his children. 

     Sometimes I miss that spirit, and wonder if I ever had it in me at all.