Oh Danny Boy

My grandpa would be eighty today. He would if it weren't that he died this month, December 8th to be exact. This is my tribute to his life, one which I neglected to write earlier, and it seems appropriate to write it now on his birthday. His name was Jerry Watkins. I lived in a house on the hill above his for thirteen months when I was kid, but I was too young to appreciate what he was as a person. He was a kind man. Not perfect to be sure, as none are, but he was a good man, let no mistake be made. For most of my life, I only ever saw him occasionally; perhaps five times a year or so, but even still I was able to learn what an intelligent and interesting man he was. He had a sharp, quick wit, and told some of the funniest stories. He knew history better than any person I can think of and he spoke Spanish fluently. Also, he served in our country's military. I think the one thing I admire most about him was his tireless devotion to his family and their welfare, and he certainly knew what it meant to work hard. He had six children with his wife Edwina, one of which was my mother, and all of them became successful, hard-working adults with good families of their own. One could see my grandfather's influence in the way they conducted themselves and in their love for the Lord. I wish I had some sort of anecdote of my one that could help to exemplify his character, but I do not. I sincerely regret that I did not know this great man very well. The one thing I can offer though, is his favorite song: the Irish folk classic "Oh Danny Boy". Grandpa Watkins was partly Irish, but what makes this song significant to me is that when I hear it, I can sort of see his face. It sounds like being with him. I don't think the man and the song will ever be separate in my mind for as long as I live. It is a song as beautiful as his life.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa.

"Oh Danny Boy" on YouTube

Too Quiet in All the Wrong Ways

I sit here in my dorm room with nothing to do, nothing but reflect on the thoughts that have been spinning around my mind all weekend. This past Friday night, I attended my old school's production of The Miracle Worker. The show was great, of course, and it was nice to see so many old friends from high school. I got to spend a few hours basking in a little flashback of high school with people who care about me, and it was nice. High school, especially the last year or two, was a dream for me. Almost everyone there appreciated me for who I am. It was at Mingo that I became who I am, and I felt very free there. I was pretty much absolutely in control of how happy I wanted to be. This gave me a lot of trouble when I graduated. I knew I would miss it. All summer I knew I would miss it. When I came up here to college back in August, I still missed it. But, after I was here at NSU for a while, I became distracted enough with school and the goings on here that I forgot all about high school and began to settle in. Since that time, I have lived a mundane existence highlighted by a single really good teacher and my car rides home and back every few weeks. I had become okay with it because I had forgotten what I was missing. But this weekend brought it all back. I had a great time on Friday. I enjoyed myself like I rarely have in the past few months. The excitement of being back with all those people in that building made me feel more alive, more of myself. It was exciting. But now, I sit in this cinder block chamber waiting until my natural processes tell me it's time to sleep. That's what I expect to do now for weeks on end; wait as if with an unreachable itch for each day to pass by. Am I unhappy, sad, angry? No, heaven's no. If all else fails, frail world, I am still Paul Watson (by golly!) and I will always prevail! But am I especially happy? Well, no, I guess not. I am wistful that I will never regain my high school life. In a few days, I'll probably read this and say to myself "Oh, how melodramatic. Silly boy."

P.S. It's nice to have a blog no body reads so one can write out one's thoughts.

New Vignette

Kids at Play

            In the morning the sun rose and its beams stroked the snow. The light shone freely, unmolested by clouds, and the sun’s radiance showed that an ocean of diamonds now occupied the space where a yellow yard sat just a day before. A red brick house sat amongst the diamonds. The screen door gave its familiar yawn as a small child of six or seven, all bundled up in bright red, burst through it and excitedly went down the poured cement steps into the back yard. He dove headlong into the show with a soft thud, jumped up, and started running around, his little shoes kicking the white treasure into the air. From the kitchen window, his mother looked out at him, and a small smile creased her cheeks.

            After a few minutes, the boy in red was approached by a boy in blue, who appeared to be about the same age. “Hey,” said Blue Boy, “we’re building a snow fort. We’re gonna have a big, huge snowball war! You wanna come?” The red-clad one had begun building something in the snow, at this point just a lump, and he looked down at it, packing more snow on it as the blue one spoke. He continued like this as he responded: “Well I’d sure like to, but I gotta ask my Momma first.” “Then go ask her,” Blue Boy said. “Okay… HEY MOM!” Red Boy abandoned his project and ran up the steps, excitedly calling for his mother, though she already knew what he wanted. He once again burst through the door, as was his fashion, and let out a final “Mom!” before she cut him off. “Hold on there, buddy. Don’t you come in here with those wet shoes before you wipe them off.” “But mom, I have something to ask…” “Not until you wipe those shoes off.” Red Boy sunk. “Oh alright.” With his head low, he retreated to the porch, which was little more than the crown of the cement stairs. He let the screen door close and then asked his mother, “Can I go out and play with my friends?” “Sure,” she said. “Just be back before dinner. And play nice.” “Alright,” he said. Upon getting what he wanted, he turned and went back down the stairs at a newfound pace. His mother looked off to the side, put her hands on her hips, and gave a little sigh. Out of her sight, Red Boy excitedly grabbed Blue Boy’s hand and started towards the park, but Blue Boy jerked him back and whispered something in Red Boy’s ear. Red Boy shook his head, and then ran back up the steps. He rapped on the screen door, saying, “Momma?” She turned back to him and replied, “Yes?” “Thank you.” His mother smiled. “You’re welcome, Sweetie,” she said. “Bye!” he cried as he turned to descend the steps once more. “Bye!” she returned. As she went back to the kitchen, she laughed and rolled her eyes, but in a happy way. Red Boy always made her happy.

            Red Boy and Blue Boy ran down the street. “They’re already picking armies,” said Blue Boy. “I told them you’d want to play.” Red Boy returned, “I hope I’m on your team.” “Me too,” Blue Boy said.

            They got to the park, and a boy in white told them what had been decided. “The first army is at the merry-go-round. The merry-go-round is base. The second army is over by the jungle gym. That’s their base.” Blue Boy wanted to know, “Which team am I on?” White told him, “You’re at the merry-go-round.” “And me?” Red said. “You’re at the jungle gym.” Red looked at Blue for a second and then said sullenly, “Okay.” Just as he was about to leave, Blue said to White, “Can’t he be on my team?” White thought about it for a moment. He decided “sure, that’d be alright.” Red smiled wildly as he and Blue charged off to the merry-go-round.

            The two armies fought tirelessly. Snowballs plopped from the sky. Neither side showed any mercy. The battle went on for what in boy time is an absolute eternity. The epic tussle called for drastic measures. Red Boy and Blue Boy’s army had a general, and he was dressed in green. “I want you two to sneak around the outside of the park and wait behind their fort. We’re going to charge and when they leave, you guys run in there and take the fort over.” Red and Blue agreed; yes, this was a good plan.

            They snuck their way around, using the chain-link fence as their guide. They approached the jungle gym from the rear noiselessly, or at least as noiselessly as two seven-year-olds can, and waited in supreme stealth. As promised, their team charged, and the enemy clamored out of their base to meet them in the open field. Red Boy looked at Blue. “Now?” he asked. “Now.” He replied. The two boys scrambled from their hideout and jumped in the fort, leaning back against the interior wall so as not to be seen. Blue Boy exhaled rapidly and said in between breaths, “I think we’re gonna win.” “Me too,” said Red. “This has been a really fun day. I really like the snow.” “Me too,” Blue agreed. He leaned up high against the wall and kept glancing out over the top to see the battle. Red continued, “I wish we could do this every day.” Blue Boy observed, “When you and me are on the same team, I don’t think we can lose.” “Me neither,” said Red Boy. He started thinking for a moment, his pink mouth open and his blue eyes staring ahead at nothing. He turned his cold face back to Blue Boy, and said, “I hope we can be friends forever.” Blue Boy turned from the battle and looked at Red. Their eyes, brown and blue, respectively, shared a thought. “So do I. We’ll grow up and have kids and houses with no adults in them and we’ll always be friends forever and ever.” Red Boy smiled happily. “I’d like that.” He would have said “I love you,” if only he knew what it really meant. 

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