Stung Like a Bee

   
    I heard the last words I would ever hear from Tim Gray when he jumped out of the passenger side of my Ford Truck last Summer, a jump that was a seamless, quick, effortless motion he had maneuvered many times before, so many times that he made it seem like magic. He then said, 'Buddy, be careful....I love ya.' I have agonized over those few words since I got the call from Scott, his oldest brother, telling me Tim, my life long friend, that friend closer than a brother, forty-five-years-old, had died earlier that day.

    To say I grew up with Tim and and his brothers is to grossly understate our childhood to manhood experience. We essentially lived the same life from the time I recollect having memories to the days we went our separate ways after high school. 

    With him, I always felt like a guide, a sidekick, someone who was there only to make sure the super human magnetic charisma that drove him helplessly through this life, this world, was not knocked too far off path. I stayed out of the way. Tim had a 'bigger than life' personality. It was mesmerizing and it pulled in everyone near him and wrapped them around all his fingers. It wasn't a trick he called on, .....very much the opposite. It was a rare goodness, the kind of good that's so real people have a hard time seeing it.

    Many will read this, roll their eyes and believe this is bull****, that its just more fairy tale stuff we say about dead people to make us feel better. Not this time. Tim Gray did some bad things, a bunch of bad things. We all have. 'Bigger than life' is a cliche we generally use to describe the better parts of some one's personality. The dynamic, endearing side of his personality was big and powerful. So, necessarily, his dark side, the side we all have that no one ever sees, only seemed worse than most because of the raw power that made him who he was. 

    He also saw into the people around him and most of all deep into his own soul, and tried to express it, to get it out the best he could. The tragedy is that he had no way, no words to write on paper, no art to create, no engine to repair. He worked out in the gym and it wasn't enough.

    Tim also understood that he was different and in many ways he believed people saw him as an unsympathetic, threatening monster...and, in the final years, to almost everyone he met, he did feel like a stranger. Yea, he worked it to his advantage. It's not what he wanted; he was surviving. The isolation eventually permeated his public personality, his humor, his insights into friends and family and their motives. Everybody grew up, Tim stayed the same, and it wasn't cool, he wasn't cool anymore. The complex and fragile emotional webs that friends, family and wives weave were more of a prison to him than Parchman. 


    His release, and I believe his only joy, in the last several years came only during the brief time he spent with his son, Price. That's when I saw him happy, and even that was fleeting. He never really thought he was a good dad. But, what most people don't know, not even Tim I think, is that he made a decision, and it must have been heartbreaking, to make sure he stayed clear of Price when he knew the demons that chased him so long, were finally gaining ground on him.

   So what was my dear friend telling me when he said, 'buddy, be careful...I love ya.' Careful with the women? I was coming out of a two year divorce, certainly not making the best decisions concerning the opposite sex. Was he telling me to stay clear and free of the vise grip of alcohol and drug addiction? I don't know, ....I don't know. I do know there was something different about the way he spoke to me that day. His tone reminded me of my father. He was deliberate and oddly peaceful. I also know I expected to see him again. My gut tells me people don't see death coming. That's a notion Hollywood taught us. The hard brick fact is I don't know what he was thinking, what he knew...if anything about what lay ahead of him. There's no clever or romantic ending here. I said, 'I love you, too,' and he said goodbye.

My Daughter's Dark Gift

       I'm a middle child. I will say that up front, in case I start defending some of my nine-year-old middle child's missteps. Irene Mills Smith was born St. Patrick's Day, 2003. It was a rainy day, windy, a couple days before America invaded Iraq. I remember President Bush giving Saddam 48 hours to 'run and tell that,' to get out of downtown, to put 'em up or die. I hardly paid attention because I was holding my brand new baby girl in my arms. I had a four-year-old boy who was as close to perfect as any child I had ever been around. Parenting was easy, I had four solid years of being the perfect Dad. The first time Irene opened those baby blues and looked me square in the eyes that March morning, I knew immediately I would pay dearly for my many past transgressions. Like Saddam, I was warned.

    It has been an unnerving experience to watch this child o' mine grow, experience life, speak, lie, sneak, laugh, complain, sleep (and dream), love, manipulate and essentially try to manage the world almost exactly the way I did. There is no mirror clearer than the one she's forced on me the last nine years. I hear so many people say that children are products of their environment, that they are developed. So, it seems then, dads.....parents should take all the glory and all the blame. No, have to call bull****. Yes, we have influence, a lot of it, and I certainly have a long way to go before I'm warning grooms about what they're getting in to, but so far as I can tell, my children, good and bad, are God's mystifying genetic lesson plan. 

     I really can't tell you a lot about Irene without telling on myself. She is a beautiful, bright, athletic, talented underachiever. If I need a child to run a 5k with me, I go to Irene. If I need a child to break in to the house, I go to Irene. My father, Pops, told me she had a 'dark gift' just like her father's. I didn't know it at the time, but that was my 48 hours, my time to clear downtown. My father gave me my warning.

    Right, it has taken me nine years to figure that out....three years to understand what my late father meant. My warning was simple, but not always easy. Pops told me to be a good father. When he said she had my dark gift, he said, and now it's so clear, I should be a gentle giant for her, coach her, listen to her when she will talk, grow a thicker skin when I'm not the number one guy in her life (and I feel it coming), be her friend and her Dad, always be strong for her, be flexible, and stand by her, through all her good and bad decisions. Thanks to Pops, the dad show has been so much more effective because finally instead of dodging the mirror Irene constantly holds in front of me, I look it square in her eyes and kindly, but firmly, let her know she has 48 hours. 

         Below is a link to her second grade Valentine's Day program. You can't miss her, she 's front and center. In a month, she will finish third grade and, I'm told, head straight for high school.

Dad Show

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pottymouthmama: The Very Serious Work of Clown Doctors

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Daydreaming about ZZ Top

   My youngest child and I were out looking for some big black frames yesterday. We had big fun. Rose didn't know that she was caught in the web of my latest obsession and subject of nightly recurring dreams, ZZ Top.

   Right, Billy, Dusty and Frank have dominated dreamland for a couple months now. I YouTube the boys every night looking for everything ZZ, ..and, at this point I hide it from family and friends. I can't exorcise it. I hate to compare the boys to bad spirits, but lately, I've felt haunted and oddly trapped.

   The dream started out of nowhere. Goes like this, ...a friend and I are front row at a ZZ Top concert circa 1984, arena rocking. We hear two full songs that seem to rotate, they change from one night to the next. Sharp Dressed Man, La Grange, Just Got Paid, Legs, Jailhouse Rock and Tush. There must be more, these I remember. The kicker, and killer, the dream always suddenly ends after the first 10 or so seconds of Cheap Sunglasses. Never do we hear the song. It is painful, really painful. I wake in a panic, sweating, unsatisfied. Nothing helps, so here's a post. I hope you catch this, sorry... but better you than me.

   Three weeks back, I found every ZZ Top cover on YouTube,...some awesome, some pathetic attempts that I watched anyway. I was pathetic, or maybe just lost to a band that put roll back in the rock, saved millions of music fans at least a few times and had to have lip synced through every concert. Can that three piece play a perfect song with every live attempt?

   The bright spot, there's a band, actually a few bands I discovered during my search for ZZ Top covers. Deer Tick, Dawes, Delta Spirit, Middle Brother. Bands are driven by guys like John McCauley, a talent missing in 2000s Indiana rock. It may be the most brutally honest song writing I've heard in years. Just listen to Middle Brother, super hero indie band featuring McCauley of Deer Tick, Taylor Goldsmith of Dawes and Matt Vasquez of Delta Spirit.

   Ken Tucker, from NPR, called Middle Bro the best band of 2011. Great bands, especially great songwriters are almost always underestimated, however. I believe,... I'm sure I am right, this trio isn't getting the credit they deserve. Like ZZ Top, these boys are saving rock music. It's what super hero groups do. Now, save us from music festivals and all will be good in the world. I dreamed of Deer Tick last night. John McCauley belted out Cheap Sunglasses, start to finish, and I woke up, walked to my computer, and listened to Elvis.

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sunday collector: On the road

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Thanks Lou Gehrig

     We have a rule in the Smith House called the 'No Bellyaching' rule, and it applies to complaints about anything, anywhere, anytime. My Dad used to say, 'Everybody has at least one big problem of their own, so they damn sure don't want to hear about yours.' He's right. But, the catch phrase teaches more of courtesy than what my children and I really need to learn; gratitude. 

     An old friend sent an email with a link to Lou Gehrig's famous 'Farewell' speech this morning. We listened to it (only four sentences were recorded) and we read it. Hopefully, the shorties got something out of it. At the very least, they know he didn't bellyache that day. Instead, his goal from the start was to make every one more comfortable by declaring how fortunate he was and bragging on everyone but himself. I've heard the clip a thousand times and it always, always blows me away. It is the most incredible display of humility I've ever witnessed. So, on a day like today, when I'm sure there is some one to blame for the little problems life has thrown my way, Mr Gehrig's speech was a gift, a gentle but firm reminder that everything I need is right beside me all the time. Gratitude, like joy, sneaks up on you when your focus, like Lou, is on others. It always catches me off guard because of it's slap on the forehead simplicity. 

     Today, even with new violations of the bellyaching rule, a self imposed stressful week and this, that and the other thing, I believe I am luckier than Lou Gehrig, a man, who was that day, 'the luckiest man on the face of the earth.'

Lou Gehrig

Farewell to Baseball Address

'Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about a bad break I got. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

I have been in ballparks for seventeen years and have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans. Look at these grand men. Which of you wouldn’t consider it the highlight of his career just to associate with them for even one day? 

Sure I’m lucky.

Who wouldn’t consider it an honor to have known Jacob Ruppert? Also, the builder of baseball’s greatest empire, Ed Barrow? To have spent six years with that wonderful little fellow, Miller Huggins? Then to have spent the next nine years with that outstanding leader, that smart student of psychology, the best manager in baseball today, Joe McCarthy? 

Sure I’m lucky.

When the New York Giants, a team you would give your right arm to beat, and vice versa, sends you a gift - that’s something. When everybody down to the groundskeepers and those boys in white coats remember you with trophies -- that’s something. When you have a wonderful mother-in-law who takes sides with you in squabbles with her own daughter -- that’s something.

When you have a father and a mother who work all their lives so you can have an education and build your body -- it’s a blessing. When you have a wife who has been a tower of strength and shown more courage than you dreamed existed -- that’s the finest I know.

So, I close in saying that I might have been given a bad break, but I've got an awful lot to live for.' - Lou Gehrig July 4th, 1939

Lou Gehrig's Farewell Speech

WMOX Radio - 66 Years 'on the air'

     March 8th, 1946, WMOX Radio was born and Meridian’s second radio station broadcasted it’s first radio signals on 1240 kc and it has been going strong, evolving, adapting and overcoming new technologies ever since. Today she turns 66. First owned by Birney Imes and broadcasting 250 watts of AM power, WMOX began it’s life as a news station with live music, and essentially, that's the format now. Through the years, formats included Swing and Big Band, Standards, Rock and Roll, Country, Sports, Talk and more. Birney owned a chain of seven radio stations and operated out of Columbus, MS. He purchased the former YMCA building located at the corner of 9th Street and 23rd Avenue on the legendary block occupied by the Hamasa Temple Theater and it became known as 'The WMOX Building.' We call it the 'TOK building now.

The Pasture

    My father, Eddie Smith, moved to Meridian in 1961, and he worked for radio station 'MOX. He also started a big family, raising 6 children. I'm right smack in the middle, with two older sisters, an older brother and two younger brothers. Later, late sixties, Eddie was given the GM position, which meant he still sold advertising, but was allowed to call on any business he wanted to call on. I think the good change came when he bought WMOX in 1989 and moved it to it’s current location on Hwy 11/80. It was then he finally had the freedom to do exactly what he had wanted to do since he started the morning shows in the 60s. Now, he could talk about what he wanted, who he wanted and when he wanted. It was then that the callers were finally given a real voice and taken seriously. My father started Talk Radio. He had been developing his unique style of radio since the mid sixties. A lot of people thought it was weird, yet those same people and many others felt compelled to listen. The format was simple: Put a couple of people who mastered the art of conversation, or not, together and let them talk about whatever interested them. With Eddie’s commitment to public service, this often meant using airtime to promote events around the community. Guests would come in to tout the latest fund-raiser or let everyone know about Gospel Quartet coming to sing at a local church. 

    My mother, Jane Smith was dedicated to local events and charities and Jane’s show, 'Time Out For Jane,' was just one more extension of her dedication. From 1980 to 1994, her Monday-Friday, 10a - 11a show featured Jane hosting and interviewing guests from various walks of life. Mother promoted causes like The Cancer Society, March of Dimes, church functions, or whatever interested her. Several generations of children have grown up in this town listening to Jane read their “Letters To Santa” on the radio and praying that Santa was tuning in! For many years, Eddie and Jane tag-teamed elections with Jane reporting remotely on “Election Returns” from the courthouse downtown. Mom blazed the trail for women in Meridian radio... and WMOX and Daddy would not have been the same without her....not even close.

    Co-hosts of this revolutionary radio included Mike Denton, Steve Holland, Susan Akin, Sidney Covington, Annie Oakley, Holly Thomas, Ginger Grissom Stevens, and the irrepressible, and my close friend, Bill Whitworth. Eddie and 'Billy Frank...' There has never been a funnier duo on local radio and there never will be. By the way, this is a partial list of co-hosts. I have to mention the talent on WMOX today; Dumpster Dog, Al Brown, Scott Gray, Ellie Massey, Kelly Corey, Jim Myrick, Laurie Martin, Leigh Anne Whittle, Daniel Self, The Wizard, Dr Jim Leggette, Jason Armstrong, and Trey Long (see below)....plus guest hosts like Dr John McEachin, Computer Guru Paul Tarver of Quality PC and Tarver Consultants . Eddie made it his goal to let listeners call in and give their opinion for two simple reasons; 1) Listeners could give their own opinion about whatever was being discussed, to be sure, an opinion that would have otherwise gone unheard, and 2) It would make the show completely unpredictable.

Eddie and Jayne Mansfield

    'Big Papa' was a master who made design look accidental. It took me way too long figure that one out. The 'Big 10' doesn't use call screeners we've never used a delay, a drop... that button to push when someone says a bad word on the air. I used to think he liked to live on the edge, but now I believe, now I know, he was watching the money. He had to.


'Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.' - U.S. Constitution: First Amendment / Amendment Text

    I seriously doubt Eddie Smith, my Dad, ever read those words. But, he lived it every day, and more importantly, he knew who gave it to us, who protected it, and he knew without question that we will lose it if we don't apply it. Happy Birthday WMOX! And, hey Big Papa, everybody still says thanks.

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Love Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry for Throwing up on You, Daddy.

   My youngest child, my younger daughter, my six-year-old, Rosemary, really surprised me about this time last year when she walked in my bedroom and showed me that she taught herself to tie her shoes. She had just turned five. She mastered this life skill on her own, with no instruction from me or anybody else. She then said she planned to teach my nine-year-old daughter to tie her shoes because, as she put it, 'it was time.' 

    Rose is a doer, a worker, she's independent. She takes things apart and puts them back together, or mostly back together. She may be the brightest child I've ever made. I made two before her, a supersonic aspie son who can make an algebra problem tremble, and a lovely, talented nine-year-old middle child, Irene. 

Midterms....

   Rosemary caught a stomach bug last night, I guess last night...she started throwing up last night. She warned me, nose to nose, like a freight train blowing its horn. This big thing was gonna happen, like it or not, and I could get safely out of the way or I could be a big part of that exorcist-like stomach flu first vomit. The first toss came at me hard and fast. I made the instinctive quick jump to my right to avoid getting hit in the face. And, like always, while following her to the bathroom, I was trying to understand how all that stuff came out of that little body. Rosie continued to up and chuck all the way to the bathroom. 

      But, here's the kicker, and part of what makes her my little fighter girl. Not once did this six-year-old cry, whine, complain, or even ask me when it would stop. She got up every 45 minutes or so, all night, walked to the bathroom, and puked her guts up.... mostly dry heaving. At one point, she gave me a hand signal to tell me 'don't get up, I've got this.'  My girl manned up tonight and I'm sure I couldn't be prouder. I saw in my youngest child everything I wish I was. She was tough, deliberate, patient and most importantly, Rose accepted and played with stunning grace, the hand life dealt her tonight. 

      

I Love that Aspie of Mine

          It's Valentine's Day and I'm still trying to determine what to give my three little sweethearts. My two youngest, my daughters, nine and five, will be more than thrilled to take chocolate and stuffed bears off my hands. I'm having a tougher time deciding what to give my oldest, my thirteen-year-old son, my Aspie, my son who fights his way through a form of Autism called Asperger's Syndrome. 

      AS is an Autism Spectrum Disorder that is characterized by significant difficulties ocial interaction, along with restrictive and repetitive patterns of behavior and interests. It differs from other Autism spectrum disorders by its relative preservation of linguistic  and cognitive development. Physical clumsiness and atypical use of language are also often reported.  

 The photo I've included shows him at eight. He was diagnosed the following year with OCD and Depression. Once the doctors were able to get these two debilitating disorders under control, they determined that he had AS. I knew my son was good, good to the core. I just thought it was a result of my awesome parenting. It turned out he was fighting his way through more than any adult should face in a lifetime. I could not be happier with the school he attends, but kids are cruel and ignorant of mercy. He's an easy target because he simply doesn't have the capacity to interact socially, especially in a group, especially in middle school.

     This morning he said he planned to give a certain girl in his class a Valentine's Day card. He asked, 'Dad, should I ask her out?' My heart began to break at the thought of rejection, a feeling he has faced time and again. I could not be prouder of my straight A student, my well mannered kid, my son with a heart of gold. I hope, like I always do, that today will be different, and some unsuspecting thirteen-year-old girl will realize the prize standing in front of her with a heart in his hand.