Luckily, when my creative brain doesn’t have any thoughts, my roommate’s does. And though she wasn’t quoting Michael Scott, I often am and pretended she was when she said, “Why are you the way that you are?”
You may be wondering How bad can it be? You haven’t even been around that long! Well. Let me tell you. In eighth grade, I had seen more Alfred Hitchcock movies than most people ever have, I can quote more Andy Griffith episodes than my friends believe exist, I’ve listened to my fair share of Gunsmoke on the radio (never seen the TV show), and in 5th grade, my little brother and I performed a Burns and Allen routine for our school talent show. I could go on. I know that any millennial reader that is not movie buff or that did not grow up watching TV Land is utterly lost.
Why am I the way that I am? Here goes.
Meet my maternal grandmother. She is the only person I know that is concerned about looking too young or wearing clothes that are too trendy. She has hard opinion about almost everything, likes to snack on burnt popcorn, and lets her cat drink sweet tea. She’s also one of the finest history buffs you could ever know. From a very early age, she regularly took me to the Hermitage and other local historical wonders. Though she taught me a lot about Andrew Jackson, Lyncoya, Sandpatch, and shoes with no left and right feet, I learned much more than mere facts. She taught me how to love history because of what it tells me about who I am. Local history, genealogy, family heirlooms, and stories about ancestors all come from her. I’ll no doubt be discovering their impact for rest of my life.
Now, my father. What a character. Once in the wrong place at the wrong time, he was named THE Moonpie King in tiny Bell Buckle, Tennessee. When dad’s around, there’s no shortage of hilarious stories and dad jokes. He always told me, “know something about everything and everything about something,” but I think he knows everything about everything, particularly radio, Hank Williams, and rural life. After watching the classic Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, our family visited Washington D.C. I was in first or second grade at the time and that trip altered my life for years after. (There’s an incriminatingly long list that can attest to this.) There’s no one else with which I would have rather taken that trip (like I had choice… I was seven), because he not only imparted facts and figures about our national history, but what it means to be an American and what it means to him. While a lot of those things aren’t positive, a lot of them are. He taught me that we learn and grow, and pray for a country we love because it’s who we are.
Until reflecting on this, I would have chalked up my old soul exclusively to those two. But, there is another critical person that should not be left out of this autobiographical narrative.
Howard Murphy. I have a vivid memory of my grandfather shooting rubber bands down the hall of our church at people that came through the door. It's vivid because it happened just a few years ago. If I’m an old soul, he’s a young soul. Always up for adventure, loves to make people laugh, likes to play endless pranks on unsuspecting victims, and is a collector of peculiar relics. He’s less of a history buff, doesn’t read biographies or watch movies, and doesn’t care much for dates earlier than the 1930s (to my knowledge). But while my father and grandmother taught me the facts I needed to know to become a millennial geezer, Granddad showed me what a beautiful life it is.
For example, when dad and I listened to Big Band music in the car, it was for fun. We would laugh, try to imitate the trombone sounds (all him), and marvel at the musical ability of Artie Shaw and Glen Miller. But with Granddad, listening to Big Band on an A.M. radio was just to get some work done in the garage.
He taught me how to love things from the past, simply because it’s who he is. His values are of an upright nature that is lost to my generation.
One of the strongest and bravest men I know, he is always gentle and loving with others. His beliefs are his own, and he has no need to broadcast them. Just meeting my grandfather is a lesson in love and respect. Any of his neighbors will be cared for in every way, because my grandfather never grew out of loving his community, even though the community left that behind. A true prodigy with scrap wires, a hammer, and a radial arm saw, the man can fix everything and build anything. Yes, from my Grandfather Murphy (and the rest of my family) I looked and saw who I wanted to be. Because of him, listening to “Stardust” as I take a short nap in the late afternoon is second-nature.
It’s not fair to give these three all the credit. I once knew how to knit, made a quilt, and won a Tennessee Titans sewing contest (yes, there was such a thing). But this is a scratch on the surface. When my roommate left me wondering why I am the way that I am, thinking through these things provided an answer.
You may be wondering How bad can it be? You haven’t even been around that long! Well. Let me tell you. In eighth grade, I had seen more Alfred Hitchcock movies than most people ever have, I can quote more Andy Griffith episodes than my friends believe exist, I’ve listened to my fair share of Gunsmoke on the radio (never seen the TV show), and in 5th grade, my little brother and I performed a Burns and Allen routine for our school talent show. I could go on. I know that any millennial reader that is not movie buff or that did not grow up watching TV Land is utterly lost.
Why am I the way that I am? Here goes.
Meet my maternal grandmother. She is the only person I know that is concerned about looking too young or wearing clothes that are too trendy. She has hard opinion about almost everything, likes to snack on burnt popcorn, and lets her cat drink sweet tea. She’s also one of the finest history buffs you could ever know. From a very early age, she regularly took me to the Hermitage and other local historical wonders. Though she taught me a lot about Andrew Jackson, Lyncoya, Sandpatch, and shoes with no left and right feet, I learned much more than mere facts. She taught me how to love history because of what it tells me about who I am. Local history, genealogy, family heirlooms, and stories about ancestors all come from her. I’ll no doubt be discovering their impact for rest of my life.
Now, my father. What a character. Once in the wrong place at the wrong time, he was named THE Moonpie King in tiny Bell Buckle, Tennessee. When dad’s around, there’s no shortage of hilarious stories and dad jokes. He always told me, “know something about everything and everything about something,” but I think he knows everything about everything, particularly radio, Hank Williams, and rural life. After watching the classic Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, our family visited Washington D.C. I was in first or second grade at the time and that trip altered my life for years after. (There’s an incriminatingly long list that can attest to this.) There’s no one else with which I would have rather taken that trip (like I had choice… I was seven), because he not only imparted facts and figures about our national history, but what it means to be an American and what it means to him. While a lot of those things aren’t positive, a lot of them are. He taught me that we learn and grow, and pray for a country we love because it’s who we are.
Until reflecting on this, I would have chalked up my old soul exclusively to those two. But, there is another critical person that should not be left out of this autobiographical narrative.
Howard Murphy. I have a vivid memory of my grandfather shooting rubber bands down the hall of our church at people that came through the door. It's vivid because it happened just a few years ago. If I’m an old soul, he’s a young soul. Always up for adventure, loves to make people laugh, likes to play endless pranks on unsuspecting victims, and is a collector of peculiar relics. He’s less of a history buff, doesn’t read biographies or watch movies, and doesn’t care much for dates earlier than the 1930s (to my knowledge). But while my father and grandmother taught me the facts I needed to know to become a millennial geezer, Granddad showed me what a beautiful life it is.
For example, when dad and I listened to Big Band music in the car, it was for fun. We would laugh, try to imitate the trombone sounds (all him), and marvel at the musical ability of Artie Shaw and Glen Miller. But with Granddad, listening to Big Band on an A.M. radio was just to get some work done in the garage.
He taught me how to love things from the past, simply because it’s who he is. His values are of an upright nature that is lost to my generation.
One of the strongest and bravest men I know, he is always gentle and loving with others. His beliefs are his own, and he has no need to broadcast them. Just meeting my grandfather is a lesson in love and respect. Any of his neighbors will be cared for in every way, because my grandfather never grew out of loving his community, even though the community left that behind. A true prodigy with scrap wires, a hammer, and a radial arm saw, the man can fix everything and build anything. Yes, from my Grandfather Murphy (and the rest of my family) I looked and saw who I wanted to be. Because of him, listening to “Stardust” as I take a short nap in the late afternoon is second-nature.
It’s not fair to give these three all the credit. I once knew how to knit, made a quilt, and won a Tennessee Titans sewing contest (yes, there was such a thing). But this is a scratch on the surface. When my roommate left me wondering why I am the way that I am, thinking through these things provided an answer.
