December | 2020 | Underdaddy

On Christmas day at 6:30 am some nutso domestic terrorist detonated a car bomb in downtown Nashville. An RV bomb is more accurate. The RV is the cover photo for this post. There were three injuries and no loss of life (bomber doesn’t count) but millions of dollars in damages and probably a total loss of some historic properties that won’t be replaced. A terrible event that could have been much worse.

I mention this event for posterity and also to contrast and compare with the events I’m about to share so that in hindsight they will seem not-so-bad and even comical.

So a few stories back we established the fact that Papaw is an immortal anomaly who haunts the dreams of OSHA inspectors every night. (Occupational Safety and Health Administration for my overseas friends) OSHA makes the recommendations to not stand above a certain height on a ladder or to wear safety glasses. Those kinds of things. Things that are too cumbersome for a man on Papaw’s schedule.

No sir. This board has to be cut on this table saw immediately. Who has time for safety glasses or hearing protection or even proper wiring. Not Papaw. Safety third.

The other day I had a very Papaw-esque encounter and I just found it too fun not to share.

Papaw: (calling on the cell phone) Hey can you give me a ride home from work?

UD: Sure, what’s up?

Papaw: Ahhh, my truck’s got a flat tire and I had to park it and Mamaw had to bring me to work.

UD: Okay. No problem. I can be there in just a little bit. Say, I thought you had an air tank that you carried on the truck?

Papaw: Well… the tire is pretty damaged. And I lost the spare. And my extra gas can.

UD: Hmmm. That sounds like one hell of a flat tire. Did it explode or something?

Papaw: Yeah, I hit something and tore my tire all to pieces and I it knocked some stuff off the truck.

UD: Oh wow. What did you hit? A deer?

Papaw: I don’t know. I ran off the road a little and hit something hard but I didn’t see anything.

UD: Did you stop.

Papaw: No, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal but then my tire went flat.

UD: Did you look at the truck once you got stopped?

Papaw: Yeah something red on the bumper and down the right side.

UD: Jesus. Was it blood? Did you hit a person? Am I an accomplice to a crime?

Papaw: No, no, its paint from something.

UD: Something?! That could be anything! Was it a kid named Timmy in a little red wagon? (It was nearly midnight so this option was doubtful but I was concerned.)

Papaw: I don’t know son. *exasperated sigh* I’ll have to go and see after work.

UD: How did you not see something? Did you fall asleep?

Papaw: My window was frosted.

UD: Did you not wait for it to defrost?

Papaw: Well I did but the wipers don’t work on the left side (driver’s side) so it was blurry and I just ran off the road a little because I couldn’t tell where the edge was. It was just a mailbox or something.

UD: Okay. But you know that could’ve been little Timmy in a red wagon.

Papaw: But it wasn’t.

UD: But… it wasn’t.

Y’all.

This is peak Papaw.

A chain of preventable events that are sacrificed on the altar of getting something done. In this case, it was “not being late to work so the other guy doesn’t have to work longer.” Epic self-sacrifice to avoid creating inconvenience. If he was in the military he would have been the guy jumping on the grenade or fending off an attack after getting shot thirty times. This is the core of his being and I love it about him but sometimes it manifests in hilarious ways.

So fast forward and I’ve picked him up from work and carried him home. We passed the scene of the events and there wasn’t much to see. Some scattered debris and a couple of posts where mailboxes and something else used to stand proud at the edge of the road.

I dropped him off and started back home but slowed down on this pass to get a better look.

That is when I see the entire grill off the front of the truck, a crumpled light pole with a red cast iron base sheared out of a concrete footing, and two innocent mailboxes scattered into the forest. Someone had stopped and snagged the gas can. The giant spare tire is laying in the grass about twenty feet past the truck grill.

It looks like the Roswell crash site. I can only imagine the explosive force required to dismantle all of these things and to further imagine that he drove three miles before thinking “that tire feels a little flat, better not drive on it” just makes my day.

This is a smart man. A strategic man. A thoughtful man. But as a mechanic, he has the idea that cars are disposable and anything mechanical can be stitched back together with enough bailing wire and curse words.

And he isn’t wrong but damn. My candy ass hits a pothole too hard and I’m sick to my stomach over a disrupted wheel alignment and uneven tire wear. I have a lot to learn.

For those of you wondering. He did go back and replace the mailboxes because he is a stand-up guy. He kept the light pole base because childhood poverty taught him that hoarding is necessary for survival. It will live in the pile of old truck toolboxes until the price of scrap metal rises or he passes it to his children in his will. The victimized truck will live to threaten more mailboxes. I guess its just another ongoing case of vehicular homicide. You’re welcome. And Happy NEW YEAR!

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

If you missed the original Vehicular Homicide or Papaw Stories like The Normalcy Bias or Coon Whisperer click on the link.

What a weird season.

Thanksgiving was weird. Christmas is going to be the same.

We have had our first brush with COVID in our direct family. My oldest daughter and my mother both have had positive tests. One had some burning sensation in her nose. The other ended up at the ER twice and on oxygen for several days. Things are better all-around and no one else has gotten sick… yet.

It is one of the most frustrating things imaginable. A slow-moving train of symptoms and the only real solution is to sit and wait. Check temperatures. Check O2 levels. Did you sneeze? Do you feel okay? Do I feel okay?

My dog had COVID.

And not the dog I don’t like. The good dog got it and ruined the carpet in my hallway. Full stomach dog pukes. Like a dustpan and full rolls of paper towels to clean it up. At all hours.

And here is a good question.

Why does dog food have red coloring in it? Aren’t dogs colorblind? Do we really need the mulched soup of ricemeal and chicken lips to be some pleasing array of colors?

My dog eats cat shit and dead things. Spare me the red dye.

And Jasper, the little white dog… never showed a symptom. Each time I find him cold and motionless I think, “Thank goodness” or “that took longer than I thought.” But no. He is always fine. He just sleeps like the dead and he is deaf. I’ve found him in every contorted position possible and each time he is alive. I know all this sounds terrible and I’ve made my case before but he’s an asshole. He’s a papercut lemon of a dog.

We are behind on Christmas preparations. I got a tree and it is the most 2020 tree I can imagine. We didn’t soap it this year which made me sad but the again the damn thing doesn’t have enough branches to soap. Imagine for a moment that we rescued the scraggly tree from Charlie Brown and nursed it back to health. But even though it escaped death and grew into a full-sized tree the damage was done. The branches were warped from malnutrition and grew at odd intervals. Now, standing before us loaded with lights and ornaments, we all look around nervously wondering if someone is going to mention just how garbage the tree actually looks.

Supermom had a fun crafts project that I got to help with. She made a wall of Christmas movie quotes.

We made gingerbread houses (thanks to my sister-in-law) and even though they look like they were assembled by blind people they look better than our tree.

Its fine. Everything is fine.

We watched The Dead Poets Society tonight. I miss Robin Williams. It’s a great movie and I’ve been working hard to expose my children to quality entertainment in music, books, and film. I forgot how the storyline feels so very “Catcher in the Rye”. The story is in the characters and requires paying attention. There seem to be less of those types of stories. We don’t have time for them. We need things we can have playing in the background while we do ten other things.

Yesterday we watched Ten Things I Hate About You and there is a house-party scene that interested me because no one had a phone. I hadn’t really thought about that movie being and old movie. No one was taking photos to share or scrolling through Facebook. No group selfies or texts. I don’t know that you could make that movie these days and get away with the plot devices. All the misunderstandings and miscommunications would be hashed out in the comments section of some viral teenage post.

Buts that’s what we are up to these days. Sitting around finishing up quarantine. And while it is driving me insane, I feel extremely lucky that my list of complaints is so benign. We have it pretty good and a lot of people don’t.

If you are having trouble with how the year is wrapping up, this one is for you. Winter is going to feel longer this year. I hope everyone who has love, shares it and everyone who needs love, reaches out and finds it. If you made it this far then go ahead and say hi with a comment. And for everyone who likes a good Papaw story, I have one in the works. Stay tuned and you’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.