Vehicular Homicide Pt 2

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.

The Long December

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.

Just Next Door

I have a neighbor and he is in his 90’s. Let’s call him Mr. Jones. He is a really nice and interesting man. He lives alone and I don’t see him out and about much other than his daily walk to the mailbox. We talked a few times but, on the whole, I don’t know that much about him.

But I do notice how regularly he has his yard maintained. (Mostly because mine usually lags behind) He seems to like his yard to be really well looked after.

Mr. Jones’ backyard is a large expanse of Bermuda grass surrounded by tall and aged Oak trees. If storms knock down limbs or water isn’t draining away or the leaves begin to fall he has someone come and fix those things right away. He keeps things looking good. I’ve had the passing thought that it seems like a lot of work for something I rarely see anyone using.

One of our impromptu mailbox talks led to a conversation about his backyard and how central it was as a gathering place for the teens in a church youth group many years ago. The weekly games of two hand touch football were a big deal in the neighborhood. I could tell that he held some really great memories of the time spent in that backyard.

Today I heard some voices and laughter from my neighbor’s backyard and I looked over to see a mother and two young children running in the backyard and playing. A little later the dad joined in the fun. Then my neighbor’s son, which would be the toddler’s grandfather, made a few laps around the yard. Four generations of family with a shared memory of laughing with each other in that backyard.

I thought about how Mr. Jones kept that backyard in top shape probably just for a few chance encounters. For days like today. He holds that space open.

I think of my Great Grandmother who had cable TV because we might want to watch it and bought cheese and Pringles chips because we liked to eat them. I think of my Grandmother who made sure our Christmases were special. My dad who keeps up a pool mostly because the grandkids swim in it and my mom who keeps a farm of animals that she should probably winnow down but because the grandkids like them…

They were/are all holding a space.

That, to me, is our humanity. Our ability to love the next generation and give them a gift of memories they will open years down the road. Somewhere between receiving and giving is when we discover that the gift even exists.

I get caught up in the stories of the week and my chase for success in a hundred different forms. I forget that I am on the clock. I enjoyed seeing Mr. Jones and his family living in the middle of a moment. It reminds me that while you can’t demand memories be made, you can hold a space open for them and sooner or later they will come along.

If you enjoy a nice and pure moment, this post is for you. You’re welcome. This is a crazy season for the world in general. Hold open some peaceful spaces.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Copcakes

Lady Bug was playing in the front yard and came running around to find us with a worried look on her face.

Lady Bug: Mom. Mom! There is a cop in the driveway! (very concerned)

Supermom: What?

Prima: The cops are here! Go in the house!

Supermom: Cops?! (looks in the driveway) Hang on guys. Why are you freaking out? And let’s say officer.

Upon further inspection, there was an officer who was making the rounds to distribute lollipops to neighborhood kids and do some outreach into the community. We assured the kids that they could have the treats and to be sure and thank the officer. It seems our talks about the horrible stories in the news made our kids nervous about authority.

So… we had a talk to put some context around all of our adult discussions around race, riots, and abuse of authority. We explained that there are thousands of officers across the US that have big hearts, strong morals, and good intentions. That officers aren’t some separate group from everyone else. They are citizens like everyone else. They put themselves on the line to defend citizens, to check for intruders, to look out for drunk drivers, and to help generally keep the public safe. In fact, we have lots of people who dedicate their lives to make others safe. There are fire fighters that are ready to respond and help in life threatening situations beyond fire like rescues and searches. Both professions have men and women who are totally committed to the public welfare and to honorable service.

The anger and fear around policing are relevant but the spotlight cases are a magnification of the giant web of public safety that is happening all around at any one time. We have family in law enforcement and we worry for their safety every day. I want them to stay safe and to make it home to their families each night. I want them also to always be sure that they respect the people that they come across in the line of duty. I hope they hold respect as a high standard among their coworkers. Set the bar high and keep it. We can support our officers and demand the law is applied fairly when lines are crossed.

So after we had this talk with the girls, Lady Bug looked thoughtful for a moment and said, “I want to give my cupcakes to some cops.”

“What cupcakes?”

“My birthday cupcakes. They gave me a lollipop and I want to say thank you with cupcakes.”

“Okay, Sure. Who said you have birthday cupcakes?”

Fast forward. Supermom made fifty something cupcakes of all different variety and they were delicious since she is a semi-pro baker. We loaded the cupcakes up the next day and drove down to the police station. We went into the front doors and met two officers who were initially skeptical of six people storming the lobby but were quickly calmed with the site of the bakery boxes. The officers introduced themselves and talked with the girls for a few minutes and gave them sticker badges, coloring books, and crayons. They were very happy for a kind gesture and doubly impressed that Lady Bug had decided to share her birthday cupcakes with them.

The other box was full. I had to test the flavors. Don’t judge me.

We had also talked about fire men and women who provide a critical community service so we took our last box of cupcakes and headed over to the local fire station that serves our neighborhood. It was a quiet Friday at the fire house so the three men on duty we excited to see us. Our gift of cupcakes was accepted and we were invited to take a full tour of the station. We saw the kitchen, lounge, garage, trucks, pumps, lights, and a fully suited up fireman. We got the extended tour and I had more questions than the kids. It was awesome.

Willaims and Hanson giving us the 411 on 911.

I think it did the girls well to put some faces and names with the ideas of these services. They shared some stories of how they have served and we talked about things outside of anyone’s job. Meeting people always goes a long way to show that we are really all the same. We wake up and have a job to do that may have hard days or may not always carry the respect of those we serve but the job is still important.

We need to have discussions about what we can improve. We need to be aware and honest about the flaws of our system and the bias that we all carry towards something or someone. We need to call out evil quickly and with a loud voice. But we cannot afford to paint with a brush that is so broad that our strokes blur the picture. There are good officers and righteous protesters. There are those who seek to cause problems and paint their opponents with a single wide brush; Thugs. Cops. Murders. Looters. Paid Organizers. Fascist. Anti-fascists. Kneelers. Birthers. Truthers. Republicans. Democrats. Conservatives. Liberals. Christians. Muslims. Pastafarians. Blonde. Bald. Tall. Short. These are all just simple labels that are stereotypes. They allow the user to make assumptions about someone and save them from the torture of having to think about people on a case by case basis. Your ears should perk up whenever you hear these qualifiers in a headline.

Don’t get drawn into the all or nothing debates. Don’t use labels. People are people. Your complaints are most likely directed at toxic culture or flaws in the system. Or maybe they are directed at the terrible people who seem to bubble up daily. Judging them is fine by me as long as they have done the deeds to deserve it. Setting up straw-villains just widens the gap of misunderstanding and prevents the reasonable discussions that need to take place.

If you like cupcakes, this post is for you. You’re welcome. We could all use a more cupcakes between friends these days. I’m just pissed the girls gave them all away before I could levee my dad-tax of one cupcake as a taste test, which I think is somewhere in the Constitution.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Ps section:

I know there is an unspoken (or spoken) competition for who is actually cooler between the folks in red and the folks in blue. As it sits right now, the fire boys got y’all beat. I’m going to need to see some spike strips or something to even things up. Thank you to Officer Ferguson and J. Williams on Pump Truck and C. Hanson on Ladder Truck. You guys made a little girls day!

Rights and Privilege

I watched our world for the last couple of weeks and have tried to think about where logic and reason reside. The issues of society are present on every front. Masks, protests, riots, politics, violence. What do I offer my children as cliff notes and guidance for the heavy issues of the day? How do we explain how people commit such callous evil towards one another? How do we talk about equality and equal protection under the law?

I started with the privileges and biases. Privileges exist on several fronts but there are four that we deal with most often.

Men are assumed to be stronger, smarter, or more capable than women. Ask any women wandering a car lot or perusing a power tool section in Lowes if they see any difference in the way men are approached by a sales associate. I’ve watched it. It is real. I prep my girls to confront this head-on and challenge the notion that they can’t do anything because they are “just a girl”. The default advantage is often given to men so this is male privilege. This is why we have women’s right discussions. I’m not a woman but I support equal rights.
We also talk about sexual preference and gender identity. We discuss how these are personal things that only require your opinion if they involve you. If someone tells you their name is Eric then that is their name. We don’t get to tell people how to feel/love and sharing our opinion when we weren’t asked isn’t helpful either. The only people who are never really hassled or forced to talk through their choice in partner are people in a heterosexual relationship. I would imagine this equates to straight privilege. This is why we have pride month. I’m not gay but I support equal rights.
In countless studies and cases about bias and racism the results have shown time and time again that a societal/systemic bias against people of color exists. This is one of the most dangerous topics to discuss within the white community because it causes defensive reactions and mental fatigue. Most people start quoting stats about crime or murder or how many friends they have who meet the criteria to prove that they are most definitely not racist. But that is missing the point. We grew up in a system with a prepackaged point of view. Racism as an institution. I heard a discussion the other day about which is better, a dog or a cat? The author suggested it must be dogs because the highest compliment for a cat is “it acts like a dog”. That is funny for animals but I have heard analogs of this idea for people and that is horrifying. Chris Rock comes to mind and his bit about how white people talked about General Colin Powell; he speaks so well. There is an unsubtle subtext to that idea; that an educated and well-traveled man and who is also a seasoned veteran and a fucking world leader was most accomplished for his integration to the English language. He’s such a good cat that he’s basically a dog. That is racism. It’s not the hate but the assumptions of a limited capacity or lower bar that is most sinister. The idea that skin tells you anything useful about someone. The most dangerous iteration of racism is the idea that a black man, all other things being equal, is more dangerous than any other man that you will encounter. This translates to more aggressive and violent treatment of black men by authority figures. I don’t generally worry about life threatening assumptions being made by an officer in a traffic stop on the basis of my white skin. That is white privilege. It doesn’t mean my life is easy, it just means the world’s default opinion of me doesn’t make it harder. This is why Black Lives Matter exists. I’m not black but I support equal rights.
There is a fourth privilege that exists and that is the privilege of authority. Authority is given latitude and freedom that regular citizens do not enjoy. Authority it the essence of privilege. That is just true. Policemen and policewomen can disregard traffic laws and perform other functions necessary to their jobs that would be a blatant violation of law for anyone else. This is a necessary part of law enforcement. The problem comes in when authorities start to feel like this exemption applies all the time and to everything they do. Boundaries get pushed and co-workers let little things slide to avoid discomfort at work. Before long, there are gross violations that don’t seem out of the ordinary for the people in authority. Entire teams and departments run the risk of becoming complicit in an evil that few men would perpetrate on their own. It’s mob mentality when the mob is given an exemption or a blind eye. A relevant quote on authority, “Be careful at the laws you make because there are none so minor that authority won’t kill you to enforce it.” I think that is power privilege. I’m not oppressed by authority but I support equal rights.

We don’t have to be part of a group to support equal rights. We don’t even have to understand a different point of view. We can start with the basic knowledge that all humans should share the same basic rights. That is that what our America should stand for, equal opportunity in an equitable system.

It’s my favorite part of the pledge; Liberty and Justice for All.

If you are already exhausted by 2020 this post is for you. It’s only halfway over so buckle up. Be kind to each other. Remember that two things can be true at once and not every choice or opinion should be about supporting your chosen team. Think for yourself and when in doubt, choose with love not hate. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

ps. Happy Pride Month!