Pappy

I'm in an airline lounge at LAX 18 hours into a 25 hour trip back to Arkansas to see my grandfather before he dies. His name is Rufus Elton Cassidy, but we call him Pappy. He's 96 years old. He grew up in Arkansas before the depression. He told me once that all he remembered of his mother was that she "got the cancer" when he was 6 years old, and they took her away in mule-drawn wagon and he never saw her again. In 96 years on this earth he never had a credit card, never borrowed money, only took an airplane once, never drank coffee, tea, or alcohol. It wasn't a religious thing, there was just no money for that sort of thing when Pappy was young. He became a boilermaker and a union man during The War and he travelled all around the south putting the hearts in great buildings. I remember when I was a little boy he would come home in his hard hat. He must have been tired, but loved us so, it never showed. He went to the Hazel Street Baptist Church every Sunday. He never went to school, taught himself to read and write and do arithmatic and only ever read the Bible, his Sunday School lesson and the Arkansas Gazette. He was married to the same woman for 60 years, and he was never the same after she died. He gave up driving at the age of 83. Last Christmas, he could still lift my 8 year old son over his head, just like he used to do with me. Now he can't stand up. He's tired and he wants to be with my grandmother.


I love you Pappy.