Oh how I love Grumpy Old Men…

Only recently have I realized that I am equipped with a magnet.  It has worked my entire life and blessed me beyond measure.  It attracts grumpy old men.

Overall wearing, just came in from work kinda dirty, coal miner eyeliner, and more type men have always been so very good to me.  And not to mention, kind.

That man your family says, “Now, don’t let him hurt your feelings.”  Send him my way.  We will get along just fine.  Just leave us be.

I wanted to write individual stories on them and hopefully on a later date, I will.

But, Father’s Day cannot go by without me mentioning my favorites.

This is the way I remember John.

Everyone is familiar with John B. McLemore.  I could get him fussing over anything.  I could leave my dryer on and he would let me know that if I understood how it worked, I would never do that.

When the outlet smoked last month, his advice haunted me.  I don’t know how I would ever gotten our laundry done when all of the kids were growing up without running it when we left the house.  But, then I think back and remember the laundry being done back then was about as often as a solar eclipse.  (That analogy would make John laugh and correct me.  That makes me smile.)

George Watts- Computers or Cars or just about anything-he was your go to guy.

We lost him around Thanksgiving last year.  My job required me to call him with vehicle repair estimates.  When I called him with the bad news he would never say hello Cheryl.  He would say, “Ah, it is the Grim Reaper.”  I have never laughed more or missed being called the Death Angel.

Glen Hancock, my good-best friend Tera’ s grandfather.

  I needed the extra money and thought I would be cleaning her Aunt Tina’s.  My interview ended up with me meeting my sweet buddy who did not want to know if I could vacuum.  He tickled himself when he said, “What I want to know is do you make good cornbread?”  Every house cleaning visit started with a pan of cornbread and ended with a cup of coffee.  As I sit here describing him through my tears, he would question why he was still around.  He missed his wife terribly and he was tired.  I would love to walk through that door one more time and hear, “Hey Gal!”  These busy days, you take for granted someone who is excited to see you.  His existence served a purpose with his family, but it also served a big one with me.

Arvell Kornegay would attempt anything. 

 The Town of Woodstock and Tannehill State Park owe that man an immeasurable  debt of gratitude.  There was a joke at the town hall of what his overalls weighed fully equipped.  We even played a game of requesting items from those pockets.  All the regular items were there, like a pocket knife or flashlight.  But, he could also pull out a band aid or a Wal-Mart sack, and that would make me hysterical.  If you called the town hall, he would check the mail or put up a street sign.  But, he wasn’t scared to clean up a dearly departed dog in the road or chase an escaped piglet.

Don’t laugh, the pig was mine.  Have a wonderful Father’s Day!

Cheryl