Dear Lyla,
Your relatives on Daddy’s side of the family, whom you affectionately call “my people,” all originate from a place called Panther Valley. Specifically, your people hail from Panther Creek (pronounced “crik” in Southern Missouri) where your Great Grandma Evelyn and Great Grandpa Raymond’s farm is located. Your Great Grandma Evelyn’s daddy actually built the house that she and Raymond lived in their entire married life. Evelyn and Raymond had four children; Dave, your Grandpa Dwight, Debbie and Darrell. Between the four siblings they have 15 children and countless grandchildren; you come from a very large family. Grandpa Dwight, as you know, loves to host a big barbecue on the Fourth of July holiday where everyone sits in their lawn chairs at dusk to watch the cousins set off a truckload, literally, of fireworks. I am not sure who has more fun with the fireworks; you and your cousins or your aunts and uncles. What makes these family gatherings so memorable is that your Daddy’s kin have an amazing aptitude for wit, sarcasm and endless teasing. Unlucky is the individual who becomes the target of relentless irritation at these gatherings. Your Grandpa Dwight and Great Uncle Darrell tend to be the ringleaders of the operation and never fail to offer a comment or two when the opportunity arises. All of your relatives in Missouri have a certain cadence to their voices; a slight drawl and warm elongation of particular words. The rhythm of their voices is soothing, comforting and perfectly suited to telling tales; it is like coming home. Your Great Uncle Darrell’s voice is the most distinct of them all. While shy around strangers, when he is relaxed his drawl is unmistakable; resonant and clear with a gravel quality that makes him seem almost sage. Darrell has been a favorite of your Daddy’s since he was a boy; I think their sense of humor is very similar and they are kindred spirits when it comes to being reserved around strangers. In the pitch black of night between the exploding colors of the fireworks it was Darrell’s voice that could be heard across the expansive field behind Grandpa’s house barking critique to his sons and nephews as they set off the mountain of fireworks from that back of a truck. One year the boys purchased some fireworks that had no sparks or color, they simply created a sound similar to a cannon being fired. With no prior warning the motley crew setting off the explosives decided it was time for those of us watching to lose our hearing temporarily; the boom was so loud and unexpected that none of said anything for more than a few seconds following the blast. Permeating the quiet aftermath of the cannon blast was Darrell’s distinctive drawl declaring “That’ll make the babies cry.” Laughter, of course, ensued after his profound observation. A few days later I dragged your Daddy to a wedding of a colleague of mine. So uninterested was he in the couple about to exchange vows that prior to the ceremony he was playing a pocket computer game; I made him put it away before the processional. You would think after so many years of being with your Daddy that I would learn my lesson; if I drag your Daddy to an event there is no telling what behaviors he may exhibit as an expression of his frustration and/or indifference. I should have known I was in for it when, after seeing the groom walk in with his parents and the bride’s mom escorted to her pew, Daddy asked “where is the bride’s dad?” I gently informed him that her father would be the guy escorting her down the aisle; he chuckled at his own mistake, a clear admission that he had not been paying attention since arriving. The wedding was, in a word, awkward. It was clear that the two families did not get along and, in an effort to appease both sides of the family, there were more bridesmaids standing at the altar than I care to recall. Boredom brings out the worst, or best he would argue, in your Daddy; he began to whisper a running commentary in an effort to amuse himself and get me to crack up. Half way through the ceremony the bride’s aunt came to the microphone to sing a ballad while the couple lit the unity candle. I must confess, the singing was horrific; I would not be surprised if dogs three counties over began to howl in response to the cacophony of sound emanating from the church. It was during a particularly high note when your Daddy leaned over and whispered in my ear, “That’ll make the babies cry.” I was completely undone by his unbelievably perfect sense of comedic timing; both of us tried desperately to muffle our laughter. To this day the phrase that Uncle Darrell first uttered many years ago has become part of our family’s private lexicon. To utter those words in front of anyone who heard Darrell speak them that night is to illicit specific meaning and evoke the feeling that only inside jokes can provide; you are now in on the joke little one. While a funny anecdote, this tale also serves as a reminder that you come from a family with deep roots and large branches. Treasure your family tree little one and find delight in the twisted branches and colorful leaves, these are your people.
Letters To Lyla 