If You're Gonna Be Stupid You've Gotta Be Tough

My parents have company in town.  My dad met Robert in a K-Mart up in Atlanta about twenty-five years ago.  They were in the sporting goods department, looking at lures and poles.  Dad being Dad, and Robert being Robert, struck up a conversation about... what else?  Fishing!  We were in Georgia visiting my mother's family for Thanksgiving.  I had no idea any of this happened until the following spring when I wanted to go back to Ft. Lauderdale, where we had just moved from, for Spring Break to visit my friends, whom I missed horribly.

Dad had other ideas.

Robert, his wife Jane, and son Bryan, who is about my age, were coming for Easter.  Dad and Robert were going to fish, and Jane and Bryan's plan was to hit the theme parks with Mom, Sis, and I.  I threw a fit.  Being eleven years-old, I lost, and that's the way it should be. 

We actually had a lot fun.  And every year after that, for I don't know how many years, Robert, Jane, and Bryan would come for Easter break.  Dad and Robert would fish, Jane, Bryan, Mom, Sis, and I would have fun shopping, theme park hopping, sunbathing... all good things one should do on Spring Break in central Florida.  Robert jokes that he spent more Easters in a Catholic church than in a Baptist church. 

Robert and Jane are from Alabama, with the most wonderful Alabamian accents.  I don't know how they met, but I do know that he asked her to marry him the night before he left for Vietnam. 

Jane died in her sleep this past spring.  She was one of the nicest, kindest people I've ever known.  I hear her voice so clearly in my mind.  Mostly, I hear her saying, Shut up, Robert!

Robert talks more than any other person I've ever met.  He is a retired fireman, and when he was working, he spent a lot of time reading books.  Then he got interested in genealogy, particularly in his ancestors who participated in the Civil War.  We would be sitting around talking about goodness knows what, and Robert would look at me, and say You know Jennifer, John Robert... and he would launch into a story that had nothing to do with the topic at hand.  His stories were-- are-- always interesting, but they also had a way of trapping the listener.  I would make a move and stand up... and he would keep going!  So finally, I would walk away, and that was that.  I would feel guilty for being rude, but I could only listen for so long.  Sometimes, Jane would rescue us by saying telling her husband, whom she loved dearly, to shut up.  She was the only person who could...

I would love to have a passion in my life they way Robert does for his family's history.  He told me today that he would just love to see a photograph of John Robert, who was one of his ancestors in the Civil War.  I laughed and told him that's what we'll put on his headstone...

Today Robert told me the story of the night Jane died.  By then end, Dad, Robert, and I, were all wiping away tears.  (My mom was in my parents' room getting ready for our mother-daughter outing to Pier 1.)  Dad and Robert are an example of what it means to be lifelong friends.

That is a beautiful thing, no matter how many words it takes to say it.

Robert told me this morning, Jennifer, if you're gonna be stupid you've gotta be tough.  That's why we've got 911.  People do stupid things, then they call 911 and wait for the fire or police department to show up and take care of it.  They're not tough.  Put that in your blog... If you're gonna be stupid you've gotta be tough.

Enough said.