guest blog: Pop B's pencils
a note from writemuch: my nephew John Jenkins wrote a post for this blog last summer, on the occasion of my parents' 60th anniversary. While Daddy was sick, John came to visit and stopped by the Scotland Neck house on his way to the hospital. Here, are the lessons he found in that short visit.
Pop B's Pencils
by John Jenkins
I stopped by Scotland Neck before the last time I saw Pop B at the hospital. It was just me, my mom, sister, niece and aunt writemuch. Sometime during lunch, I decided to walk around the house I've explored thousands of times since I was born. I am not sure why I decided to do this, but it sure helped.
I discovered something pretty funny. At least I thought it was funny. Right on top of Pop B's keyboard was a tiny pad of paper, and a pencil. On top of that pencil, like most pencils, was an eraser. Pink as a newborn, and so obviously unused, the eraser sat on top of the white pencil and looked more like a decoration than anything. That struck me as humorous at the time, but did not seem like an observation worth sharing. But then in every room I knew Pop B spent time in, I kept seeing these pencils.
P
erfect looking pencils. They weren't the pencils I used throughout school, eraser worn at the top or sometimes even nonexistent. His pencils almost looked elegant in an odd way.
But now as I look back at that short visit to my grandfather's house, I think my pencil and eraser observation reflects Pop B more than anything else I could think of. He was so cautiously perfect in ever single way throughout his life. After 84 years, he had to know that he was never going to make a mistake drastic enough to use the other side of that pencil. But there the eraser sat—just in case. Pens— now those are for the reckless and mistake-prone people like myself. That's why my papers have always looked like a crazy, mistake-ridden mess. Marked up, crossed out and confused. Pop B wasn't any of those things. Ever. The notes he took on the songs he was learning on that keyboard weren't like that, his conversations weren't like that, his life wasn't like that. And that's rare. His notes were as eloquent as he was. Pop B was well spoken, easy to follow, helpful.
He had
no need for any of that flashy stuff. He didn't need to impress anyone with his presentation because his delivery, his accomplishments, his whole life really, spoke for itself. Navy veteran, beloved doctor, even more beloved father, grandpa and great-grandpa.
Another thing I noticed during that exploration of his home was his pictures. Of course he was in some, always seemingly nodding in approval of everything going on around him and everything he helped build. But what was on display most was his beautiful and headstrong wife, his uniquely gifted children, and his whole mess of grandchildren. This set up was also how Pop B seemed to live his life. Not once was it ever about him. Whether it was spreading health among Scotland Neck or spreading his Atticus Finch like knowledge to us grandkids, it was never about him. It was how what he learned and what he knew could help us every day.
And that brings us back to the pencils Pop B has left behind at the house. I know I won't be needing one, because Pop B's influence is certainly never going to be erased.
susanbyrumrountree.com is the original work of author susan byrum rountree. all written work and photography is copyright protected and can only be used with written permission of the author.
richochet
i turned the page on my calendar on monday as i sat by daddy's side. april. when we began this journey, the trees lining the highway looked as if they were shivering in the february wind as i drove east on those cloudy days.
there is a patch along the road i've been watching these six weeks. back in the beginning, i noticed a tinge of pale blue there and wondered just what it would turn out to be when spring came, though i never expected to be able to witness it. i thought i'd be traveling a different road, the one home. but in all this time i have driven back to where i grew up only twice. but i have come to know this new road well.
the patch is turning a crisp blue now, the flowers, whatever they are, reaching toward the sun like we all are. hoping for light.
it's been a long, rainy, cold winter this year and we are all so wanting it to be over. wanting light to come.
when i dressed for work this morning i was looking for something bright. it's april, after all. i put on an old thin springlike sweater (no time for finding anything new this spring) but the wind hit me and i came back inside and grabbed a scarf, hoping to hold off the cold. lunchtime i checked in with my mother, who was at my dad's side today, ever the nursemaid. all was well.
then a phone call from my sister that began: well...the same way it began in February. only this time, a different parent.
my mother had fallen. and now: both parents in the hospital. at the same time. i still can't believe it as i write.
How to react? my sister so far away, me at work, my brother at ground zero. It is unbelievable ... and not. we trade turns saying the good things: at least they are in the same hospital! we can trade out visits! life could be worse! yes, all of that.
but.
we all know the roller coaster has left the tracks. the car just felt the slick in the road and missed the curve. and Daddy sleeps, unable to tell us what to do.
susanbyrumrountree.com is the original work of author susan byrum rountree. all written work and photography is copyright protected and can only be used with written permission of the author.