STEWED POTATOES

Everyone takes the ability to read for granted. No exceptions.

We have done it for so long that we just "do it", and don't think about the complicated cerebral process that is occurring or the information exchange that transpires.

Neither my Dad nor my Mom's Dad could read or write. Mom's Dad, Papuh, told me that he went to the first day of first grade, decided he didn't like it, so never went to school again. He said his family's only reaction was gratitude for having another full time field hand to help with their crops. (I remember that he signed his name with an "X")

Dad had dyslexia so severe that you could write the word "cat" on a piece of paper and he could not copy the word directly underneath the letters. His version would be disjointed lines that did not connect and went in odd directions. Unfortunately, that's the way his brain interpreted written visual cues. Dyslexia was not known when he was a child. As a result, his problems with reading/writing in school were interpreted as "stubbornness" which caused his father to beat him with a razor strop every day after school. The educational system at that time was also not prepared to deal with a child who was obviously of above average intelligence, but who could not read/write at any level. Accordingly, he was moved from the first grade to the sixth grade without ever reading a word. After sixth grade, he dropped out to work on drilling rigs in the oil field at age 14 (a boy working with grown men).

Dad eventually became a "rod and tubing rig operator". He was responsible for a substantial piece of machinery that performed work on oil wells and he supervised and hired/fired a crew of three men. At the end of each day, Dad had to prepare and submit a detailed written report of the lease/well he worked on, what he had done with documentation (number of rods, etc.), hours worked, and crew members. The East Texas oil field is 12 miles wide and 43 miles long and includes hundreds, if not thousands, of oil wells. To be successful, Dad had to memorize the lease names and well locations of nearly all. During the work day, he would commit to memory all that occurred that day. Each night, he and Mom would sit at our kitchen table while Dad verbally recalled all the pertinent information so that Mom could transcribe it to the reports that Dad had to submit. I am amazed to this day the he could keep so much information in his head.

However, Dad's frustration at illiteracy ran deep through his soul. He knew what he was capable of doing professionally, but could never progress beyond a certain level. Still, Dad being Dad, he maintained a certain sense of humor about it.

One time Dad and Papuh went on an errand. When they returned to Papuh's house, the women and children had gone somewhere and left a handwritten note attached to the door explaining their absence. Dad said he and Papuh looked at the note and Papuh said, "They left us a note." Dad replied, "They sure did." Then they went into the house without another word, leaving the note on the door?

Dad usually ate at a small town cafe close to wherever he was working at noon time. He and his crew would each "look" at menus which listed the home style meals for the day. Dad would let the others go first, listen to what they ordered, and order something he heard them say. Sometimes he would ask the waitress what was "good" and just order that. One day his crew had all brought sack lunches so Dad went to the cafe alone. As he was "looking" at the menu, he asked the waitress what was "good"? The waitress said it was all "good". Dad said, "OK, I'll have some of this, some of this, and some of this", pointing to items on the menu. The waitress looked at him a moment and asked, "You want fried potatoes, mashed potatoes, and stewed potatoes?" Dad told that story like it was hilarious.

Dad's eventually got to the point that his vision prevented him from doing what he called "tejus" (tedious) work with small items. I prevailed upon him to let me take him to Tyler, see an optometrist, and buy him some glasses for up close work. As Dad sat in the chair to start the exam, he immediately demanded to know if getting glasses would allow him to read the newspaper? The eager optometrist told him that he guaranteed Dad could read the paper with the new spectacles he would provide. Dad said, "Good, I ain't never been able to read a damn word in my life and I think it time!"

Regarding newspapers, Dad once told me that every night just before bed he like to read the Arp newspaper. Curiosity got the best of me so I asked, "Why?" He said, "So I can go to sleep without a damn thing on my mind."

Anyway, you get the point. Dad had a life long struggle with a daunting handicap, but he did the best he could with it and never lost his sense of humor about it.

As you may guess, my Dad was a special kind of guy, my best friend ever, and someone that I miss every day. Thanks Dad, for being such a wonderful part of my life.