Jubilee Cityfest and fainting at the doctor#039;s office
Published 12:00 am Thursday, May 3, 2007
If things get any busier around here, I think my head is going to explode.
Now, don't get me wrong. I enjoy being busy, but last week was, well, really busy.
One of my best friends, Lisa Bowlan, and I decided to trek up to Montgomery last Saturday to Montgomery's Jubilee Cityfest. I really wanted to go but wasn't sure if I'd have the energy to even get out of bed, to be honest. However, the need for a change of venue won out, so off we went.
You might remember that last year I parked myself in front of the rock and roll stage and had a great time listening to Steppenwolf and Foghat, only to be submitted to the cruel fate of sitting behind a guy who was missing the rhythm gene as he began dancing. And then he began to take his shirt off because his dancing was causing him to sweat even more, and I had decided that I just couldn't take much more of that view.
Well, this year was different.
We parked our chairs right in front of the rock and roll stage and walked up the hill of the Riverwalk Parkway to get a funnel cake, barbeque sandwiches, nachos with cheese, Dip-n-Dots ice cream, and I think that's enough. Why is it when you go out of town, all of a sudden you want to eat everything in sight?
Back to the concert.
Brian Howe and Bad Company were absolutely great. I know there were many teenagers looking around and wondering, “Gee, how do all of these old people know all of the words to these songs?”
Needless to say, I was one of those “old” people who knew all of the words.
However, when Foreigner hit the stage, I was on my feet for a solid 90 minutes. It finally dawned on me that I was now in the same position as the guy who was so rhythmically challenged in front of me last year. Those people behind me were probably thinking, “I wish that big, fat white woman would sit down.”
There I was in an Old Navy t-shirt, blue jean Capri's, a red baseball cap, and white tennis shoes and white socks that made it difficult to tell where my socks ended and my white legs began. But I was having fun, and that's all that mattered.
By the end of the evening, Lisa and I were both exhausted. During the drive back to Luverne, my mind started going over the night before at the Relay for Life. And, I thought about my dad.
My father, Theo Grayson, had had several different skin cancers removed from his face, nose and neck, especially during the latter years of his life.
Exactly one month before he died, he had to have a very large skin cancer area removed from the side of his head and temple. It was about three inches across and one inch deep.
The day that I drove him and my mom to Birmingham for the follow-up with his doctor proved to be my downfall-literally.
We were actually worried about my mother's reaction to the huge hole in the side of my father's head. However, she was just fine. After the doctor had removed the bandage, she stood over my dad and listened intently as the doctor told her how to clean the area and rewrap it and so on.
Finally, Daddy said to me, “Do you want to see it?”
Sure, I told him. I need to know how to help Momma if I can.
So, I lean over and look down into this crater in the side of my father's head.
The next thing I know, I hear the doctor saying from far, far away, “She's going down!”
My dad started laughing, jumped up and made me sit in his chair, which was the only one in the room.
“Well, that's a heck of a note,” he laughed. “I'm the patient, but you have to have the only chair in the room.”
Needless to say, he couldn't wait to tell EVERYBODY that I had passed out at the doctor's office and that he had to give up his chair so I could sit down.
And a month later, he was gone.
I love to think about it and laugh about it now. You can do that after some time has passed after losing someone you love. I know that he would want me to laugh and not to cry. To live my life to honor his, not to continue mourning.
In my mind, I know these things are true.
And, yet, I sure do miss my daddy.
Regina Grayson is managing editor of The Luverne Journal. She can be reached at 335-3541 or by email: firstname.lastname@example.org.