The transition from living in a small bedroom apartment with my parents, three sisters and brother in Greenville to an overnight relocation to a small bungalow house residing next to a two lane drag strip otherwise known as Hwy 86 in Piedmont was quite the culture shock for me. 1979 I believe the year it was. I have to be honest from ‘79-‘82 ish I have trouble pinpointing memories to exact years. It was a long transition for me to adjust to from parents divorcing, half my siblings leaving the nest and adjusting to the lifestyle of Piedmont right before I slid into puberty. My parents were splitting right at the same time as my third grade year came to an end. I can recall this moment vividly because I had to tell my best friend from third grade that my parents were splitting up and I would probably never see him again. When you’re a kid you don’t mince words. You say it like you see it and well I nailed it.

Let me add this real quick before things get started. Divorce has a forever impact on your children. iIt doesn’t matter how old your children are. They are the friendly fire casualties to your decisions. I know everyone has their stories and backgrounds but divorce should be your absolute last choice for resolution. Relationships break all the time. So do bones but you don’t see people sawing off their arms when they break them.

This isn’t a knock on anyone who’s ever gone through a divorce. I just feel like some of us get caught up in the rituals and ceremonies of marriage without thinking that there may be times when you can’t stand each other or the new car smell wears off and then you have to start taking each other in for maintenance. We all break down over time. Act accordingly

I wasn’t on the planning committee for the divorce nor was I given a handbook on what to do next. It was a confusing summer for me. In fact I can’t recall what I did the whole summer before 4th grade. My dad moved into my oldest sister’s house and that would be where he’d live out the last six years or so of his life. My mom put me on a bench seat in a stranger’s green Ford truck with the bed full of our belongings to we headed to Piedmont.

I had no idea who this man was. He wore a cowboy hat, jeans, boots and a giant belt buckle with a bucking horse on it. He looked like something out of a John Wayne movie. I thought he was giving us a ride into town and dropping us off. I had no idea it was his house we were driving too. *see note on planning committee

We pulled up to this white bungalow and the first thing I saw was a bunch of hoarded “junk” on the side of the property. I mentioned something about that junk and my mother told me to shut up. I don’t think she had ever told me that before so I went sullen and kept my mouth shut. I had no clue as to who that man was and why we were staying in his house. Most of my siblings were starting to scatter with college and jobs so I felt mostly alone for quite some time.

Around this time of my life is when I sort of shut myself into my little own world. I created a small fantasy world that I played in for years albeit it evolved over time but to this day this is why I’m not comfortable in large social gatherings. A part of me went away and never came back. The first summer I had no friends in Piedmont. It would take half my fourth grade year before I found a solid friend. I made a few friends in Mauldin where my father resided but I don’t talk to any of them anymore. I spent most of that summer hanging out at my new house just trying not to get in anyone’s way. The house sat on an acre of land and some woods behind it. One side was a cow pasture and across the street was yet another. That summer I found out what it’s like to be surrounded by hot, humid cow shit and with no HVAC to be had we welcomed it all with box fans and opened windows.

Our house also sat about 80 feet from hwy 86. At least once an hour you could hear the local shitheads driving their muffler less cars about 80mph down the road or even drag racing on its two lanes. I used to walk down this road all the time to get groceries or grab a Pepsi at Hazzards. People used to throw shit at me all the time or veer their vehicles towards me like they were going to hit me. I started walking in the ditch each time a car approached me.

When I tell people I’m from Piedmont it doesn’t mean I was born and raised there. I was born in St Francis Hospital in Greenville. My first 5 were spent in Belle Mead.

I grew up in Piedmont. I say this in a literal sense. My first few years of life I was a kid doing things a kid should do. Playing with friends, yelling at my siblings and eating dinner with my parents. Surrounded by toys and a great imagination. Worst thing that ever happened to me was getting chased by two boys for throwing a dirt rock at them.

Piedmont was a whole ‘nother culture. I hated Piedmont when we moved there. I was introduced to violence and a completely different civilization. To be thrown into all of this because of a divorce was just icing on the cake. I never stood a chance. If you read my write up about my school bus adventures then you’d understand a little. I talk about systems and how I adhere to them. Piedmont was/is a system that’s been ingrained in me and will never leave. I’d be interested in seeing what I would be like had I’d never landed in Piedmont. I’d probably be a lot softer. The first few years was like a cultural boot camp. It definitely hardened me. To the point of almost maniacal.

When I refer to fond memories of Piedmont it’s mostly due to the friends I made there. The culture is passionate and loyal to a fault. I fucking love how hard these folk support me. If I were about to square off in a bar fight I know anyone from Piedmont would be standing next to me. I’ve even used “I’m from Piedmont” to stop someone from trying to fight me. It’s different y’all. I have a love hate relationship with Piedmont. I fucking earned it.

Take the good with the bad I suppose.

Back to the story

I didn’t get the memo on why my mother moved in with this man. How they met and why my father no longer lived with us. Yeah I get it now it was my brother who spilled it all on me in an unnecessary way and I wasn’t ready to accept it.

Also this isn’t about how it happened. I loved my mother and Tom with all my heart. Things happen. They stayed together for over 30 years. Let’s move on.

The man who drove us to Piedmont to be his new roommates terrified me. Maybe it was because I didn’t know who the fuck he was. There was no introduction. Mom could’ve handled this a little better but it’s too late to change that channel now. The house was small but still bigger than our old apartment. My sisters got the one spare bedroom and I got the mudroom next to the kitchen. My mom was an early riser so I always woke up when she got up to make her Folgers. We kept the windows open at night with a fan on to sleep. The house wasn’t very well insulated so it got hot in the summer and I’d freeze my ass off in the winter. Eventually I’d ease into the other bedroom when my sisters left home.

Some neighbors down the road kept a muster of peacocks on their property and for the first entire summer in thought it sounded like a spirit screaming for help. If you’ve ever heard a peacock croon you’ll understand.

The cowboy that took us in worked construction out of town that summer, it may have been Georgia, if my memories have any lapse it would be around this time. Some memories have a way of locking themselves out during not so fun childhood experiences.

I remember Piedmont seemed hotter than Greenville. Could be the sea level or the fact we didn’t have air conditioning. My mother’s new friend had a sectional made out of some itchy fiber material. I can recall it almost sticking to my body when I’d sit and watch tv. The stitching had these tiny little loop holes in it and I’d use the point of my school pencils to pull them apart. The split up of my parents caused me to develop some weird quirks and OCD behavior that I still have some control my everyday routines. During my adolescence I started to believe that if I didn’t do certain motions 7 times something terrible would happen to me. This lasted for about 3 ish years. The odd thing that broke it was my father’s passing. The two days he was in a coma I did almost every physical thing in sevens to keep him alive and it didn’t work.

I was a weird kid y’all. Still am

What is it that Forrest says when the subject needs to change? “That’s all I’ve got to say about that”

Tom

I knew his name the first time I met him but had no idea I’d have to remember it. If my mother thought I was too young to understand she was only half right. I knew what was happening but I had no idea where it was going. I do hold a little grudge with how I became the kid in thr corner for a few years and then left to ponder those years on my own. The situation was nothing to brag about from either of them so I get it but man yall left me to write my own story and I could’ve used some cliffnotes

Tom was the opposite of my father on several levels. My dad was from the north and you could tell in the first 20 seconds. Tom was southern and well same. My dad, not being one who took his fashion sense from GQ, usually wore some outrageous checkered golf pants or khakis, one pair of shoes and I white v neck undershirt regardless of climate. Over the shirt would’ve been a polo shirt usually yellow and windbreaker if it was winter. Hailing from Bethlehem, PA I suppose the winters didn’t get to him down here.

Tom during that time was jeans, cowboy hat and boots to match, button snap shirts and a belt buckle the size of my head. He had quite a few. I used to go in their closet and wrap them around my waist like I was Ricky Steamboat. His other go to wardrobe were denim overalls. I had only seen these worn as a prop on the Real McCoys and Hee Haw. I didn’t know what to think.. Tom had a thick country Appalachian accent that also brought out my mother’s southern twang that I guess she kept underneath her dress the whole time my parents were together. Tom always called me Slick which I couldn’t stand at the time. Now I’m in my 50’s and if I want to get your attention I find myself calling out “Hey Slick!”

It funny to look back and see how you adhere to somethings over time. I own several pair of overalls and you’ll rarely see me wearing a tee shirt that’s not a v- neck.

My dad talked as a yankee should with the old “oh geez!” exclamations that you get from that Pennsylvania zip code.

Both are Air Force veterans just different wars.

One drove a Lincoln one drove a pickup truck.

My dad never laid a hand on me. Tom eventually did.

Now, anyone that actually reads this I’m not trying to build up a surprise ending, I’m not creating hyperbole to make anyone look good or bad. I’m telling a story as it unfolded into my life. There may be things that you’ll read that might make Tom look like a villain and that would be 2000 miles from the truth. Let me skip up the story for a moment to let everyone know that I loved this man like a father once we moved past our hardheadedness. We had a lot of obstacles to overcome and it took some time. Anything that is written in here is part of a bigger story of how we got there. Tom had one of the biggest hearts you could ever experience. I loved him and everyone I inherited from their relationship with my all. They are all a part of my family now.

Back to the story

I tiptoed around Tom the first year or two. I was scared of him and I didn’t care for the way he looked at my mother or kissed her. (Talk to your fucking kids y’all). I didn’t like the look on my dad’s face each time he dropped me off in Piedmont after our weekends together. I was team dad all the way. One parent was happy while the other seemed to suffer in silence. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint. The first few years Tom never stood a chance.

I’m not sure if Tom ever held a job in town the whole time I lived at that old house. Construction took him everywhere out of town so usually when he was home I was at my dads. We would see each other for Sunday supper at home. There were no pleasantries involved I had already developed my RBF and still to this day have no idea how to conceal it. Sunday supper was a big meal for us. Didn’t matter if there were only three of us at home at one time my mother would have at least three different proteins with its selected gravy, a few sides and loaf bread, biscuits and or cornbread to sop up the beans. I’d give all my camping gear away to have one more supper like that with them. I’d kill for some butterbeans stewed in fatback with cornbread right now. I’ve had a diner on my mind for the last few years “Peggy Ann’s” that had I opened it would be reflective of those Sunday dinners. My culinary love is comfort food and always will be. It ain’t happening yall. I’m not splitting myself in two again.

I was never privy to table manners for the first 7 years. I smacked my food, held my fork the wrong way, slouched. Table etiquette was not my jam. Tom decided to help me along with some table manners. If I smacked my food he’d say “you eat your food like that on a first date your girlfriend will get up from the table and leave!” Well shit I didn’t want that to happen to I’d try my best to close her shut when I ate. Also I didn’t know having your elbows on the table was a bad thing until Tom started hitting me in the elbow with the handle of a butter knife. Right on the fucking funny bone. Tom always knew exactly where to hit. I was a fairly picky eater as all kids are growing up.

We base our palate on appearance and the character on the box the food came out of. That goddamn frog from Sugar Smacks always got on my nerves so I hated that cereal. It also smelled like pee when once you poured the milk over it.

Where was I going with that?

My “new” family became plate cleaners. No not dishwashers that o could never keep employed we were made to eat everything on our plates. Something I don’t seem to have an issue with anymore. For someone that weighs 175lbs I’ll fuck up some food.

My mother would stack my plate with some goodness and then fuck it up with fried okra or peas or some salmon patty shit.

I despise okra. I can eat it gumbo but I’ll stack sausage, shrimp or eat it on a saltine but you can keep that milky green sandpaper shit somewhere else.

Peas? Fuck you

Salmon patties I don’t mind that much now but I won’t eat it. I’d make them at southern with the pieces of salmon too small to grill but I never did it with a smile on my face.

But

My ass would sit at the dinner table until bed time if I didn’t clean my plate. I spent a lot of time sitting at the dinner table with the lights off. I could be a hardheaded mother fucker too. Sometimes I’d put an napkin over the missed carnage but Tom was too smart for that shit. Some nights I’d pull squished peas out of my pocket in the bathroom, napkin and all and flush it down the toilet. I got caught once. I got the belt. It might’ve been the only time I got it I don’t remember another time. It caused quite a stir in the household. My sisters raged for war. It wasn’t a welp beating. It scared me more than it hurt me. This was all new to me. Violence had been kept away from me my whole life. Before I had moved to Piedmont I had never been punched, slapped, beaten or spit on. We got all those out of the way my first year. Sometimes when I say I’m from Piedmont I’m not bragging about it.

I didn’t take the belt so well. Tom was something of a hoarder. He kept just about everything. Some things he kept were kinda cool while other things we bought in bulk maybe to resell although he never did. I went out to garage that week and smashed everything I could smash with a hammer. Was he mad oh yeah you betcha but that was the last belt that’s ever touched me. I’m sure my mother had a hand in me not getting another one.

Tom became a long haul trucker in the 80’s. He’d haul textiles to California and bring back produce. He’d make these trips up to three times a month. I always knew when he was coming home because you could hear that big ass Western Star down shifting when it neared our house. He’d somehow manage to back that giant rig up in the side of our yard the first try every time. When he’d pull up I’d grab all my shit and go into my bedroom. I still wasn’t ready to accept him as a father figure. I think this upset him at times. I’ve never hated Tom. He never gave me a reason too. I didn’t want another father. I had chores I had to tend to at the house aside from the daily bed making, feeding whatever animals we had at the time and dishes after my mother cooked. One of them was washing Tom’s Western Star, his pride and joy. He’d come back after a 7000 mile round trip and pull the hose out for me and a bucket with a sponge and scrub pad. There would be bugs from 20 different states on that truck along with feathers and hides of animals dumb enough to stand in its path. I would sit out there for hours scrubbing road kill and dragonfly impacts until I wanted to cry. Shining the rims and using a ladder to wash the windows. Sometimes I’d gag while peeling off crunched hairy things off of the bumpers. Tom would come outside and inspect the work.

If he thought I half assed it (and I tried quite a few times) he’d make me do it all over again. This time with him supervising it.

My other chore was cutting the grass. If you’re familiar with our old house you’d know how big the yard was. Just shy of an acre on a down slope. The side of there yard we used to keep as a small farm filled with corn, melons and such. I actually enjoyed going outside to pick food for dinner but the aftermath left rows upon rows of humps that would stall the push mower whenever it crested one. Did I mention I cut this grass with a push mower? Took 16 hours to cut our yard. Tom would go out and inspect the yard when I was done. He’d lift up the low hanging branches around the bushes to see if I mowed under them. Sometimes I did sometimes I didn’t. If I forgot he’d find something else to have me work on.

I was not used to this. Tom could come across very crass to me. It didn’t help that I’d only see him sparingly for years at a time. We never got a rhythm going it was always brief intervals of toxicity. We just didn’t get along.

To make it even more awkward he and my mother got married on Christmas Eve. I may have completely missed conversation of my mother telling me she was going to get married. I came back Christmas evening with Polaroids of the vows and ceremony. Listen if I knew it was happening my little brain must’ve locked it out. I have no recollection of it.

My father never said anything negative about Tom and Tom did the same. I was always grateful for that and it spoke volumes of both of their integrity. If there were any words passed I never saw it or heard it.

The times we did things as a family weren’t bad. We spent a lot of time together in Walhalla and Westminster camping and playing in the river. I enjoyed the family reunions and riding in the back of Tom’s truck. He had three children of his own Geanie, Rocky and Joe. Geanie and Rocky lived with us for a while. Both were in California with their mother when we moved in. Joe who lived in Idaho with Tom’s second wife would come visit occasionally during the summer.

I got along great with Geanie and Rocky sometimes better than some of my other siblings at times. We’ve been family for 45 years now. Blood relation no longer matters they are all my siblings. I simply don’t see them in any other way. My life wouldn’t be the same without them.

Tom loved his children it wasn’t hard to see that. I might’ve gotten a little jealousy because at that time I felt I wasn’t loved the same way which I didn’t do anything to encourage it either. We just didn’t get along.

When my dad passed in ‘86 I was devastated. My life got turned upside down and now my weekends would be spent at home full time. I needed that break from Piedmont to feel normal.

I love my friends that I’ve met from my Piedmont days. I had some good times there but Piedmont itself? I’m still working on it

Mom and Tom took me to my father’s funeral and I basically stood in the corner of the room. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want all these strangers seeing me cry. I had one of my dad’s friends I barely knew try to pull me into the viewing area. I don’t do funeral viewings. It’s not my thing. The man trying to pull me in there meant well I suppose but I was getting upset as I was being pulled into the room. Next thing I know Tom is quietly pushing the man back out of the room. They had a brief discussion and I didn’t see that man for the rest of the night. I never thanked Tom for that moment but I was extremely grateful. I needed to see that happen for some reason it helped.

I went into a quiet place in my head for months after that.

I kept to myself and any A’s I used to get on a report card would cease to exist all the way up to graduation. I didn’t care about school anymore. I graduated with the lowest possible GPA you could pass with. And that took an effort.

After my father’s passing I became a full time Piedmont resident. No more weekends from the house to see my dad it was a difficult transition for me. I did manage to escape my little reality during the summers. I’d hook up Tom’s little camper we kept in the back of the property and that’s where I lived for about 2 months out of the summer. It wasn’t to get away from Tom it was a little sanctuary from everything else that was going on around me. High school was tough for me. As a figure I was barely noticeable in high school. If you looked at my accomplishments in my senior year annual you won’t find shit because I didn’t do shit, I was there to get my diploma and leave and that’s what I did. The minute I secured a full time job I left Piedmont for good at 18.

That little camper was my fortress of solitude. Anyone who’s even glimpsed at my social media the last 5 years will see that I still seek out that need for solitude almost on a weekly basis.

I know what it level me out.

After my father’s passing Tom softened up on me but not by much. Not only did he have to deal with a 14 year old kid who didn’t want two dads he now had to deal with one in deep mourning. I didn’t make it easy on him.

One freezing evening we had a septic tank line get clogged and Tom pulled me out of my nice warm tv setting to help dig holes to find the issue. He gave me some overalls that were 3 sizes too big and a shovel and we went to digging in the cold frozen mud. Tom was having a one sided conversation with me while I had something only slightly less than murder on my mind. To top it off it was a weekend and even if it was almost a year after my dad’s passing I still missed being away on the weekends. I was covered in red mud and shivering. I was soft as a kid. Looking back I’ve been thankful for a lot of the mental bumps Tom gave me and I mean that with a full heart. It made me stronger.

Tom had his cigarette dangling from his mouth and he was looking sour at me so I returned the face. Adolescence and getting my ass kicked on the school bus had my hormones all over the place. My soft ass was starting to get some edges on me and it was about goddamn time.

Tom looked over at me and said “You can’t stand my ass can you boy?”

I didn’t say anything I just kept digging.

“You ain’t gonna answer me? Just say it” . Tom wasn’t yelling he was looking at me with a matter of fact.

I looked him in the eye and told him “I don’t hate you Tom. I hate digging up this fucking shit in the freezing cold. Don’t you?”

It was the first time I’d ever cussed in front of Tom. I don’t know how ya’ll were raised but you didn’t cuss in front of your parents. My mother has never heard me say the F word in her 83 years of living. She may be the only person in my life that hasn’t.

I expected Tom to throw his shovel at me but he didn’t. He smiled at me. I think he finally got what he was looking for. He wanted me to stand up for myself and I did. Not in a crazy way mind you Tom had a 100lbs on me but it was a start. He tossed his cigarette in the mud “Boy you ain’t wrong. Let’s go inside and finish watching the game it’s cold as hell out here.”

We went inside, cleaned up and sat down to watch tv. Both of us on the same sofa probably for the first time ever. I could feel my mother smiling behind us.

It didn’t happen overnight. This ain’t a hallmark movie but a page was turned that day.

Over time when Tom arrived home there were hugs exchanged (that man gave the best bear hugs) and pleasantries. Authentic ones. Plenty more times we spent watching football on the same room. Tom had his dad chair now but we’d shoot the shit and smile. Somedays I’d hit Tom on his elbow for having them on the table. When I left home to be on my own he’d come see me at work. My first job was at Quincy’s. I was a dishwasher and Tom would drive to Grenville sometimes as late as 1am to pick me up from work. One night he had nestled his truck under the tree line while I was sitting on the back dock with my new much older kitchen friends enjoying my first real beer. Tom flashed his lights as I took my first sip.. I knew I was fucked. Tom and I had just started getting along. Tom quit drinking years ago I didn’t want to piss him off. I got in his truck and he was laughing at me. “I scared the shit out of you didn’t I boy?” I just nodded my head. He pulled over to a gas station and bought a six pack. Cracked one open and handed it to me. “You want a beer I’ll buy you one but don’t go sneaking off that’s when you get in trouble.” I sipped on that beer all the way home. Tom never opened one. I didn’t drink another one for over a year. I don’t know what Tom told my mom but my job at Quincy’s ended that evening. I enjoyed drinking that beer with Tom though.

When I left the nest and went out into the real world there were two people that always called me to check up on me. My mother and Tom. Whenever I got a new job it was always Tom that came to see me. If I was down on my luck and man there were many times it was always Tom that helped me get back on my feet. He did that with all my brothers and sisters and if he were still around he still would make himself available. Some of my siblings need to acknowledge that a little better.

Father’s Day when I was 19 I sent him a card that read “love ya Pop” it was the first time I outwardly acknowledged Tom as my father figure. He’d earned enough valor years ago but it felt good to write that down.

Over the years Tom became my biggest hype fan. Meanwhile he managed to beat cancer twice. Tom had developed a new zest in life. He started juggling new hobbies and even bought a motorcycle. He always had some amazing energy.

When I opened my coffee shop he was there every weekend. He’d get a light roast and buy up all the pound cake. The coffee shop was shit for business so we’d sit at the little two top and talk for hours. My Saturdays weren’t the same if he didn’t. When we had our little Lily surprise you couldn’t pull Tom away from the hospital. He was there four times in three days to see and hold Lily. He loved that child in the way that only a true grandfather could. He called her papa’s little buddy and she indeed was. As she got old enough to walk she’d jump in his arms when she saw him.

Love is authentic

When I got married the choice for best man was a no brainer. When I asked Tom he might’ve teared up. I hadn’t seen Tom cry except for when his own father died. Jesus I’m crying now.

Tom stole the show at our wedding. With his charisma and zest for life it was contagious. I think he had a better time than anyone there.

My mom, man she’s always had the worst position of the matriarch of bad news. While we were in Charleston for the copper river bridge run I received a call from her after the race. Tom had been in a terrible motorcycle accident at a rally in Charlotte motor speedway. He had collided with another motorcycle. That was all the info she had at the moment. Half an hour later she called to let me know he passed.

I sat in my truck and cried. I cried for at least an hour. All the years of us avoiding each other when I was a kid kicked in. I wished for a few of those years back so we could’ve had more quality time. The pain of losing two fathers took a lot out of me. We drove home immediately to console my mother.

If you can measure a man’s character by the populace that shows up at his funeral then it speaks volume of Tom’s. Hundreds showed up for memorial. There wasn’t a dry eye in Dolly Cooper.

One of my two biggest regrets are

I was just about to announce my plans for opening Southern. I wanted to Tom to know that I worked my ass off to get to that point of ownership. Those days of washing his semi over and over when I wanted to run him over with that truck instilled a rock hard work ethic in me. Those days of pushing that shitty lawn mower over those humps gave me an appreciation for hard work and confidence. Every place I’ve worked I’ve moved up the ladder rapidly. Not because of my experience or a degree. I out worked and out hustled everyone. There’s nothing special about me I had to work my ass off for everything I’ve built. I got that tenacity from what Tom exposed me to.

I’m grateful for it.

Lily if you’re reading this my biggest second regret is you’ll never get to know him like I did. That man loved you like no other grandfather could. You’ll never know what it’s like to experience a grandfather. Just like me. Although I will say in the brief time I knew Frank, Tom’s dad, he left quite an impression on me.

Tom passed in April of 2012. My best man, my best friend, my father of over 30 years.

I am grateful for all that you taught me even when I fought you tooth and nail for almost a decade. Whenever I find myself slacking at work for half assing a project I can almost feel Tom watching me “boy you better not half ass it”

I’m 53 year old now. I find myself calling people Slick all the time. Sometimes I can hear you talking to me when I’m having a moment with myself. Hyping me up as you always did. I wear my overalls and smile at how much you’ve influenced me over the years. My two father figures gave me a solid one two punch in life.

I miss you old man. I miss those bear hugs and whiskers digging into my cheeks like that shovel digging in that frozen red mud. Went to see you and mom a couple of months ago at Dolly and had a good healthy cry.

I think you’d be even more proud of me now and that means the world to me.

This photo will always be my favorite of you two