A tribute to Just Don:
Any one who knows me knows that I have a little bit of country in me. The salt of the earth live in the flatlands of Texas and remind me that life is not about philosophy. It's not about politics. It's not about poetry or enlightenment or art or anything else that is grasping at air. Life is about people and the human connection that we can't take with us when we die.
On Wednesday I lost my Uncle Don. I am sad. He wasn't the typical uncle as far as uncles go, and some referred to him as a mix between Grizzly Adams and Willie Nelson. In fact, truth be told, I was a little scared of him sometimes (he seriously chased me numerous times with everything from weed-wackers, to dead snakes, to deer entrails, not to really get me, but to make fun of his "city-slicker" niece). He was a gun carryin', rattle snake killin', Harley ridin', rough around the edges good-ole-boy.
Don was a character and could tell a story like none other. Often he would get to talkin' over some cheap beer in Mimi's kitchen and those with names like Junior, Chief, Redneck, Clabber, Digger, Rebel, and Corney, would all join in. If we were lucky, Just Don (he wouldn't let me call him uncle... I was supposed to call him just Don...) would fry some sort of animal (don't ask, don't tell), bread and fry some "oakry" and make the best(!)white gravy on the planet! He was a comfort food culinary genius, though he would never let you near the stove when he was cooking! Don would even cook especially for me and my college friends at Tech, and for them, it was like stepping into another world. One time, I was told to de-feather the pheasant the boys had hunted that morning. I was supposed to wash the birds, stuff a jalapeno in the breast and wrap the whole thing in bacon. I got in trouble for making the birds too clean and I was the butt of several jokes that evening. It sounds really harsh, but if you made it into one of Don's stories, it meant that he really loved you, and to be loved by Don was awesome.
Don was the type of man who was there every time you needed him. This is a quality that VERY FEW have and I've only realized that recently. He was in the volunteer fire department in Crosbyton and people counted on him for so many things, too numerous to list. He was a rock of a man, physically and emotionally. His "Aw Hell", depending on the inflection, was his standard reaction to any bit of news, positive or negative. Don lit up the room with his presence. I realize I sound overly sentimental, but there is no embellishment here. To see rough-neck cowboys, motor cycle rebels, and people of all walks of life unable to hold back tears because of Don's death is proof of the kind of man Don was. He never met a stranger. We gave him the best send off we knew how: the fire whistle sounded all over town to assemble the funeral procession which consisted of flashing fire engines, Harleys, and pick-ups. We were surrounded by the whole town who came to stand in ankle deep mud and cold rain to wish him farewell.
I am having a difficult time assembling the right words here. There aren't any that would illustrate Don's character and his value. He was too young to go. He worked harder than his body would allow. He will be sorely missed. I loved him very, very much.