Category: Children

Children, Community, Dogs, Down On the Farm, Events, Family, Grandchildren, History, Hope, Recovery, Rodeos, Storytelling, Texas, Thoughts From the Porch

Birthdays and Fat Livestock

gregoryjoel

The 16th would’ve been Dad’s 99th birthday. I’ve been thinking of him a lot this week. I always think about his words of wisdom and his love for his family, but January 16th is extra special. For the last ten or fifteen years of his life he worked with his friend Jesse at the Fort Worth Stock Show & Rodeo every year. It was an annual tradition that always kept us from celebrating his birthday until the second week of February.

Starting a week before the show opened, he would work twelve-hour days until the show was over by the second week of February. I couldn’t understand why he would work so much for close to minimum wage without a day off. That is, until I spent part of the day with him.

There are a couple of things you need to know about the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo. First, it’s the oldest continuously running stock show in the United States. The formal name is the Southwest Exposition and Stock Show. It had its humble beginnings in 1896 to show the local citizens the livestock local cattlemen produced. Its stated aim was primarily educational and soon became an annual event. In 1907, the Stock Show charged admission for the first time – twenty-five cents – and in 1908 moved into the palatial Northside Coliseum in the Fort Worth Stockyards. Rodeos are still held there today on a weekly basis with kids admitted free or half-price making a fun family event.

In 1918, the first “World’s Original Indoor Rodeo” was held as a “strictly a contest” and the name “Southwest Exposition and Fat Stock Show” became the official event name. The only time the event has been cancelled was in 1943 when all America’s resources went to the war effort. In 1944 the stock show was moved to the Will Rogers Coliseum built for the Texas Centennial in 1936 where the stock show has remained (with massive infrastructure improvements) to this day. The Rodeo competition has been moved to the new Dickies Arena on the Stock Show grounds.

The year I was born, 1958, was the first year the event was televised. I don’t remember the first time my dad took me to the Stock Show and Rodeo, but it became an annual event for my dad and I. My grandmother worked as a seamstress for Mr. Wimberly, who owned the Army Store, a surplus store in downtown Fort Worth. Mr. Wimberly saw to it that we received tickets every year. He also raised, and showed, champion Appaloosa horses. Rustler Bill was a National Champion and I got to “ride” him every year. That is, I got to sit on him while Mr. Wimberly walked me through the stables. It was a young cowboy’s dream!

My childhood memories are sparse, but I always remember the Stock Show and Rodeo. The first memory was of Zippy the monkey and his Scottish Sheepdog. Zippy would ride around the arena at full speed and then stop and herd sheep. How could anyone forget a monkey cowboy?

from the FWSSR Archives

In 1969, my dad was transferred to Denver, Colorado. We tried attending the Denver National Western Stock Show, but it just wasn’t the same. We went three or four times to no avail and soon, I never went again.

Fast forward to 1986 when I moved home to Fort Worth. I was going through a divorce and had custody of my two boys, Adrian and Jeremy. My dad must have known a cure for the break-up blues because a month after we moved back our annual trips to the Stock Show began again. This time it was to establish a tradition for the boys.

My father had started working the Stock Show every year with his lifetime friend Jesse. The boys and I would walk to his little shed by the gate, talk with Dad and Jesse, and walk through the livestock barns and exhibit halls. Because the vendors used Dad’s gate, we got a lot of free food for the three-week run of the show. I’ve never had so much pizza, barbeque, and Mrs. Baird’s pastries in my life. The boys loved it. Dad would keep them supplied in sweets every Saturday for the rest of the year, at least until Jeremy told my mom about the “diet” ice cream they ate. The tradition lived on until the boys got older and my addiction kept me away from the things I always loved.

The boys went their separate ways. Jeremy became a respected artist and wasn’t much interested in the old, Fort Worth tradition. Adrian must’ve received more of the cowboy DNA because he trained cutting horses and worked a ranch for several years. Today he serves the veteran community with One Tribe Foundation.

I don’t know how many years Dad worked those four weeks in the winter each year. He and Jesse both decided to retire when they both encountered some health issues. It wasn’t long before Dad passed. I didn’t get clean and into recovery until a couple of years later. If I had not had a father that loved me like Dad, I’m not sure I would’ve even gotten clean. If Dad, a mere human could radiate love and grace as he did, how much more so could a loving God.

I tried to continue the tradition with my grandkids, but it’s been sporadic at best. They’re just not into it. I guess wanting to be a cowboy isn’t in the aspirations of their generation. Why would they? There are no John Waynes anymore, tractors aren’t sexy, and ranching (and farming) seem to be an old people thing. The average age for a farmer in Texas is sixty-two. I tell everyone I’m finally above average at something.

I attend the Stock Show and Rodeo today to honor Dad and carry on an old Fort Worth tradition. I think of him while I’m there and remember so many wonderful things from long ago. I don’t go every year – the farm and weather change my plans more than they used to. Plus, crowds are getting harder to deal with as I’ve gotten older. Quite frankly, the crowds aren’t the same. Stock show attendance reaches record crowds almost every year. A lot of folks have moved to Fort Worth over the last few years, and they don’t always feel the tradition like native Fort Worthians do.

I also love to go with Ms. Opal to the Cowboys of Color Rodeo. In 2001, Jim Austin founded the National Multicultural Western Heritage Museum in the historic stockyards. In 2010, Fort Worth finally got around to honoring and recognizing the rich heritage of the Black and Brown community to both the city and the West by holding the first Cowboys of Color Rodeo. Ms. Opal has shared a history of Fort Worth I was never taught in my all-white schools. I’m thrilled to learn a history so rich that I might’ve missed had it not been for my work with her and Unity Unlimited. Inc. I hope to share the same with others. Full history brings us to reconciliation and justice.

Advent, Bible, Birthdays, Children, Choices, Christmas, Courage, Depression, Emotional Health, Faith, Family, Generations, Grace, Grandchildren, Grief, Hope, Love, Parents, Peace, Prayer, Recovery, Relationships, Service to Others, Spirituality, Stories, The Holidays, Thoughts From the Porch

Christmas 2023

gregoryjoel

Time goes by far too quickly these days. It’s difficult to believe that December is here. It seems like I was planning Spring crops just a short while ago. It’s almost time to do so again. The seventy-five-degree high predicted is a reminder of that. Just so you all know, we still have tomatoes at Opal’s Farm. The first freeze hasn’t hit us yet. We get the “heat island” effect from being so close to downtown…

Today is one month since my last cigarette so I guess I can’t really call this “Thoughts From the Porch”. I’ve stayed away from the front porch and concentrated on the back yard outside my office. It helps with the cravings. The main thing that helps with the cravings though is the near-constant praying to stay smoke-free. So far, so good, and so much for the news updates…

The holidays are tough for me. My son, Jeremy, was born on Christmas Day. I’ve had difficulty with the holidays since his passing – so much so that my wife started calling me the Grinch last year. I try to show some Christmas spirit but I’m not successful at faking it. I’m hoping I can do better this year.

I’ve been especially blessed to be far more involved in my grandchildren’s life this past year. I’ve been able to spend more time with them than ever before. I’m not always sure they appreciate it as much now as they’re both young teenagers – why is it teenagers rarely give more than one-word answers?

Spending time with them is such a gift and sometimes, a curse – at least where grief is concerned.

They are both very much Jeremy’s children. Lucas looks so much like him that it brings tears sometimes. His mannerisms are – a constant reminder of Jeremy. Izabella, or Simone as Jeremy called (her middle name is Simone after Nina Simone) has every bit of his wit and often, sarcasm. Together they are amazing. My daughter-in-law, Amber, has done an amazing job raising them and getting them through losing their dad. She and I can share our grief that still comes in tidal waves at times.

But back to Christmas…

I’ve had a lackluster approach to Christmas since my parents passed away, especially Dad. He was Mister Christmas. It was his favorite holiday. He made the season special; especially where my boys were concerned. Much of that had to do with my parenting or lack thereof and my addiction had a lot to do with that. Still, he was my Christmas light and I enjoyed participating each year.

After his passing, Christmas was not as big of a deal. My mom moved to an apartment in a Senior Living Center so big celebrations rarely occurred. The last years before she passed in 2017 she moved to Atlanta to be near my sister. I always hated the idea of trying to find a gift for Mom. She was extremely hard to buy for and her body language often revealed her disappointment in my gifts. (***side note – she told me that my sobriety and my relationship with God were the best gifts I could’ve ever given her.)

When Jeremy died, the best thing about Christmas became January 2nd as it would be in the past and I had survived what felt like unbearable grief. I’ve shared that with my wife (as if she couldn’t tell) and she’s always been understanding. This year has been different. I came home from work the other day and she told me that I needed to become Mister Christmas. It was my turn. Dad and Jeremy were no longer there, and the tradition shouldn’t die with them. My grandkids needed me to be that very thing. I think my wife needs that too.

Christmas was never a religious holiday for me. I grew up in the Church of Christ and they didn’t celebrate it as Jesus’ birthday because that’s not in the Bible – which begets the question why they didn’t celebrate Easter because we know what that date is, but I digress… It was significant to my wife though and now the holiday needs to be special for my grandkids as well.

When I finish writing this, I will climb the attic stairs and pull down the Christmas tree and decorations. I’ll rearrange the living room to accommodate the tree and place it where Margaret, my wife, can enjoy looking at it. It’s likely I’ll shed a few tears as I place Jeremy’s ornaments – both the ones he made and the ones we were given over the years – on the tree. I’ll brave the tangle of lights and let Margaret direct the decorating. Afterwards, I’ll turn on the lights for all of us and pray that I can be Mister Christmas this year. I’ll swallow my sadness and allow the grief to come when I’m alone. Christmas is about everyone else anyway and I’ll not deny them that.

I won’t lie about my feelings. God made sure of that. I was at a recovery meeting recently and met two other people for whom grief is all too real. One gentleman lost his wife. The other lost her seventeen-year-old son to an overdose in May. I can seriously relate, and I can offer support and an ear because I’ve three years of experience to offer. I don’t have any answers, but I can be present for them while they search for their own. God has a way of turning tragedy into something – I don’t want to say something positive – but an opportunity to show His love and grace – to love others better.

My sponsor and friend Jim told me a long time ago that helping others and being there for others was the best way to find peace. Maybe that’s what comes this year. I hope and pray it comes for all of us.

Merry Christmas everyone…

Photo by lil artsy on Pexels.com
Children, Community, Dallas Cowboys, Emotional Health, Faith, Friendship, Grace, Grandchildren, Gratitude, Grief, Kentucky, Relationships, Stories, Texas, Thanksgiving, Uncategorized

Happy Holidays? Eh…

gregoryjoel

I always celebrate Thanksgiving with mixed emotions. If I look at the real history of the holiday it leaves little to celebrate. I’m sure that when the Wampanoag People feasted with the pilgrim colonists, saving them from a dreadful winter of starvation (because that’s what human beings do for one another) they had no idea what lay ahead. I’ve sure the pilgrims were thinking “thanks for the food. Next year we kill your women and children and steal your land.” It’s no wonder Thanksgiving is a day of mourning for my Indigenous brothers. True history is usually hard to celebrate.

However, I grew up in a middle-class, white, suburban, and fundamentalist Christian home in Texas. That’s not the Thanksgiving story I was told. Mine was much more pleasant than the reality and had a white supremacy spin put on the whole thing, but that another story. Thanksgiving became a holiday to be celebrated with too much food, family, friends, and Dallas Cowboy football. My Dad was transferred to Denver in 1969. Coloradoans didn’t take to Texans moving there (after skiing with them I understand why…) so all my parents’ friends (mostly ex-patriate Texans and mostly from church) got together each Thanksgiving to feast together and watch the Dallas Cowboys.

We communally held our breath as Clint Longley threw his “Hail Mary” pass to Drew Pearson to win the game against the hated Washington Redskins on Thanksgiving 1974. Clint was the son of one of our church members and big brother to one of my friends. He’d also graduated from Abilene Christian College which is where all of most of our friend’s children either went or would go. We all watched the number one moment in Thanksgiving history. I’ve never seen such excitement, and given what professional football has become, may never see again. I’m quite sure Jerry Jones is the anti-Christ…

Years have passed and many Thanksgivings have drifted in and out of my memory. Grown kids and grandkids make planning Thanksgiving difficult. This year I’ll put a smile on my face and hope January 2nd comes quickly. The holidays have become a difficult time for me. My son Jeremy died two years ago. He was born on Christmas Day during the Denver “Blizzard of ‘82” so the holidays bring a lot of melancholy with them. I miss my son. Grief is a bitch…

Last year, Margaret and I celebrated Thanksgiving with my “birth” family in Kentucky. It was amazing to be with so many people that looked like me. That helped me through so many difficult days. This year I got a phone call from Momma that took the wind out of whatever sails I had – the cancer has returned, and the prognosis is not good (Momma was quick to remind me not to count her out yet. They’ve said that before.) I’ll be spending Christmas in Kentucky this year, making new memories with my people, my Momma. Sometimes I think that Jeremy’s behind all this. I don’t think he wants this to be a depressing time of year for his family. I know Momma doesn’t. Maybe the new memories will make a difference. I hope so.

I’ve often thought Thanksgiving was more of a commercialized greeting card holiday. I strive to be grateful each and every day, not just on the fourth Thursday of November. Thanksgiving may be a special day to say thanks for the many blessings we have, but gratitude is something to be exercised all the time – 365 days a year. Gratitude is a verb, it’s action. Gratitude is taking care of the things we’ve been given – our world, our families, and each other.

We spent this Thanksgiving with friends, many of whom I haven’t seen in a couple of years (thanks to COVID). Our host reminded me that we were celebrating with our family of choice. It made me smile. It also reminded me to show my gratitude for the wonderful friends I have by being more accessible. I’m not going to wait for New Years to start on that resolution.

I hope that all of you had a blessed, peaceful Thanksgiving and the holidays bring you cheer, peace, and appreciation for all that’s been given each of you. I do appreciate so very much those of you who take a couple of minutes out of your busy day to read the ramblings of some old guy in Fort Worth, Texas!

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Happy Juneteenth! Happy Freedom Day!

gregoryjoel

Opal’s Farm celebrated Juneteenth in a big way this year. We missed Miss Opal’s Walk to Freedom since we were at Cowtown Farmers Market yesterday, we had a record-breaking day in produce sales at the market! Thank you to all our friends and customers – many of whom were first time visitors to the market – who came out to wish us well and celebrate the Juneteenth weekend with us. You made our day extra special!

We loaded up the market stuff and headed to Panther Island Pavilion for the I Am Juneteenth Festival where we saw many old friends and met many new ones. It was even bigger and better that last years party and highlighted Freedom Day for us all. Many new vendors and food trucks came, and all ate well. Thank you, Miss JoAnn, and Miss Mattie’s Food Truck for the amazing food! You hold a special place in our heart. We look forward to seeing you every chance we get (and tomatoes are coming your way!).

The Dock Bookstore sat up right across from us, which was a real treat. The Dock has been at Meadowbrook and Handley Drive for fourteen years. Please drop by sometime to enjoy what a bookstore is supposed to be. Celebrate and support our local businesses that are so vital to our community.

The music and entertainment were terrific. Fireworks ended the evening of celebration with a spectacular show reminding each one of us that freedom is to be celebrated from June 19th through July 4th. It’s freedom for all of us regardless of race, religion, or politics. It’s time to celebrate our shared humanity and press on to a better community.

Miss Opal’s Walk to Freedom 2022 –
Miss Opal and Unity’s Executive Director Ms. Dione Sims

Ms. Opal addressed the crowd and then came to our booth to meet, greet, and sign copies of her children’s book, Juneteenth. I watched as the line grew long to meet “The Grandmother of Juneteenth”. Parents asks for pictures of Ms. Opal with their kids and themselves. They wanted their children to understand the history of Juneteenth and Ms. Opal’s life of advocacy and activism. I was mesmerized by the way she touches the hearts of everyone she meets, but especially the children. The message she sends is always the same – there’s much to be done. Know where you’ve been so you know where you’re going. Acknowledge the past so we can all move forward. Love others – especially in the small ways – and remember we all bleed red, we’re all brothers and sisters, and above all, each one of us are God’s children. Treat God’s kids well.

On this special Juneteenth – Freedom Day – I can’t think of anything better to do than that…

Ms. Opal and Gubernatorial Candidate
Beto O’Rourke
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Family Reunions With a Brand New Family

gregoryjoel

North Texas has been in various stages of drought since last summer. Rain has been sparse this Spring, but timing is everything – it came just in time to relieve my anxiety about leaving town (and the farm) over Memorial Day weekend. I attended a family reunion at the family farm in Kentucky and quite frankly, I’m still feeling overwhelmed by this family I never knew I had.

A little backstory – you need to know that I’m adopted. I was blessed to have the most wonderful parents one could ask for. Mom and Dad always told me that I was special because I was chosen – hand-picked if you will. Dad passed in 2002 and Mom passed away in 2017. Rarely a day passes without thinking about them.

I had taken a DNA test sometime ago and last Spring I got serious about finding my birth mother. I found an incredible Facebook group called DNA Detectives. I asked for some help and was amazed at how quickly they found my biological parents. I sent a letter to my birth mother, and she called a few days later. At sixty-two years old a new chapter of my life began. I have been doubly blessed with Mom and Momma.

We talked weekly and learned that I had five half-siblings, two younger brothers and three sisters. My eldest son, Adrian, and I went to Kentucky in September to meet them in person. Margaret and I returned to Kentucky in November and spent Thanksgiving week with my newfound family. I spent a few days in Kentucky over Memorial Day weekend for the family reunion and met a plethora of cousins, nieces, and nephews that came from Texas, Tennessee, Arkansas, Colorado, and Kentucky to be with my Momma at Flint Ridge, our family farm.

Flint Ridge – the McCuddy family home – the house was built in 1804 and purchased by Napoleon McCuddy in 1829
The old smokehouse at Flint Ridge – the cracks in the walls were from the New Madrid Earthquakes of 1811-1812

I introduced myself to one of my cousins and the response was “Oh, so you’re the subject of all the conversations the last few days”. I think it was meant positively though given the welcome I received from the family.

I can’t explain what it feels like to be among a crowd of people who look like you. I’m told that I favor my grandfather, and I look just like my Uncle David, both of whom passed away before I knew them, but the pictures are awesome. I apparently also look like my cousin Tommy because I was mistaken for him a couple of times.

I believed what my father had always told me about being special until I found out the rest of my world found being “special” really being “different”. I guess that why I felt at ease with all these people. I wasn’t different. I was like a whole room full of people that looked like me and felt a part of.

I talked, laughed, and did a lot of careful listening to the stories of my family. I think nurture is way overrated as a major influence in development. This last year has taught me that genes are far more responsible for who I am than my environment ever could be. Momma told me that when she visited Flint Ridge many years ago that something happened when she crossed the Tennessee River – it was where she belonged. I knew exactly what she meant.

One of my happiest moments of the weekend is when my cousin Brian said He wished I grown up with them. My cousins knew how to have fun. My brother Mark and I have talked about this. He always wanted a brother and so did I. Between talking to him and talking to Momma I’ve concluded that three boys with the same appetite would’ve put Momma in the poor house. Mark and I would have been good for one another or really, really bad…

I’ve learned that I am my mother’s son. I am just like her in so many ways, even down to the foods we like and dislike. I’ve come to know how blessed I am to have a momma who loves me and has for the sixty-two years we were apart. Last August I received my “first” birthday card from Momma.

I’m blessed to come from “good stock” – I could listen to the story of my grandparent’s relationship for hours – how my grandfather turned his back on fortune and chose love instead. Someday I’ll be able to share that one, but not today.

During a lull in the festivities, I walked off by myself to the family cemetery. I looked at the headstones. The names and dates told a rich history of the McCuddy family, my family. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a small container that held some of my son Jeremy’s ashes. Jeremy led me to this place. He often asked me why I didn’t put more effort into finding my birth mother. It was his sudden death that pushed me to share my DNA results with total strangers on Facebook and find my momma. It was somehow fitting that some of his ashes rest at Flint Ridge among his ancestors – his blood.

May 29th was the first day of the reunion and the second anniversary of Jeremy’s death. God has a way of holding broken hearts close to his heart. That day will always be bittersweet – a reminder that God wraps us all in arms of love and family.