Kes: I Feel Like The Richest Man In Town

I must be worse off than I thought. Joey Fontaine showed up at the house. He had driven all the way from Jackson, Mississippi. With a homemade cherry cheesecake in his hand. We called him “Fake Red” when he was in high school.

“Coach, I heard about your hip surgery.” Joey graduated in the late 1970’s. “I wanted to come over and see if you were alright. Do you like cheesecake?”

I marveled at how fast he got here. The hip replacement had taken place a couple of days before. My right leg felt like someone had attacked it with an old McCullouch 142 chainsaw!

Fake Red made me feel better just by the genuine concern on his face, and his kind remarks about our time together almost half a century ago. Folks, that’s better medicine than those five pills Cathy was shoving down my throat morning, noon, and night.

Norman, who knows me pretty well, went to the grocery store each morning and picked up my favorite breakfast. Day after day! I had to make him quit.

Phil Collier unloaded his big lawnmower and cut my grass BEFORE I had the surgery. “Kes, I saw you limping the other day. I am going to take care of your yard until you can do it yourself. I don’t care how long it is.”

And he didn’t just mow. He trimmed, edged, and used his weed eater in places that I never bothered with. My yard looks better than it ever has!

Pastor Glenn Davis, whose church I don’t attend, calls and/or comes by every day to pray for me. And, if I’m lucky, he brings those Heavenly yeast rolls his sweet wife bakes for me. Pastor Jeff Strickland called to check on me. I don’t go to his church either. But I have spoken there enough that I’m surely on their church roll.

I couldn’t even start to tell you about the church where Cathy and I do go on occasion. We have a staff that has prayed for me daily. As has every deacon. And most every member. Without fail.

I know because I have felt those prayers.

Diane Pitts brought over an entire meal that we ate-on for two days. Miss Dora came bearing a real southern baked apple pie. Sarah Ruth brought her famous chicken pot pie. My wonderful goddaughter came bearing pasta with meatballs and a key lime pie. Barbara Whitfield sent over a carrot cake that was so good I winced when Cathy ate a couple of slices of it.

I gained eight pounds in my first week of recovery.

People have called and sent cards. My cousin Joe’s granddaughter, Makenna, who has the best heart in our family, came down from Tennessee to check on me and take me to lunch.

You don’t realize the importance of the little things…until you need them!

All of this attention is most humbling. And it sends me back to my youth, and those simpler times. I remember Mom, Aunt Jessie, Opal Coleman, Ruth Bradfield, and so many others preparing meals for anyone in our church, or in town for that matter, that had hit a bump in the road.

Jim Alexander, Robert Hall, Ed Wiley, and a host of other men stood ready on a moment’s notice to “jump in” whether it be a strong back or some cash money to help some needy family weather a storm.

I spent my youth seeing this love for fellow man and generosity played out on an almost weekly basis. When I asked once about this phenomenon, Dad simply said, “Son, we take care of our own.”

The good old days some say.

Gone forever is often the echo.

We hear the talk of the insensitivity that permeates life today. We live too fast. Computers have all the answers. If you snooze you lose. You only go around once, so grab all the gusto. Take care of number one. AI is what it is all about today….

Well, that’s bunk! I have seen the best of the good ole days come to life in my own living room in the past couple of weeks. I have been surrounded with people who care. Who have turned aside for me. Who have treated me like family. I will not live long enough to pay them back.

The beauty is that doesn’t even cross their minds. 

I just got back from my two-week post-op meeting with my doctor. The first thing he noted was the surgery had not hurt my appetite any. He also gave me some insight into what I could expect. Like, back to normal in some things in a month or so. Golf in three months. Sky diving might take twice that.

He did say that I had one particular problem with the hip that did not occur after most surgeries. And I want you to point this out to Phil Collier when you see him. The doc said I could not, under any circumstances, mow my yard until AFTER the summer of 2028….

Thankfully,

Kes

kesley45@aol.com