The best dog we’ve ever had died on the morning of the last presidential election. Two heartbreaks on the same day. There hasn’t been a day gone by that I don’t think of Missy, and miss her.
It’s been a hard two years dealing with her loss, and the lack of civility coming from the White House. I fear for women, the LGBTQ community and people of color. Hatred and lies have infected our country deeply.
As we’re mired in another senseless war, football is six or seven games into the season. I’m going to try to give you a reason to smile.
The story in this month’s poem I wrote was told to me by Jesse Dague, my second cousin. His mother Cora, was my Grandpa Wooten’s sister.
In the summer of 1998 Jesse, his wife Mary and two granddaughters made a surprise visit to Stone Circle. That evening he publicly presented me with my great-grandfather’s pocket watch.
After Levi Wooten died on April 26, 1931, Aunt Cora gave the watch to her oldest son Kenneth. Ken was killed during World War II in the South Pacific. His plane went down over Borneo and none of the crew were ever found.
In 1946 she gave the watch to Jesse. He kept the watch for 52 years, but felt it should be owned by a Wooten again. Earlier that March Jesse had it cleaned and repaired, so it still works.
My great-grandpa was an interesting character and storyteller. What stories this watch could tell if it could talk, but it only thing it tells is time.
As “The Glass Eye” poem shows, Jesse inherited our grandpa’s sly humor. He must have been a senior on this football team in the poem.
After graduation, he joined the Army Air Corps. There wasn’t an Air Force back then. Jesse later became a crew member on a B-52 bomber over Vietnam. He retired as a lieutenant colonel. On our last visit in my living room, Jesse wanted to clear the air. He told me he wasn’t proud of what he did in that war.
Jesse never lived in our hometown of Marion again. He and Mary retired in Arizona, but often visited his mother and youngest brother during the summer. He’d spent his formative childhood years there and liked the little village. He’s buried there in Greenwood Cemetery.