“Yeah, yeah… Sheeeeeyit!”
Those are the words I mostly remember from Doug, our next door neighbor.
He rode around in a golf cart. He’d suffered a stroke several years prior and couldn’t possess a standard driver’s license. So he would occasionally travel up and down our street in that golf cart. I remember him always wearing blue. Blue pants, a blue shirt, and a blue baseball cap. He couldn’t say much more than those few basic words.
At that point in my life, I was just getting acclimated to a new environment. We moved to middle Tennessee—Dickson to be exact—maybe a year or so earlier. I was starting ninth grade. We had just moved into this new house, and already had a couple of new dogs. Jake. The hound dog. My dad loved Jake. And I did too. My mom and sister were a bit less enthusiastic about this raw, emotional animal. But he was the proper symbol of our family at that time. Loving, trusting, not much worry for the future.
I don’t remember exactly why Jake didn’t last. All I know is that within a year, the old hound dog was replaced by a docile collie named Trix. The most timid, but most gentle, dog I’ve ever known. All I wanted to do was pet her every time I saw her. Her face was always pure innocence. Lassie was the obvious comparison. But there was an inexplicable depth in her eyes. Like she had been treated unfairly before she became part of our world.
Among all these new experiences, I also noticed the relationship between my dad and the next door neighbor, Doug. I could never understand his mutterings. I just saw him ride over every once in a while in that golf cart. Who knows how long he lived in the little house next door, unable to really bond with anyone because of his speech impediment? But my dad, for some reason I might never know, made a concerted effort to connect with him. I would sometimes see them together when I walked out into the back yard. Often they would be holding beer cans in their hands and laughing.
I was such a different person then, but I remember exactly who that person was. Obsessed with video games—Final Fantasy and Street Fighter especially—but also part of a burgeoning group of iconoclasts at school. A group informally named “The Bench” because of where we sat each morning when we arrived at Dickson County High School. I look back on that time and still marvel at our comedic genius. I’m not afraid to state it thusly, because the four of us so perfectly balanced each other’s tendencies.
We would meet up from time to time and film these utterly silly comedy skits. I’ve reflected on those times frequently and truly believe we could have pursued comedy as a “serious” endeavor if we’d really wanted to, or had the guidance. If only one of those four personalities had not been present, the whole thing would have fallen apart. We were known at our high school for being a bit bizarre and for our unsolicited commentary on passersby. But what nobody knew was that we were twice as hard on ourselves—we ridiculed each other mercilessly. It was this heightened interplay of give and take that raised each of us to new heights.
No matter how hard I tried to laugh off the world around me, however, I still had to come face to face with stark realities. At some point, we moved away from that house, away from that street. I’ll never know the emotional impact that may have had on my dad or Doug. I look back on it now and think that may have been the last true friendship for both. My dad was somehow able to decipher whatever gibberish came out of Doug’s mouth. And Doug always seemed eager to ride over in his golf cart and strike up one of these mysterious conversations with my dad.
Not too long after we moved, my dad died in an automobile accident. I don’t remember if Doug showed up to the funeral, but I like to think he was there, if only in spirit. There could be no greater symbol of the extent of my dad’s love and respect for all of humanity, than that man. Just a guy in a dark blue baseball cap, slowly riding down the street in a plain white golf cart, paying a visit to the one human being who made an effort to understand him.
I feel as if I am nowhere near my dad as a human being, despite his faults. He had a drinking problem, yes. But I remember him lavishing me with love and attention during his time here on Earth. He was an extraordinary presence, and a complicated one. His friendship with Doug—who otherwise was an outcast of society—is something I will spend the rest of my life trying to understand. But the one thing I do know is that my dad’s heart was giant, and full of empathy. If I can tap into that only occasionally, I will have lived up to his legacy.
I am Brad’s sister, Lindsay, and have a completely different view of Doug and the extremely negative impact my Dad’s relationship with him had on my life. When Dad went to visit Doug, he always came back drunk…maybe not as drunk as he would get on the weekends, but definitely “lit” as my Mom would put it. I was only 9 years old at the time, but I was fully aware of the change in my Dad when he would return from a Doug visit. I wasn’t ignorant. I knew my Dad wasn’t going over just to be kind and keep him company. That’s the card he played to make it look like he was being a Good Samaritan, when really it was an excuse to get drunk during the week. One of my last, most vivid memories I have of my interaction with my Dad was him leaving through the gate that separated our property from Doug’s crying and begging him not to go,…to stay and play with me and I would play or do whatever he wanted. He just smiled and said, “Maybe later.” I will never, ever forget that moment. It is painful even now to recount. It was at that moment I knew…Dad wasn’t willing to give up alcohol for Mom, for Brad, and now not for his “Peach Cake”. He would always choose alcohol over us. I was devastated, hopeless and angry. I yelled out, “I hate you, Daddy! I hate you!” Not even a year later, his life was taken through a drunk driving accident. He was drunk as was his “friend”, but the “friend” was driving. Do I love my Dad? Absolutely! I know he loved me dearly. Do I hold him in high regard as Brad? Never. In my eyes, he’s the picture of Proverbs 20:1 “Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.”