The Legend of Opalee Shirley

I'm not that savvy on folk tales. I know the ones about Johnny Appleseed and John Henry. I love the idea of exaggerated stories about people. Especially the folks that are worthy to be remembered.

I ache to remember all the unique individuals that have come in and out of my life. I'm thankful for the ones that are in my life today, the ones that are now with our Creator, and the ones I hope to bump into at Wal-mart soon. I've been blessed to know many great people (and, I'm sure you are one of them!).

I've written about my dad, the coal miner, who aches to be a hero. He's gentle and gives the most genuine compliments to all he meets. He rarely meets a stranger, and loves to make those around him feel comfortable. Also, growing up mom always made me try on new outfits when we got home from an exhausting day of shopping. I hated to go back there and try the ichy outfit on, but I did it anyway. And, I was always glad that I did. My dad would smile and laugh. He'd say "woo! Makes your daddy wanna cry how pretty you are!" Oh, and my favorite line, "Allison, you'd look pretty in a tater sack." I don't know what a tater sack is. I mean, a tater sack today is plastic with holes in it. BUT, I knew what the man meant, and even though I'm awkward and feel ugly as sin - I believe my daddy thinks I'm pretty.

Woo!

Anyways, my dad could be and should be remembered by all, and should be a legend for being the most amazing dad ever. Now, if I could get the man to retire from the mines, then my day would be happier.

Meh.

Anyways, I'm about to listen to a bluegrass station, and blog about Dean's daddy. I didn't know him very long. I met him in 1998 in rural Louisianna, and he went to be with our soveriegn Maker Febuary 2001. In those years I really didn't know much about him. He was tall, strong and a bit lanky. He had kind eyes, and he called me "little bit."

I need to find some blue grass music, or maybe some crazy cajun music.

Alrighty folks. Here begins the beginning of the muchly needed to be remembered Legend of Opalee Shirley.

First of all, what a name, eh? What in the world? Well, my dearest hubby doesn't remember the details at all of how he was named that. I vaguely recall the story myself. So! Isn't this how a legend begins?

This is how I imagine it.

Emmer Irene was heading out to the field in a wagon with her soon to be 3 year old son, Richard. I think that she had her arm around him, and he sat near her with his toddler hand on her knee. She, of course, didn't know if the love in her womb was a boy or girl. She asked Richard what the new baby should be named. The boy sat and looked around the field, and remembered a delightful little girl. I don't know if she was a cousin, or if she was someone he met in the community. But, I do believe she had curly hair, and her name was Opal. That was the name he decided that would be the name of little one. Emmer smiled and shook her head.

Richard died at the age of 3, and I'm not sure if he ever met his brother. For some reason, that always makes me want to cry.

Emmer Irene held her newborn son in an old blanket and remembered the conversation she had with her son. What I know of Emmer as a granny was that she was a tough and scarey old woman. I reckon she was quite stubborn and didn't give a rat's hiney what other's thought of her decisions. She named that beautiful newborn baby, Opalee. No middle name, and no regrets.

Opalee grew up stronger and taller than any other in his family.

He was 6'7" when I met him. He'd wrap those long arms around me with a tight hug when he'd see me, and the smile he gave Deano when we pulled up the dirt driveway still makes me chuckle. Oh, and the hug he gave his son was just loving and strong. He loved my husband so much. What a delight to see how much my father-in-law loved my best friend!

So, just because Pa Shirley was named after a little girl that his brother thought was sweet. Please, dear reader, don't think he was feminine at all. No, like I said, he was 6'7" and strong as an ox.

Dean says he'd grab snakes by the tail and whip 'em like...uhh..a whip and snap their heads against the ground with a death blow. Then, he'd cook 'em in a sauce for dinner.

No lie.

This is the beginning of my legend.

If you like it, then I'll give you more. Again, only if you like it, and ache to hear more.