Popaw and Bobby Gave Me the Greatest Gift(Lloyd Woods) A Christmas story…

This column was originally published in the Gresham Outlook and The Sandy Post on Dec. 20, 1990. With U.S. troops in Afghanistan and Iraq, including one of my best friends — Pat O’Halloran — who served two tours in Iraq and who is now in Afghanistan, I think it is appropriate to offer a revised version.

The passing of my grandfather in 1990 and my little brother Bobby in 2009 and the deployment of troops to Iraq and Afghanistan cause me to remember distinctly two Christmas holidays of my past. As strange as it may seem, for me the events are related.

After more than a decade of suffering from the effects of a stroke, black lung disease and finally Alzheimer’s, Popaw died in 1990 in a West Virginia nursing home. Always a strong-willed man, he held on to life as long as he could, despite the physical setbacks of recent years. His doctors told my mother more than once that Popaw would not live through the night. Surprisingly, there was no such warning the night he passed on.

My brother Bobby, a Navy veteran, died in 2009 after suffering amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig's ALS). Like our grandfather, Bobby was strong willed and held onto life with a passion. Even to his last breath, he vowed to speak and walk again.

I thought again of my grandfather and baby brother, remembering not the man who wasted away in a nursing home, but the coal miner with jet-black hair combed back and arms as strong as iron. Not of the 53-year-old man who could only communicate with his blinking eyes, but the 5-year-old with his little Booboo tattered stuffed bear.

My favorite memory of Popaw and Bobby is of the Christmas of 1961. I was 8, just days short of my birthday. My father was in Korea with the Army. We were living in Junior, W.Va., across a hard-packed dirt road from my grandparents.
When my father left, he told me I was to be the man of the house until he returned more than a year later. As the eldest of four, I did not take the responsibility lightly.

Nor, as it turned out, did Popaw.

Selection of the family Christmas tree that year would be my duty. Popaw loaded Bobby and me into his old Plymouth and off we went down a much-traveled gravel road to a snow-covered mountain, where Popaw said we would find the perfect tree.

As we headed off through the snow, it soon became apparent that my whining little brother was not going to make our search enjoyable. No tree met his approval, which I was quick to point out to Popaw shouldn’t make any difference, as I was the one who was going to select the tree.

But Popaw was just as quick to point out that if I truly wanted to feel like the “man of the house,” I would at least let Bobby think his selection was the one that would count, which it ultimately did.

On that day, this 8-year-old felt like a big man thanks to the wise nature of a truly big man, a man I miss this Christmas season.

The Army later had a role in another of my Christmas holidays. Only this time, my father was long retired from active duty and I was the one who was away from home.

Christmas 1974 was the one that made me feel like a little boy again.

I was stationed in Panama and four months away from the end of my Army service. I had spent the entire month of November home in South Carolina on leave. My family gave me an early Christmas, so I wasn’t expecting any packages for Christmas once I returned to Panama.

So, imagine my surprise when the day before Christmas a box from home arrived, with homemade cookies, fudge and stocking stuffers. In an accompanying note, my mother pointed out that it wasn’t much, but just enough to let me know they would be thinking of me Christmas Day and missing me as much as I missed them.

In the Army, four months can seem like an eternity. I tried to tell myself that actually celebrating Christmas on Christmas Day was not all that important, as I had celebrated it a month earlier and would “soon” be home again.

But when I opened that box and read that note, I knew I was lying to myself. Of all the days of the year, Christmas Day is one that should be spent with family, even if only in spirit. My parents knew that. I learned that on Christmas Eve 1974.

So, here I was, a sergeant in an infantry company crying like a baby. And proud of it.

My wish for this Christmas is that all the sergeants, privates and officers stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan have the opportunity to cry, not out of loneliness and homesickness, but of knowing they are loved. Those cookies many of you have mailed this month will have more of an impact than you could have imagined.

There you have it, the story of a “man” at 8 and a “boy” at 21 and two Christmas holidays I will never forget.

And this I add in 2011. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all in uniform serving our country.

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