Greetings from the Ridge.
Hershel Lindsay dreaded holidays. It was the task of he and his wife Elisabeth to host the family gatherings and this year’s Fourth of July reunion seemed to be more formidable than most. Hershel’s family is politically divided. Actually, divided isn’t quite the word. In recent months it’s been torn down the middle with supporters of the current administration on one side and its detractors on the far side of the family chasm. Hershel told me at the coffee shop that he’d considered cancelling this year’s annual fireworks night, fearing that the explosions might be verbal instead of pyrotechnic.
“The trouble is,” said Hershel, “they’re all good people. I love ‘em all and underneath all the political talk they’d do anything for each other. That’s the way we raised ‘em.” He sadly told me that something had happened to them in recent months.
“Used to be, politicians would at least stay civil and that sort of set the tone for all of us. Now it’s Katie-bar-the-door with the trash talk and insults.” He even admitted some anger himself. “Yes, I do blame our leaders. These weren’t the kids I raised.”
I had the chance to run into Hershel just after the Fourth and I asked him how things went.
“Worse than I figured, Freida. They got out of their cars wearing their ‘Impeach Trump’ and ‘America First’ T-shirts and hats. Elisabeth and I just looked at each other. It wasn’t going to be easy.” The Lindsay’s aren’t a drinking family, so there was no alcohol fueling the conversation that night, but in Hershel’s words, “It just wasn’t like old times. Yeah, we hugged and laughed, but it was tense.”
Elisabeth was especially concerned since she’d asked her father, Laymon, to join them. Laymon’s been holed up in a nearby retirement home for several years and it’s hard for him to get around, but a rented wheelchair and a good deal of persuasion from his daughter got him to the family confab. Everyone was tickled to see Grandpa, and Hershel said that his father-in-law’s presence put everyone on their best behavior… but it didn’t last.
“Within an hour they forgot Laymon was there and the political arguing began.”
Elisabeth was embarrassed for her dad and at several points during the evening she offered to take him home, but he insisted on staying for the fireworks. “Unless,” he said, “they’ve already begun.”
Hershel told me that the debate was getting heated and the kids were becoming antsy awaiting the rockets and firecrackers. “I even thought about shooting them off while there was still daylight, just to divert everyone’s attention and get poor Laymon back to his retirement village.” He said it was one of the saddest moments of his life, “Imagine, Freida, wanting your own family to go home. I nearly cried.”
That’s when Laymon spoke up. Laymon Richardson is 94 years old, worked his whole life on the farm after he returned from the war, and after the death of his wife, Maurine, he sort of went downhill. He was always known as a man whose word was as good as his bond and was the driving force behind building our Lutheran church after the fire. Laymon raised a shaky hand in the middle of an argument over tweeting presidents and said, “Could I say something?”
Hershel told me the patio became silent with only the hiss of the smothered charcoal grill and a few tree frogs left dangling in the Coonridge night air.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m getting tired and may forget what I want to say by tomorrow.”
His family chuckled.
“You’ll have to move closer. Don’t have much voice anymore.”
The family crowded their lawn chairs in to a tight covey around Grandpa as he took a sip of lemonade then began.
“I’ve fought a war and lived through some tight money times where stayin’ alive was mainly what we talked out. I love all my family and I just want to tell you that you’ve all been infected and it makes me pretty sad.” Hershel said that the old man gave them a short lecture in civics. “The president, the Congress, that ain’t us. That ain’t America. I’ve seen ‘em come and go and believe me, they’ll go.”
Laymon cast an eye to the youngsters playing in Hershel’s backyard.
“That out there. That’s America and what they see and hear is gonna determine what our country’s gonna be. And what they see and hear now is you … Mom and Dad. So now let’s shoot off some fireworks.”
Hershel said it was the best Fourth ever.
You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.
