By Steve Flairty
NKyTribune Columnist
Roger Guffey is steeped in the traditions and customs of his childhood growing up in Appalachia, in Wayne County, not far from the Tennessee border. A long-time math teacher now living in Lexington, Roger also enjoys writing, especially about the people who helped form who he is today. In recent years, he has authored People Up the Holler and When I Was My Father’s Son, both in the Appalachian genre.
He discusses the theme of his latest book, Stories from the Porch, like this: “Porches were the antecedents to today’s social media. Impersonal cell phone screens have supplanted the friendly rocking chairs and swings where people shared their stories.”
And, with this, Roger thinks we may have lost something with the modern “progress” made in modern communicating. “Traditions were passed between generations on the porch where the problems of the day evaporated in the cool twilight amidst the sirenic calls of whip-poor-wills and screech owls.”
Stories from the Porch is 287 well-written pages, a combination of both non-fiction and fictional narratives, and it can be ordered through Amazon. It is told in the author’s authentic style. He avoids overly sentimentalizing, preferring the stories to tell themselves. But in the first selection, “A Penny for Your Thoughts,” I was nearly brought to tears with his sharing of his family dealing with the onset of dementia symptoms with his mother and an experience happening at a long-ago Christmas gathering. Here is an excerpt of the selection (pp. 5-7) that I believe you will appreciate:
III
Within a few more visits, I realized that mother’s mental decline was accelerating. Finally, I decided to talk to Dad about what to do. As we sat at the table drinking coffee, he confided, “Johnny, it’s getting worse. Look there. You see that black ring in the rug? Last week, she was cooking dinner and went off and left a skillet of grease on the stove. It caught fire and she tried to take it outside. It burnt her hand and she dropped it on the floor there. Lucky, I was in the front room and heard the commotion. I smothered the fire and got the skillet outside. It would’ve burned the house down.”
He sipped his coffee and continued. “Two days ago, I found she had put dirty dishes away without washing them. She forgot to feed the cats and dogs yesterday. I’ve started cooking because I’m afraid to leave her alone in the kitchen. I cook a lot of hamburgers on that George Foreman grill. Jack calls them the O’Grady burgers. “
He sighed heavily. “I’ve got no choice. I’m going to quit work next week.”
“That’s probably the best thing to do. What does she do all day?”
“Jack bought her some coloring books and she spends the day coloring or drawing little pictures. Plays with her dogs. Breaks green beans. She can peel potatoes with a peeler. I won’t let her have a knife. Watches ‘Price Is Right.’ I have to watch the mail because I caught her buying a lot of stuff through the mail. Jack found some envelopes with money in them, but he took them before she could send them.”
After draining his coffee cup, he added, “You know that big piggy bank setting in the front room? Last week, she dumped it onto the dining room table sorting through the piles of coins. She was trying to read the dates on some of them. Of course, even with her glasses she could barely see them. Every once in a while, she’d ask me what year was on a penny. Hell, I could barely see them. I remembered we had a magnifying glass somewhere, and I found it for her. She spent the rest of the day going through the pennies. And after all that, she just put the money back in the bank.”
I sighed. “I know it’s hard on you, Daddy. You know what they say. ‘Once a man, twice a child.’ Mom is showing signs of dementia. Or even Alzheimer’s. We just have to watch her.”
“Johnny, I can’t take care of her. I heard there is a place up town where older people can go and stay during the day. I think they call it adult daycare. Raeburn Burke drives a bus and picks people up in the morning and then brings them back. You think they’ll take her?”
Steve Flairty is a teacher, public speaker and an author of seven books: a biography of Kentucky Afield host Tim Farmer and six in the Kentucky’s Everyday Heroes series, including a kids’ version. Steve’s “Kentucky’s Everyday Heroes #5,” was released in 2019. Steve is a senior correspondent for Kentucky Monthly, a weekly KyForward and NKyTribune columnist and a former member of the Kentucky Humanities Council Speakers Bureau. Contact him at sflairty2001@yahoo.com or visit his Facebook page, “Kentucky in Common: Word Sketches in Tribute.” (Steve’s photo by Connie McDonald) “You might as well ask. All they can say is no. You want me to call for you?”
“I was hoping you’d do that for me. I ain’t told the other kids.”
“Well, if any of them complain, tell them the alternative is for them to take care of her.”
Within a few minutes, I had made arrangements for Mom to spend her days at the Adult Daycare Center so Daddy could have the time free to work on his truck or help Jack in his cabinet shop.
IV
The other children agreed that sending Mom to the daycare home was the best thing. Realizing that our parents were getting more helpless, we all decided that we would spend Christmas with them. Daddy still insisted on buying all of us presents. On Christmas morning, he gave each of us a new comforter set, all exactly the same. As we thanked him, Mom’s eyes twinkled.
“Now I want to give you my presents.”
Daddy sat back in his chair. “What are you talking about? I never took you shopping.”
Mom replied, “You didn’t have to. Just wait here.”
She went back to her bedroom and returned with seven envelopes decorated with small Christmas bows. Her face beamed with a glow of delight as she started reading the envelopes and passing them out.
“Otis, 1937. Sally, 1939. Charlie, 1941. Now hold on. Leonard, 1945, Judy 1952, Johnny, 1955, Jackie, 1958. I went through the big piggy bank and found each one of you a penny that was made in the year you were born. MERRY CHRISTMAS!”
We sat dumbfounded, struggling to keep from crying as we watched Mom in her moment of triumph. As we had feared, her mind and body had begun to succumb to the ravages of Alzheimer’s. That would be the last Christmas we would all be home.
