Mamaw: really think about this!


My mamaw used to iron Papaw’s work clothes for him every day. He was a farmer/rancher! We left early in the morning to go work and didn’t get home until after dark. Most days, Papaw never saw anyone but me and maybe a few other crusty farmers. I could never understand why she needed to iron his clothes.
She used starch that she mixed up and put in a glass Coke bottle with this cork/metal headcap that slipped into the mouth of the bottle and had a multitude of holes in it, like a saltshaker. She would sprinkle his pants with the starch and hang them over a chair for a few minutes so they could dry a bit before she applied the heat of the iron to them.
I would watch her do this when I was a little kid and considered it normal. I just figured that every old woman in the world did it because this was all I had ever known. As the years passed, I began to question this practice. Why in the world did work clothes need to be ironed? Mamaw never ironed mine, and there was no way I saw any use to doing this myself. Heck, my clothes were usually so dirty by 9:00 a.m. that any sign of ironing would be long gone.
One day when I was about thirteen years old, I asked her about it. I wanted to know why she thought it necessary to invest time and effort pressing clothes that would never be seen and would be filthy in just a short time.
Her reply was as sweet a sentiment as I have found. She told me that Papaw was the most handsome man in the world. She said he was her best friend and the love of her life. She loved every chance she got to show him off and make the rest of the world jealous because he was hers. She went on to say that you just never knew when, at some point in the day, he was gonna run into people, and she wanted him to look the part of the most handsome man God ever made.
I looked closely at him later that day. He sure didn’t look all that handsome to me. He was a short, skinny man with a relatively big fanny compared to his shoulders. His hair was thin on top, and his false teeth didn’t line up too good when he smiled. He wore horn-rimmed glasses that were much too big for his face because all he really cared about was being able to see. I really didn’t see how anyone could consider this man the most handsome one God ever made.
I asked her about it a few days later. I informed her that I had closely observed ol’ Elmo Brown and most certainly didn’t see him as the most handsome man on Earth.
She giggled and gave me a girlish smile that grandmothers just shouldn’t be able to express at that age.
“You just aren’t looking in the right light, Turdhead. He is the most beautiful man God ever made. Those eye wrinkles haven’t always been there. I remember when he had real teeth. He has the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. They are exactly the same color as the sky just before the sun goes down. His entire face lights up when he smiles, and his voice is so calming and full that everyone in nine counties wants to hear him talk.”
What? He was my papaw. He had always been an old man as far as I was concerned. I never knew him any other way. Was she actually wanting me to consider that Papaw used to be young? Ha ha ha ha, no way.
“I want him to feel beautiful! I iron his clothes every day because for all these years, he has made me feel that way, beautiful. He is a man worthy of respect. I want him to look the part every day. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Meant nothing to me. I heard it and was kinda grossed out a bit. This was ridiculous to me, and I just decided to forget I had ever asked. How could this old woman think that an old man with false teeth was beautiful? Sheesh…old people.
I watched them grow old together and die. I was probably thirty when it dawned on me what beauty really was. And it was her ironing his pants with starch from a Coke bottle that taught me how to see the world that way.
This is a story from the book “Crowded in the Middle of Nowhere” by Bo Brock. Get a copy and find some emotions