A Good Man Has Come And Gone
last wednesday, around 11:30 am, my grandfather died. Charles Henry Tigert, known also by his family as Papaw and by his friends as CH went on to be with his previously passed friends and God on March 21. a great grandfather, father, friend, brick mason, and crazy bastard. he will be missed by all who knew him.
below are two items. first is a song that i wrote about Papaw the night after he died to play for the family.
the second piece is a eulogy-ish work done by my best friend, and a good friend of Papaw's as well, San_ford.
Papaw, CH 1921-2007
we'll see you in a little while. go ahead and pick out the best fishing spots.
Tell me a story bout Moui Thai, Papaw
Tell me one about Red
Let's go fishin at the pond now, Papaw
I'll try not to stick my lure in your shiny bald head
Can you help me sharpen up my lawnmower blades?
Can you give me a hand with these brakes?
I can buy us some Jack, and we'll sit by a fire,
And we'll do our best not to burn down the whole place
I know that you can hear me now
And you know we miss you at home
But you know we know there's no pain up there
and that you're causing trouble with your buddies that'd already gone
Tell me a good one on my daddy, Papaw,
Maybe bout the time he shot his leg.
Tell me a story on Uncle Charles, Papw.
I take it back, I don't even wanna know what he did
a sad day
America lost a fine man today at approximately 12pm CST.
Charles Henry Tigert, a beloved husband, father, grandfather, and friend to many, left to be with the Lord while at his home on Honeysuckle Trail. As a proud veteran, who served his country well, a skilled mason, a carpenter and fisherman who enjoyed teaching his children, grandchildren, and friends how to do both, he will be missed.
As his grandson's best friend, I spent many hours with C.H. (as he insisted he be called, not Mr. C.H.) I recall many fond memories: fishing with C.H. and my Papa J in Colorado and Mississippi. C.H.'s late dog, Brandy, chasing every lure cast into his pond by my grandfather, to Pop's frustration and C.H.'s amusement. C.H. putting one of Dad's favorite handkerchiefs on the back of my knee, full of Red Man, to ease the pain from an insect sting. Many, many, many Easter Egg hunts, lasagna dinners, and roast beef sandwich dinners at his house cooked by his lovely wife, Alice. Firework shows, fish frys, fourwheeler rides, stories about anything and everything. (C.H. never EVER told a fishing tale...)
When my father visited him once as pastor of a church in his community, C.H. mentioned that he didn't come to church often because he didn't have any dress socks (half in jest, half because he didn't have dress socks.) Dad brought him a pack of socks a few days later. C.H. never missed a day of church after that. He usually took a seat on the camera-right side of the sanctuary on the second row.
Another story involved Dad and I on a camping trip to Red Barlow's cabin somewhere in Mississippi. Dad had cut enough firewood to cook dinner and warm us through the night. Well, ol' C.H. knew we were headed out that way, and decided to pop in for a visit. Now, if you know C.H., you know that he lights a fire in early September, or whenever the temperature starts to drop from the summer, and continues to warm up the house well into Spring when there is still a chill. Well, C.H. found our fire to be a bit lacking, and decided to spruce it up a bit, successfully buring up all the wood. As Dad and I both loved C.H. dearly, it was quite funny... (we gathered more wood later...)
I hope that C.H. knows that everytime I light a bottle rocket, fry a shrimp or catfish filet, fire up a fourwheeler, or start a good ol' fire to fight the chill, that he'll be remembered. Fondly.
I'm sure that Papa J will enjoy his newly-arrived fishing buddy and they can catch up on fishing stories.
Goodbye, old buddy... I'll miss you.
You can burn up all my firewood anytime.
amen to that, my brother, amen to that.