The other day, I wrote a tribute to Ken Loggains, who I
worked with for several years at WDKN, and is one of my influences in terms of
being a professional. The next two posts are about family. I have to say that I
approach that term a little differently than some do. Growing up in Tennessee,
it was basically just my parents, maternal grandmother, and a few cousins. That’s
what I was around. My father’s side of the family hails from Illinois, and
though I did go up there quite a bit as a child, I haven’t gotten up there as
much in my adulthood. That’s neither good or bad, nor an indictment on anyone.
I can pick back up long-standing family jokes with my aunts and uncles from the
Land of Lincoln like no time has passed. My Aunt Diana has teased me since 1989
about “The Bank of Davenport,” while my Uncle Burt loves Buck and Dwight(!),
and my Aunt Gloria? Well, she’s the saint of the family. She is the furtherest
from the family tree when it comes to the Dauphin family art form of agitation.
In a lot of ways, family also means your inner circle
wherever you’re at. I am blessed to have several different familial units that
I consider myself a part of. I don’t have blood siblings. But, I do have many
people that fill some of that void. I hate singling anyone out, because you’re
going to piss some people off – and I don’t want to do that. However, I do have
a brother from another mother – as well as a sister from another mister. Today,
I want to tell you about my brother.
It might be hard to understand for today’s generation, but
the Yellow Pages phone book used to be a huge deal. With Google and
smartphones, it’s not really what it once was – but growing up in the 70s and
80s, it was big. And, the back cover of the phone book would have a spot for
you to write down numbers. So, I would get as many phone numbers as I could
from my friends at school. You look at a phone book so much back then that you
memorized the numbers.
446-3975 was one such number that was written on the back of
the Dauphin phone book. All it said was “Ralph.” I didn’t write the number. My
father did. Ralph Kimbro was a friend of his that he got to known in the
Masonic Lodge. In second grade, I met a fellow student named Randall. We became
really good friends, and exchanged phone numbers. His sounded familiar. As it
turned out, he was Ralph’s son. I knew his number before I knew him.
In the thirty-six years that have transpired since, there are
few people I am closer to than Randall. Our school years included many field
trips, loading our lunch sacks with Nerds and Slim Jims, and many trips to each
others’ house. His parents became my second set and likewise.
Some of those visits got quite interesting. There was the
time that he convinced me he had a oet snake downstairs at his house, and there
was a hole in the basement ceiling that he said was thee because his family
buried his grandmother there because they couldn’t afford the burial. (Now, I know
– and he knows I know – that he was pulling my leg. But, even the last time I
was over at the Kimbro house, I had to take a look at the hole where the corner
tile was missing….and wonder!)
We also used to prank call Swap and Shop on WDKN. (Boy, did
that come back to haunt me) And, over the years, there have been countless
trips, vacations, and many Black Friday celebrations. From the time we got our
licenses to drive, that day after Thanksgiving has been a sacred one. He moved
to Lousiana a few years ago, and we haven’t done it in a while….but I’m always
open!
We grew up together, counseled each other through marriage
and divorce, and watched our kids grow up. He was one of the first persons I
talked to when my Mother passed away – and when his dad passed, I tried to be
there the best I could.
I am very blessed to have a lot of friends. But, Randall
Kimbro is very special to me. If he tells me something, I take it to the bank.
Even to this day, when I feel the walls closing in due to this “tragedy” or
another, he’s the first person I call. In all those years, there was only one
time I remember getting mad at him – Easter 1984. There was an egg hunt at
Burns Elementary and the grand prize was a Michael Jackson poster. He wasn’t a
fan, but I was. Randall wins the poster….and gives it to John-Boy Deloach! Wasn’t
too happy about that.
I got over it.
Over three decades later, I’m glad to say that bond is as
strong as ever, Michael Jackson or no Michael Jackson. In fact, Randall is one
of those people that, due to his life and mine taking us in different
directions, I may go weeks without talking. Then, we do, and it’s an hour. In
fact, I need to pick up the phone tonight. We’re overdue!
Oh, and one more thing….In case you’re reading this…..”Rubber.”
Dang. I feel better!
