Fried pork skins are not a usual grocery purchase. They feed my soul more than my stomach, a different kind of nourishment. When nostalgia sets in, I let the potato chip aisle take me home. I bought a bag last Tuesday and munched through it as I sat in car line.
My Pawpaw Carlisle ate fried pork skins, Golden Flake brand of course because it’s a Birmingham, Alabama staple. A clear, plastic bag bearing the bright yellow-and-red logo sat chip-clipped on Granny Carlisle’s kitchen counter almost every time I visited.
Those visits became fewer when I was diagnosed with allergies. Cigarette smoke was a severe trigger and Pawpaw smoked a lot so I couldn’t be around him very much.
He wasn’t usually home anyway. He loved to fish and would be found in his boat on Bayview Lake more than his living room couch. His signature orange toboggan (a hat here in the south) could not be missed against the backdrop of trees as our car crossed Bayview Bridge, nor could the fuzzy white dog called Snowball who accompanied Pawpaw wherever he went and especially on his boat.
Pawpaw picked up aluminum cans that were cast alongside the road so that he could cash them in for money. On my way to school in the mornings I would see him walking, carrying a black garbage bag and wearing, still, a toboggan.
Pawpaw died in 1998, my junior year in college. He asked my daddy to give final words at his funeral. I have the index cards with daddy’s sentiments. In red ink he wrote:
“Lawrence Carlisle was just a simple man enjoying the simple things of life.”
Simple things. Fried pork skins. Fishing. Aluminum cans. A dog named Snowball.
Pawpaw was not a man of many words, and when he did talk the things he would sometimes say we weren’t allowed to repeat. You might curse too if you raised seven daughters in a house with one bathroom. So, it’s surprising that my warmest memory of him is, in fact, his words.
I was visiting Pawpaw and Granny before leaving for college, and in a rare moment Pawpaw joined the conversation and offered me this advice:
“Don’t take anyone’s opinion. Find out for yourself.”
He was talking specifically about people and the importance of knowing someone personally before making a judgment.
I put Pawpaw’s advice into practice pretty quickly.
The name McKerral struck fear in many students at Troy State University’s Hall School of Journalism. Temper. Terror. I didn’t know these things – how could I? – when I received a letter naming Gordon “Mac” McKerral as my academic advisor. I was sitting at the Dairy Queen in Troy prior to the start of freshman year when I shared Mac’s name with a senior student who knew him well. She extended me her sympathies.
As predicted and described, Mac was shouting into the workroom of the Tropolitan (the school newspaper of which he was the advisor) when I arrived at the Hall School’s lobby to meet him. He was angry or aggravated or whatever emotion causes teachers to burst. My usual brisk walk turned timid with trepidation as I all but tiptoed toward his office. I tapped on his door and he turned to greet me… with a smile.
Mac was never anything but kind to me. I was not his student, technically, because he left Troy State before I could complete the pre-requisite courses for his Media Law class. And since I was on a broadcast journalism track, I did not work for him at the “Trop.” My opinion of him may have been different if either of those had transpired. Instead, I have a treasured postcard from him dated 1997 and a favorite picture of us together in front of the Hall School of Journalism where I had the good fortune to know him.
I have not talked to Mac since he left Troy. To my knowledge, he is still teaching (and maybe terrifying?) college students. And while I was never officially one of his students, Mac did teach me a lesson that I still apply: to remember Pawpaw and his sage advice.
“Don’t take anyone’s opinion. Find out for yourself.”
Wise words.
Precious memories.
Simple things.
They feed my soul. Just like fried pork skins.
“…For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
(1 Samuel 16:7)
Such very good advice Julie.
Thank you, Mrs. Virginia. It is a memory that has stayed with me all of these years. Thank you for reading!