Pawpaw

“Y’all don’t listen to your pawpaw, he’s just full of myths,” was a common expression shouted across my grandparent’s cracker box type home growing up. My pawpaw was a talker, and always had something to say if given the opportunity to say it. There was no such thing as a quick trip to Foodland for sugar, as an hour long conversation would always commence out of whichever unsuspected person happened to ask how his day was. He was known for sitting in our towns old pancake house with his buddies,

attitude. A wise man once said, “It is what it is, but it will be what you make it.” People who follow this quote decide that no matter what they are going to make the best out of the situation. Someone who has definitely battled the storms is my Pawpaw. After being told that his liver and kidney had failed, he never once showed any sign of doubt he could not make it through. At the end of my fifth grade year I noticed a

Tony, my dad’s dad, had a heart attack. This heart attack should have been life ending, had it not been for my paw paw’s co-worker. For 30 minutes, this co-worker did CPR while waiting for an ambulance. By the time my parents got to the hospital, my pawpaw was breathing on a ventilator. They were told that there was no hope, that he was not expected to make it even a week. What happens next? Well the doctor may have said there was no hope, but my paw paw did not need hope. He had something much greater

Pawpaw (Asimina triloba) also paw paw and papaw, is a tree with suburb potential in the landscape and garden for its historical background, ability to attract of wildlife, fruit, and hardiness. Historically pawpaws have been a fruit utilized by colonial and pioneer American. Unfortunately it gets usage now a days but still seems to evoke nostalgia from some southerners who came in contact with the tree. The first written report about pawpaws was made in 1541 by a member of Spaniard Hernando de Soto’s

The woman, Mary Beth, has passed away two days ago and Pawpaw has been hiding in my branches away from Jacob. Poor little Pawpaw. First the old lady, now her mother. At one point many people tried to get Pawpaw to come down to the ground, but she continued to refuse. An old lady eventually quieted all the people, “She will come down when she is good and ready or when she runs out of fruit. Either way, Jacob, she will be down.” Eventually Pawpaw did leave me, and return to her house away from me. But

the teacher, we would be in the dark, because, the light of someone teaching would not be. We would not advance as a society, on Medicare or agricultural advances. An influential person for me was Frank A. Casey, my great-grandpa, but to me he was Pawpaw. He was a small-town preacher who

my dog anyways? He should have been home half an hour ago” She looked around to hopefully find a trace of where her speckled, droopy eared beagle went and then she saw it, a huge contraption about a foot and half taller than ten feet. She ran to PawPaw and said in excitement “what is that huge thing in the barn?” “What do you mean little Evelyn?” “I mean what is that big contraption that looks like a death machine! You could fit like ten people in there!” “Oh that old thing, I thought I got

finally drive. It is an old and ugly beat up boat my grandpa gave me. It was supposed to be an exciting moment, yet somehow the feeling of humiliation came over me. What are my friends supposed to say when they read the license plate that says, “Pawpaw” on it? How come I couldn’t get the Z-28 like Roger? Or the Corvette that TJ who gets all the babes got? All I’m going to attract are the old ladies from the nursing homes! I’ll be the biggest loser of the school! I had three choices. I could wreck

and Elizabeth while they were giving her a bath that her pawpaw (Don Sr.) had been sexually molesting her. Krissa said she then told the child’s father but he was not sure the child had actually told Krissa and her mother (Elizabeth) that her pawpaw touched her. However, Krissa said last night while the child was in the bath tub she was touching her private part, and he asked her if anyone had ever touched her private part and she said pawpaw and pointed to the front room. Krissa said the child’s father

porch light was on yet. That dim porch light was the beacon to my very favorite place, my family’s hunting camp, where I would begin and end nearly every day of my childhood. Before the crack of dawn I would wait for the confirmation of light and my pawpaw to yell “come on over Haley, ain’t no coyote gonna get you with me standing here,” and then I would sprint to the camp steps, surveying the concrete path for snakes, listening closely for the howl of hungry coyotes, anticipating the buttery biscuits