A Mind Of His Own

Another death in the family this week and the hardest one to write about. Not hard in the way that it hit me the hardest, as that is certainly not the case.  It's hard because he was a...  uh, complicated creature.

I know that I don't have to write about it at all too, but writing is therapeutic for me. We've had plenty of differences over the nearly 30 years we've known each other, but there have been so many more moments with a shared love of old country songs, arguing about the Bible, our love for our families, discussing football, the fact that some people just don't get the "soul" of music...  just to list a broad view of our topics.

Going back to 1990, I'm fairly certain that Jim couldn't stand me when I first showed up at their house with my long hair (dyed black), purple jeans, white KISS shirt and an attitude of kiss my @$$ (KMA) if you don't like me.  Even tho, it was the SAME, EXACT attitude with which he carried himself for a great number of years!  LOL!

Never-the-less,  my first visit to the Bushman home on Madison, saw me greeted on the sidewalk between the side door of the house and the garage, met by Molly, whose first words to me were, "Who the hell are you??".  To be clear,  it wasn't said in a very polite manner and wasn't exactly welcoming, but thanks to my KMA vibe,  I didn't really care and I truly have no idea how I responded.

Beyond that, I don't really recall much of that initial visit other than Jim having a shotgun within reach of his seat at the kitchen table.  He claimed that it was due to a varmint in the yard when he'd leave for work early in the morning and his desire to contribute to it's demise, but looking back, I should probably have had a little less KMA attitude noting that the dude had two teenage daughters!!

Soon after that initial visit, Jim discovered that I liked to play pool.  He also liked to bet and take money off of people.  I did not (and do not) like to bet and I did not like my money to go to things other than records or guitars since there was not much of said money to go around. 

We'd still go play pool at the Cottontail Lounge, where oddly enough, a future sister-in-law was tending bar at the time.  He would whoop me up one side and down the other for as long as I was willing to play.  And I was willing to play for several hours on end, even though I was not very good.

When it came to pool playing styles, my Dad was a "shoot and holler poop" guy whereas Jim was a fella who if you're going to make a ridiculous shot, you'd better call it or it doesn't count.  This can lead to fights.  And it DOES lead to fights.  We had them!

It took many outings of pool with him to understand the rules between the two different "dads".  My dad was all about getting a bag of cheese popcorn, a couple of diet pepsi's and play.  My father-in-laws game was, it's for blood!  He would say,  "If I lay a bet on the table and lose,  you have to be man enough to come over and collect it from me, because I DAMN SURE AIN'T GOING TO HAND IT TO YOU!"  which is something that was shouted at me, full lung, at a bar I can't remember at this point.

Me, being the rebel that I was at that point, simply said back,  "if you aren't man enough to hand over the money that you just lost,  fair and square, then stick YOUR money up YOUR ---!".   I think he respected that, and I took note.  He would devour you if you would simply back down from him.  If you stood up to him, it would involve some of the most intense, thought provoking, and sometimes maddening conversations that a fella (or fella'etta!) would ever engage in!

This is a pic of $6 that I won from him,  and not easily!  It's a $1 dollar bill on top of check he wrote for $5 after a couple of his losing bets.  LOL!!  I never wanted his money, but I did want him to know that if I was confident enough to bet even $1, I was winning!!  He eventually learned that and then moved on to trying to take dollars from the boys.

This was no ordinary man.  He had an early life/upbringing that left some marks.  He was very guarded about this and would let bits and pieces out from time to time but it was up to you to piece things together if you were so inclined.

I've heard stories from him that I was told could never be repeated until after he was in the ground.  I have obliged that!  I may only share them with my lovely bride but only if she wishes to hear them. Other than that, I'm pretty proud to have earned this hardened old boys trust to lay these stories out to me!!!  Honored really.

But it wasn't always good.  He has said some really horrible and destructive things to me.  He once said a HORRIBLE thing about how I'm raising my boys.  I've struggled with them as my good friends know. 

I also, have said some things to him that while I meant the sentiment, I truly missed on delivering the message.  I suspect that's similar to what came out of his mouth towards me, but I have no idea, really.

After losing Molly, and then Marlene,  the relationship changed as he softened from losing his bride of 53 years and his youngest daughter. 

He's had a few moments where he would be just incredibly impossible and I would lay into him for his ridiculousness.  He could occasionally be verbally abusive and almost seem to revel in it as he was losing control from a physical standpoint.  Maybe he was trying to control things verbally, I really don't know.  He could, and would, still be an incredible @$$ from time to time, but we had many a moment where he was so grateful and loving. 

I had some unique experiences around the pool table in our basement, which some were great, some were funny, some were maddening, and whatever else. 

But one of the last times we played, we had a special moment.  On this day, I whooped him.  He was playing good pool, but I was playing like I do about twice a year, which is to say, lights out!  We'd been having some good conversations about life and death, Marlene and Molly, music, and life in general.

I stopped him before he was ready to head up the stairs and go to bed.  I said, "I just want you to know, that of all the arguments we've had, the finger pointing, occasional name calling, whatever else, that you've been my dad for the past 18 years since I lost my own.  And you've been pretty damn good at it!".

He dropped his pool cue and we had one of the best hugs of my life, and I will never forget it!

He was certainly upset with me in his final days as I think he was directly blaming me for selling his house. I'm okay with that as his cognitive moments became more fleeting over the last few months,  but he is missed for JB'ness and that sweet side that would come out! Not too mention the father that he was to my wife, seeing them snuggle on the love seat and the Grandpa that our boys got to know and now miss!!

The final count of games played in our basement (on the table he bought!) is 3331 in the upper left hand corner.  I'm sure we missed a minimum of 1000 games on this table before we got the scoreboard.  I would guess that Jim and I have played at least another 4000 games in the days before we built our house.

One of his last outings down by the boat ramp where he liked to watch people and the bald eagles fish.

At his finest!