Bub

Last Thursday evening I received one of the worst phone calls of my life. On the phone was my brother, who informed me that my uncle had just passed away. I was left absolutely speechless and in utter shock standing shivering in the cold outside an Atlanta restaurant.

Most folks knew my Uncle as Arnold Bryson, but to the children and grandchildren of Robert and Aileen Bryson, he was known as “Bubba” or simply “Uncle Bub.” The story goes that when my Aunt Elaine was a toddler she couldn’t pronounce the word brother. All that she could muster was Bubba and the nickname stuck. Which is a good thing since I’ve been told that he disliked the name Arnold and that he REALLY, REALLY hated his middle name Truman.

Arnold Truman Bryson; he was named after a preacher and a President.

I’ve really struggled this week to wrap my head around the fact that Uncle Bub is no longer with us. Bub has ALWAYS been there. He has always been a permanent fixture in my life. Having someone tell me that Uncle Bub is gone just seems to go against the Laws of Nature. There are certain facts in this life, the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, flowers always bloom in the Spring, Clemson always loses at Chapel Hill, and Uncle Bub is always around. Bub not being here just doesn’t seem natural.

All through out my life I can’t recall a single holiday, birthday, family reunion, Fourth of July or backyard cookout that Bub wasn’t a part of. I can remember as kid Mom taking Joe and me out tricking treating on Halloween; heading out the door dressed in our cheap vinyl Batman and Darth Vader costumes and the first house we’d visit would always be Bub. He was always good for a Snickers bar or two. I can remember stuffing myself silly on cheese balls, Elaine’s homemade mint candy and summer sausage at Bub’s annual Christmas parties, surrounded by friends and family. And of course Christmas mornings; Bub would always arrive bright and early at our house to open presents and stockings. Bub never missed a Thanksgiving or Easter dinner. He was always there with a smile, a laugh and a hearty appetite.

For as long as I can remember, Bub had always lived right next door to us. When Mom and Dad was a newly married couple they purchased several acres of land from my Uncle Perry at the end of Williamson Road. Not long afterwards Uncle Bub built a little place of his own on the property down by the river. Years later, when Mom and Dad decided to move the family farther on up South Mills River and build their dream house, Bub said “Well I guess I’m coming too,” and purchased a couple of acres just down the hill from us and built a little place over looking the pond. From my earliest memories as a toddler up until I was 22 years old and finally moved away from Mills River, I saw my Uncle practically every single day of my life.

In fact Bub was one of my first babysitters. Mom likes to tell a story of when she dropped me off at Bub’s house one evening when I was just two or three years old. I had with me a finger-painting set. When Mom picked me up later that night, I met her at Bub’s door covered head-to-toe in brightly colored sticky paint. Of course there was also paint all over Bubs kitchen, carpet, walls and every seat cushion of his couch. Bub handed me over to Mom and said “Did you really have to buy him a finger-paint set?”

I can remember hot summer days as a kid; exploring the woods and pastures around our home, building tree forts, playing hide and seek in the old barn loft, and fighting make-believe pirates down at the swimming hole. But no matter where my adventures took me, I always made time to swing by Uncle Bubs sometime in the afternoon for a quick snack and a cold glass of Pepsi.

As I grew older into a teenager, Bub and I worked side by side doing countless hours of farm-work; diggin’ taters down at Mr. Burt Wrights place, putting up hay in the sweltering late-summer heat, mowing grass down at Paw and Nan’s, chasing stray cows when they got out of their fences and splitting firewood on cold winter Saturdays. Bub helped us split a lot of firewood over the years; and I do mean A LOT of firewood. When your Dad is the owner of a wood-stove company you tend to cut down a lot of trees. But Bub was always a hard worker. He never complained. He never grumbled. He was always there to help.

Bub was also a gifted teacher. He taught at West Henderson where he inspired countless students over his 29 year career. I being one of them. And I honestly believe he was the sole reason I didn’t flunk out of high school and that I’m not working at a car wash today. If it weren’t for his private tutoring sessions in mathematics, I never would have made it past the 9^th grade. There are those individuals out there who have a mind for numbers, arithmetic, charts and graphs. But I unfortunately am not one of those individuals. Algebra, calculus, geometry- forget it. You might as well try to teach me to speak Mandarin Chinese; it just wasn’t happening. But Bub stepped in to help. From junior high onward, my nightly after-dinner ritual involved me packing my books and heading down the hill to Bub’s for an hour or so of tutoring then back home in time to watch The A-Team on TV. During those sessions I can remember getting so frustrated and snapping at Bub. “This stuff is stupid,” I’d shout. “I’m never going to have to use a logarithm in my life!”

Bub would just shake his head. “No, pay attention,” he’d say calmly. “This stuff is important. You’re going to need to know this when you’re out of school.”

That’s when I’d look Bub right square in the eye and say, “No YOU don’t understand. I’m going to college and I’m going to major in ART. I’m going to draw and paint and design things for a living. I will NEVER have to use a logarithm or algebra, or calculus or any of this stuff.”

Then of course my senior year I had the uncomfortable experience of actually having Bub as my teacher. That was really weird to say the least. The hardest part of that class was figuring out what to call him. I mean I couldn’t call him Bub and there was NO way I was going to address him formally as Mr. Bryson. So I just settled for “Hey You.” If I need help on a particular math problem in class I’d simply raise my hand and blurt out “Hey You, I’ve got a question.” I think I ended up making a C in his class. But I didn’t care. It was enough to get me my diploma.

Then there are the little things that I’ll miss about Bub.

I’m going to miss his laugh.

I’m going to miss how easy it was to make him blush with embarrassment.

I’m going to miss how his house smelled of menthol and spearmint chewing gum.

I will miss his love and passion for horses. Bub’s house is filled with photos, paintings, books, and magazines of racking horses. His closet is packed with horse show t-shirts and caps. His cars were even adorned with racking horse license plates. But the ironic thing is that in 37 years I never once saw him actually RIDE a horse.

I’m going miss his unique love for the great outdoors. Bub always looked at nature in a completely different way than the rest of us Bryson’s. You see most Bryson’s look at a beautiful mountain and think two things: 1. “Where are the deer?” And 2. “Can I shoot the deer?” But not Bub, he noticed the smaller details of nature that most people miss; the hue of a perfect sunset, the sounds of the birds in the trees or the colors of the flowers dotting the ground.

And I’m really, really, really going to miss his homemade sweet potato casserole. Holiday dinners will never be the same. Especially since he never shared that recipe with any of us.

***

Bub never married and never had any children of his own. I’ve always felt kind of sad about that; Bub was one of the most kind, gentle and patient individuals I’ve ever known. I never heard him say anything negative about another human being or utter a single curse word in anger. I believe he would have made a great father. Though I’m not so sure I can quite picture Bub changing diapers on a regular basis or chasing a messy toddler around the house.

But I suppose in our own way Joe and I along with Chris and Josh were Bub’s boys. He loved us like we were his own. And when our children came along he loved them like grandchildren. His house is a treasure trove of pictures of his great nieces and nephews. Joe and I even had a tradition of calling Bub first when we were expecting a new baby into our families. Bub knew about Ridge, Colton, Ben, Jake and Emma even before the grandparents did. I think he enjoyed that. And of course we knew Bub could always keep a secret.

Bub’s passing is going to take a while to set in. It just doesn’t seem real to me. I’m sure the next time I come home for a visit I’ll be looking for Bub’s familiar face to appear at the back porch door and walk on in the house without so much as knocking. Bub never knocked. He didn’t have too. He was part of our family.

And I’m sure at some point in the coming months, when all the grand kids are up at Mom and Dad’s, we’ll decide to have a campfire, or roast marshmallows, or Mom may bake a homemade pound cake and someone will out of habit pick up the phone and instinctively dial 891-4567. Bub was always the first to be invited to any kind of family activity.

Old habits are going to be hard to break.

We can’t always understand God’s Will. He has a bigger plan that we often can’t see. I can’t comprehend as to why the Lord felt the need to take my Uncle home at such a young age. I would have preferred to have Bub around for another 20 or 30 years. (After all my boys are going to need a good math tutor in a few years.) But the more I think about it, I believe the Lord took Bub exactly how he would have wanted to leave this world. If you had to pick just one word to describe Bub the first thing that would pop in your head would be the word quiet. Bub was a very private individual. He kept to himself and never wanted to be the center of attention. Dad always said that was “the Sitton in him.” He never ever wanted anyone to make a big fuss over him. And that’s exactly how Bub left this world.

Quietly. Peacefully. In his bed.

He left without a fuss.

But in the end I know I will see Bub again one day. That is the promise that Christ gave to this world; that if you believe he paid for our sins on Calvary and that He was who He said He was, you will live eternally with him. Through this darkness, we will one day see the light.

Christ said: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

I believe that.

Bub believed that.

So though I will miss him dearly for the rest of my life I’m comforted in the promise that I’ll get to see my Uncle again.

Goodbye Bub. I love you.