BEBO

Photo: Baby Johnny, Tanya, and Skitch

Then (mostly):

        
When I was nine years old, The Lord, Life, and Lila Ann gave me a nephew, Johnny. I was growing up in a family of mostly females and a boy was something to celebrate! Not because boys were better than girls, no not at all, but because boys, for us, were scarce. My dad, for many years, was the only guy in our world. The poor fellow weathered mood swings, swam through lace and ribbons, and let us "fix his hair." When Johnny arrived he became the only boy our family had been graced with since my father was born and the only boy it would have until I gave birth to my first son, over a decade later. Mother had four daughters. Lila would have three daughters and one son. Johnny and Dad were long outnumbered!

Because he shared a name with his father we called him "Little Johnny" or "Little John" when he was a kid. He now largely goes by "Bebo" or "Bo." Johnny" is still his dad's name, to most of us. Back in the day, Little Johnny was a smiley kid that loved to be silly. He was awesome at Donald Duck impersonations and Scooby Doo recaps. He was the number one fan of The Dukes of Hazzard, which is probably how he wound up with the nickname "Bo". For many years, my mother despaired that she'd never figure out what his face looked like because he was so often tail-up, rolling around in the floor, tumbling, twisting. Looking back, there is little doubt that he had some hyperactivity going on inside that bony little frame. Despite his antics and over-the-top entertainment choices, that kid harbored a subtle sense of humor. Like a good bottle of wine he was bold and dry, even way back then. When he was about four years old, he picked up a gray kitten and carried it through the house singing, "I'm gonna wash that gray right out of your hair." My sister had to stop him from shampooing the cat. A four year old singing a Clariol Loving Care commercial to a gray kitten is funny enough, but I've always felt that he got it. That he knew just why it was funny, that the cat was supposed to be gray, that four year old kids aren't supposed to dwell on gray hair, that cat's hate a bath. Like my dad, Bo has the best sense of humor, and it has only improved with age.

He spent his days surrounded by women, but, Bo held a quite sort of masculinity that could never be denied. He played with dolls and picked out things from the Avon book just like we did, but he had a penchant for mud that none of us shared, and he liked to take things apart, to play with cars and trucks, and to stare at pretty girls. Yep, he was definitely different. He once fell asleep at my house only to wake up with make up on and his nails painted. I was a bit of a prankster. (And I'd hidden the nail polish remover.) But luckily for him (and for me) my nephew was never one of those uptight men that was afraid of sandals or the color pink. In the tradition of his grandfather, Little John knew he was every inch a guy even when he was covered in foundation and blush. I've always loved that about him and I'm grateful my sons have displayed the same confidence. Still, it was pretty awesome watching him growl around the house looking for the missing nail polish remover. 

As a teen he became Bebo (a nickname bestowed upon him by his new step-father.) Bebo was the workingest son-of-a-gun you'd ever met. I've long felt he inherited that from my daddy too. That nephew of mine always had an odd job going and a dollar in his pocket. He found his way around a car engine before he was old enough to drive. I remember him working on a Blazer for me when he was 15. I depended on him even then for those crazy mechanical things that have never made any sense to me. He poked, and prodded, and crawled around under that thing and soon had it working. And this after several grown men had given up on it!

Bo understands family, he understands family with a capital F. There was a time in my life when I felt that mine had turned away from me, that I'd been disowned. Bo visited me when everyone else seemed to be looking the other way. He came to the museum where I worked and talked to me. I remember three consecutive statements best: "It's all going to be okay. You already knew our family was crazy. And why in hell did that chick at the ticket booth sell me this guidebook that doesn't guide me anywhere?" And that's my Bo. He's supportive, pragmatic, and as funny as a bad case of hiccups in math class!

These days, Bo is working hard at two jobs to support those he adores, his lovely wife and four gorgeous kids. But he still finds time to make me laugh at family gatherings, to share a story now and then, or to stick his head under the hood of my car when it's misbehaving. All that doll playing paid off and he's one of the finest fathers I've ever seen. He loves his daughter and three sons like there is no tomorrow. He loves them and his wife with words, with time, with money, and with all his heart and everything he is. And they (and I) return that love.
Thank God for my Be-be Bo-be!

Photo: "Little Johnny"