Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

May 31, 2006

Today’s announcements

Now onto the good stuff!

Today’s Memorial Queue Stories

"His Name was Dwayne"

(A Memorial Day Tribute)

Paula Booher

Jet black hair, slick as glass, with giant baby blue eyes that reflected the sun.  When he actually opened them.  They sort of reminded you of the ones in a babydoll of a little girls dolly.  Dwayne Dale Honeycutt was a big boy man.  He loved fishing.  He'd choose fishing over anything else most days of the week.   If he could get by with it. You could ask any of his friends and they'd tell you the same thing.  Next to shootin' off a few rounds from his 22 at tin cans that is.  Dwayne was at peace packing up his car to go camping to parts unknown on any given day of the week or on  the weekends.  It didn't matter much to him.  A little chew in the corner of his cheek, a few homemade sandwiches, and he was on his way.  It didn't take much more than a tank of gas, an old pair of boots, and some worn out socks to make Dwayne as happy as a litter of kittens in a barn lot full of cows ready to be milked.  He was just a happy go lucky guy with a simple agenda.  Fishin'.  Some peace and quiet with no strings attached.  Unless it was attached to the bank of the river with some hooks on a trot line full of worms or some stink bate that is.  I really believe that's the time Dwayne spent talking to God.  He and God spent alot of time talking together about all sorts of things.  I know this because Dwayne spent plenty of time talking to me about God in our living room on my couch at different times over the years that I knew him.

 ***He was my brother-in-law for several years before he passed away. Twelve years and a few months to be exact. He passed away Memorial Day weekend 1992.  I met him in 1980 when I met and married his brother David in February of that same year.  David and I met on February 6th and married on February 23rd, 17 days later.  Talk about whirlwind courtships!  Nope, I wasn't pregnant.  I barely had time to plan a wedding, let alone get pregnant...lol  That's another story for another time.  This story is about Dwayne.***

Anyway, getting back to Dwayne.  He had been working as a janitor at SMSU when the transmission went out on his car.  He was living at the parsonage outside of Fairgrove, Missouri of a little church in the country.  I forget its' name at the moment.  It was a nice little church with a handful of people who attended there.  David and I mowed the grass every other weekend or so because Dwayne had become so overweight he couldn't manage it any longer.  I really believe he also loved the company.  Our children, Jami and Jakob were little at the time and they loved to go see uncle Dwayne.  He always had something interesting to show them.  Some new fishing tackle he'd made himself with those giant fingers or some homemade thingamajig.  He had a rope hammock swing they'd play in and a grill for his cat fish.  There was always fun to be had at uncle Dwayne’s.  We enjoyed the time away from the city as well.  It was quiet and a place to forget about the woes of the day.  Having no children of his own, Jami and Jake became uncle Dwayne’s favorite kids to spoil.  Being the Mom I had to put my foot down occasionally at uncle Dwayne’s ideas and I wasn't always the most popular gal on the block.  The bee bee gun one Christmas proved to be a not so good choice for our son Jakob when he shot our daughter Jami in the back with it.  Uncle Dwayne would have shot himself before he'd given it to Jakob if he'd known that was going to happen.  No harm done except a very tiny scar... by the grace of God.  Jami would beg to differ!  Jake was Never allowed any weapons after that.  Moms point was proven That very day and the gun was broken in half over Davids knee.

A lot of funny stories in the life of our children to varying degrees.  I'll write about those in the future.

I'm trying to stay on track here...

Dwayne had a heart of gold.  He was gentle, sweet, and kinder than anyone I think I've ever met .  He was a Kickapoo High School hero here in Springfield, Missouri.    Everybody liked him from what I understand.  From My own personal knowledge of him I'd agree.  He was my friend too.   He was very popular with many friends in school and was in most sports according to his brother and the yearbook.

***(David and Dwayne’s younger sister, Marsha Honeycutt, was in the same class with "Brad Pitt" at Cherokee Middle School.  She was born without a right hand.  Dwayne and David were very protective of their little sister that was 7 & 8 years younger than the two brothers.)*** 

After high school Dwayne married his high school sweetheart Kim Choate.  Kim and I were very good friends for the time we knew each other.  We've lost touch over the years.  She and Dwayne divorced in 1990 or 91.  I can't remember the exact date.  After that Dwayne became very involved with young boys who had been involved with drugs to help keep them off drugs, out of the street, and get their life in order.  He'd take them camping or fishing or just talk to them.  Whatever he could do to help get them back on track and get them off the bad cycle they had found themselves on.  When no one could find Dwayne we just assumed he was off fishing or camping by himself.  We had no idea what he was Really up to.

The last weekend I saw Dwayne alive we had gone out to mow the church sanctuary on a Saturday just before Memorial Day 1992.  Dwayne looked a bit gray that day and wouldn't say much.  David noticed and asked Dwayne if there was anything we could do or if he needed anything.  As usual Dwayne said he was fine and not to worry.  Pressing Dwayne would have just caused an argument or blood pressures to rise.   Dwayne had a heart murmur. David was a nurse and suspected that something was very wrong.  He also knew his brother and trying to force him to go to a hospital would be fruitless.  Dwayne was happiest in his own living room, in his own chair, enjoying his own noises, with his little red hound dog puppy.  There was no use arguing with Dwayne or pressing the issue.   We mowed the yard, cleaned the house, and did everything we could to make Dwayne as comfortable as possible.  This day seemed no different than a dozen days before yet it Was different. We truly did not know he was dying.  We didn't know that was the last day we would see him alive.  He had looked bad before and came out of it as good as new.  A man in his early 30's just doesn't up and die one day.  Dwayne did.   

We got the call early Monday morning from his best friend Randy.  David needed to come right away.  The door was wedged tight and the paramedics would have to cut down the sliding glass door to get into the house because Dwayne was too large to get him out of the front doorway.  It appeared that Dwayne had died some time the Sunday.  Rigor mortis had set in and it would take at least five strong men etc. etc. etc. Very upsetting details for the next three hours.  The next three days were even more heartbreaking.  His mother and father were at such odds after 25 years they still couldn't speak.  David and I had to make all the funeral arrangements for Dwayne’s service.

The surprise of surprises was at Dwayne’s service.  So many people showed up that there was almost no room for all the people.  Story after story from the guest came to us of how Dwayne had single handedly kept young man after young man after young man out of trouble.  One mother after another was coming up to us and telling us their stories.  Dwayne Honeycutt was more popular than we or he had ever suspected.  His weekend campouts had been spent training young men how to fish and hunt and believe in themselves.  Somehow along the way Dwayne had forgotten to just believe in himself.  "His" self-esteem was very low.  Yet he had found a way to bypass his own situation and use it for good to help others.  To ask Dwayne if he was so loved he would have said no.  He was very humble.  He didn't feel very good looking, though he was indeed Very handsome.  His weight problem stemmed from being sexually abused at a very early young age.  Family denial and not being able to discuss it had only deepened his sorrow.  The problem had been swept under the proverbial carpet.  It was said that "It never happened!" Dwayne had shared it with me because he knew about my history.  My heart was broken because it is so much harder for men than women in most cases.  The stigma is terrible and difficult for them to get over.  It is hard for some to ever heal from.  Dwayne never did in this life.  He had to wait until heaven.

At one point he had lost right at 100-lbs. through the Rader Institute.  After leaving he gained it back plus more.  His father had said to him.  "You lost 100-lbs. now lose 100 more".  I don't think his dad meant any harm by that statement or even How he stated it so casually.  James Dale Honeycutt, Dwayne’s Dad, didn't realize how hard it was for Dwayne to lose that 100-lbs.  James didn't realize how much Dwayne needed praise for a job well done, not another goal to meet.  Dwayne instantly felt defeated at that point and gave up.  I know this because Dwayne told me himself.  His spirit was broken with those words.  Words Do have power.  Dwayne realized that much and did what he could do to help others with His words.  He spent the rest of his life spreading encouragement to those he could help and did so the best he knew how to.

Dwayne Dale Honeycutt had an addiction to food that he could never overcome and it eventually killed him.  He never had an addiction to drugs.  He helped kids who had an addiction to drugs to keep them off drugs.  Ironic huh.  A good man helped others who could not even help himself.  In my heart his reward was total healing in eternity.  To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.  "Only the good die young"...

His name was Dwayne.

copyright 12 noon 5/21/2006

Paula Deann (Roe) Honeycutt Booher

wrappednword@yahoo.com

bio:

A Missouri gal born and raised.  Initially in central Missouri at Lake of the Ozarks three miles from the lake.  I moved to Springfield, MO when I was 19 in 1978.  I'm 48, currently married to Roger... To date I have 3 children of my own, 1 child in heaven, and 2 stepsons, one of which has graced me with a beautiful granddaughter, 20 month old Citrine Gloria Booher.  I am honored at anything God gives me a talent to do.  I Praise Him daily for my salvation, ask His forgiveness for my sins for I know I fall short often, and I Thank Him for His Mercy...In Jesus Name Amen.

Author of "Riding In The Rumble Seat" due out later this summer...

~**~**~

~**~**~

MEMORIAL DAY!
Stella Thompson

Probably in tune with the times we recalled the
sweetness of life in the early 1950s and tried to
overlook the misery of the Troubles, the War In
Vietnam or indeed, this present conflict in Iraq.

In terms of Memorial Day well we all wish to think
ahead - for some of us it is easier to think "back"
like our group today for example were discussing
events past ... rather than what is to come!

In the event of the Memorial Day creating for us a
shift of opinion, say for example, your Memorial Day
is my Anger Day or my End of Term Report Day, well
then you can see that we are in conflict and will
battle on with a linguistic conflict, unless we are
stopped.  For example,
everyone these days addresses all of us in our age
category!  I don’t want to be remembered because of my
age, rather I would prefer to recall my work, career,
family or indeed my writings.

Standing alone in Vienna Airport, having just
celebrated  the great tradition of family Christmas
overseas, I caught sight of a very old man with his
wife, who was about the same age as he was - political
correctness and politeness being everything at that
Festive Season ...this couple sat down beside me -
waiting for the Vienna to London flight!  How many
times I had been warned about sweet old folk time
wasting and then what ...  miss your flight, miss the
contract/job, and all the connections!  I decided to
remain sternly "silent" - they ventured a few comments
--  such as

"Are you the poet ... I love your poem about Arafat"
Thinking it through later on to say the least I was
surprised as I didn’t know that my poem was published
in Europe - immediately I thought they had either read
over my shoulder or stolen my notebooks!  Thank
Goodness the Authority announced the departure of my
flight and I picked up my bag and caught the flight!

Sometime later I discovered that this man was a famous
Professor of Physics in Europe and a lecturer like
myself ... he had been travelling I suppose
incognito... I just didn’t recognise him and probably
he was known all over Europe for his great
contribution to Education!   I wanted to cry out
"but you're the old guy at Vienna Airport who kept
pestering me to write poems for nothing"  I held my
tongue and wasted no further words on useless
dialogue!

Many times I have been asked by non speakers of
English
to .... translate ...
        take them to the lift ...
        show them the way to Piccadilly Circus
        wait until their courier arrives ...
Finally, I got a job doing precisely this .... for big
money.

Memorial Day -  well that was it at Vienna Airport all
those years ago - something to do with Jews and Vienna
I guess ... and they were remembering the
War 1939 to 1945 always drawing attention, my old
friends used to say,  to my age!

Memorial Day was kept at Christmas with all of us
sitting together at Vienna Airport remembering our own
version of the past!
And of course Memorial Day was conducted at our family
home in Vienna, how tradition lingers on ... without
any of us lifting a finger to either aid its
dissolution or promote its continuation!  It remains
as Memorial Day, an ever present reality in our daily
lives.

SM THOMPSON/SOUTHAMPTON: UK:
email: smtompson@yahoo.com

~**~**~

ValueSpeak

A Weekly Column

By Joseph Walker

valuespeak@msn.com

READY TO REMEMBER

            It would be stretching things to suggest that Memorial Day was Dad’s favorite holiday.

            Truth be told, he was actually more of a Thanksgiving man.  That was a day that called for lots of eating, shooting half-court set shots with the boys and giving long-winded prayers – all specialties of the house as far as Dad was concerned.

            But Memorial Day also suited his particular style and talents.  He was good at remembering the right flowers for all of the family graves we had to visit.  He was good at remembering where all of those graves were – most of the time.  He was good at remembering the distant aunts and uncles and cousins we bumped into at the various cemeteries that we visited.  He even remembered most of their names.

            Mostly, he was good at remembering.  He was the only member of his family who lived close to the family grave sites at the time, and he took his Memorial Day responsibilities to them all – the living and the dead – seriously.  It was a priority, one that he never forget until . . . well, it is one of the sad ironies of life that he eventually succumbed to a disease that made him forget all the stuff he used to be so good at remembering.

            Of course, I was oblivious to such ironies when I was young.  All I knew is that I was crammed into the back seat of our Impala with my moody sisters and a bunch of smelly irises and lilacs (or was that moody irises and lilacs and smelly sisters?) while we drove from cemetery to cemetery, and that it would eventually lead to me getting kissed, pinched and patted by a bunch of great-aunts who smelled more like lilacs than the lilacs did themselves.

            I don’t remember a lot of emotion from Dad on Memorial Day – no tears, no sniffles, no trembling lower lips.  But there was profound respect and a deep and abiding sense of honor in Dad’s voice as he talked about his mother, his brother Max (who died at age 14, which sort of gave me the creeps – until I was 15), his other brother Sam, his grandparents and an assortment of dearly departed aunts, uncles and cousins.

            The most reverential moments of our traditional Memorial Day observance usually came as we placed flowers around the grave of great-great-Grandfather Henson.  This became almost ceremonial, as we carefully decorated the tall, stately marker that notes Henson’s final resting place near great-great-Grandma Elizabeth Ann.  Dad always talked about Henson’s life as a pioneer of the state in which we lived, and as the first mayor of the city in which he is buried.  Almost everything I know about Henson I learned while decorating his grave on Memorial Day.

            By the time we emptied the Impala of irises and lilacs Dad had pretty much covered the entire history of the Walker family from the mid-1800s until 1960, when his mother died.  Sometimes we spent a little time on Mom’s side of the family, but her people were buried in a cemetery way off in the other direction and Dad didn’t remember how to get to their graves.  The fact is, the Walkers were the Main Memorial Day Event for our family.  The Arrowsmiths were the second feature you stayed around for if you weren’t too tired.

            And that was OK with Mom – which, if you knew my darling-but-opinionated mother, is something of a Memorial Day miracle in and of itself.

            Last year was the first Memorial Day since Dad died, and to be honest, my heart wasn’t really into the spirit of the day.  But this year I’m ready.  I’ve picked out some irises and lilacs and a few potted mums, and I’m ready to make the rounds.  I’m ready to be kissed, pinched and patted, if it comes to that.  And I’m ready to teach my history to my children while we decorate.

            But mostly – finally – I’m ready to remember.

Poetry Section

~**~**~

Set This Day

Joan Clifton Costner

Set this day aside for remembering ~

Reflections of things already in my mind;

Of other days and simpler ways,

And loving thoughts of another time.

We can’t go there, except to say

The thoughts we have of them,

Who loved and cared and acted

More, than this, our yearly whim.

The souls who fought for freedom’s way,

So far displaced from home,

The victims. falling by the side

Of harms way - all alone.

The loved ones who have taught so much

Send down their traits by genes;

So personal, so cherished, and

In our children now are seen.

For those who fell by "calling" to

A lost world needing Love,

Who gave their last full measure

To bring that Name beloved.

To little ones who never saw

The sunlight of one day;

And have no marker, nor even mound,

To say they’ve gone away.

And all the while remembering ~

They all were once as I....

And hope there’s someone willing

To mourn me...when I die....

©© 2005 by Joan Clifton Costner

Jody

  jody@ptsi.net

~**~**~

Under His Wings Heavenly Poetry

Joan is a Heavenly Inspirations Author.

This writing may be used in its entirety, with credits in tact,
for non-profit ministering purposes.

"Remember me as you pass by -

As you are now, so, once, was I...

As I am now, soon you will be...

Where will you spend eternity?"

Joan Clifton Costner

Jody

  jody@ptsi.net

~**~**~

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Booher, Paula; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Goodier, Steve; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Henry, Linda Ann; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnston - moderator