My Papa loved it when I wore hats. And since he felt that I didn't wear them often enough, he began buying them for me, usually at Christmas. This was often a source of frustration for my Nana, who was doggedly determined to spend EXACTLY the same amount of money on me and my sister and who did NOT appreciate it when Charles would appear at the house the afternoon of Christmas Eve, just hours before my family arrived for our traditional dinner and gift exchange, and triumphantly produce a freshly purchased beret.
It sounded strange when he referred to me as simply Katie. Most often I was addressed as either "Sugar," or "Katie Dee." It should be noted that my full name is Kathryn Jane. When my mother announced this name to her in-laws before I was born, Papa casually told her that HE was going to call me Katie Dee. Mom's pointed remark that that was NOT my name was met with a simple shrug, and Katie Dee I remained. To his credit, when I persisted in calling him Papa (instead of the Papaw he had insisted upon to my parents), he accepted it without comment.
I had a knack for getting Papa to do things when the others couldn't. Even after I moved to Oxford for college it was common to receive phone calls from family members saying things like "could you call your Papa and see if you can get him to..." The theory was that my success was because I was so much like him, that we were more or less two of a kind. Both tall, with the same hawkish ridge on our noses. Both with very loud and jarring barks that were typically much worse than our bites. Both with a penchant for nice clothing and jewelry and such. We were both often accused of "talking down" to people.
He pretended to be infuriated when I told him I was naming my new puppy Charles Glenn Tompkins the Third. "That's awful, sugar, naming a damned DOG after me, is that all you think about me?" He knew better. Our family treated dogs with a reverence that bordered on impropriety. He kept up the act, cursing grumpily as Charlie dutifully made the rounds on his patio, marking each and every plant....until I went inside to see Nana, when he'd pull an old folding chair out into the yard and watch his antics with a grin. He would pretend that having Charlie in the back yard wasn't an impediment to cutting the grass, and would then stoically ignore the barking at his feet that somehow managed to rise above the sound of the motor. He would also ignore my Nana and I as we laughed hysterically at the back door.
There are thousands of memories where these came from. Every day for the past two years I've lived with all of them swirling around me, simultaneously comforting me and adding a little bit of extra weight to my shoulders. I don't expect this to change anytime soon, but that is slowly becoming more OK than not. I suppose the important thing is to have them to begin with.
