It was a research project for my son's 4th grade class which brought him to me, eye's teary, head hung low..."Buddy, what's gotcha so down?"
"Mom...(gulp) Mrs. Day says we have to do the research project on a famous person that we'd like to learn more about (gulp), but I've looked everywhere Mom, EVERYWHERE. There's no books in the school library, no websites, NOTHING Mom. (Gulp) I know he was famous cuz he was on that magazine cover at the grocery store...and every time someone finds out who he is they act like he was the PRESIDENT or something. (gulp)"
"Uhh, honey slow down, I'm a little confused...WHO is the famous person you want to learn more about?"
"(Gulp) ...my Grandpa I never knew..."Foreman Scotty"
Finally, and with great trepidation, this itty bitty 4th grader spat
out what he feared may have been one of his Mother's grander stories,
nary a word of truth to it. (I AM a good story teller you know. Eh hem.)
"So you're telling me you have chosen to do your research project on the infamous "Foreman Scotty", and are unable to locate adequate data sufficient to document such a man, myth or T.V. cowboy...is that correct?"
(Sniff) "Yeeaaas! (wurble, gulp, snerf)
"I see. Quite a conundrum you have here. ((hugs)) Let me make a phone call Love, we'll get that research project done, no worries. (Couldn't find a website my hiney, hrmph.)
You see, I've never taken my son to the Oklahoma Historical Center to see the "Mock-up" of the "Foreman Scotty Show". In fact, I myself have never seen it either.
I've heard it's lovely, the curator does a fabulous job of entertaining and informing patrons, but...that man, Steve Powell, was also the father of two amazing children first and foremost.
I have, so far, no desire to remember his image that way, as I'm sure you understand.
Perhaps when my itty bitty 4th grader is a tad bit older, we'll go as a family, but not yet.
In lieu of, I called my brother and asked if he had time to meet my son and I to see our families personal "Mock-up" so-to-speak. There will be more on our families plans later, but as archivists, historians, and mainly Foreman Scotty's children, we know what is near and dear to the public's heart.
As my son walked the halls, catapulted back some fifty years, fascinated by images and artifacts...my brother and I held back the tears.
There at the end of a long hallway, surrounded by images of Dad and the faces os so many Oklahoma youth of half a century...
Proudly stood "Woody II", emblazoned with pocket lights from the ceiling above.
(The kid in me wanted to say "TOLD you SO, and stick out my tongue") but alas I am a Mother now, so my tongue held.
My son climbed aboard and the water works began.
Daddy, if you could only see how beautiful all your Grandchildren are...we are raising them to specifications pertaining to "Freckle Barrels, head-bone haircuts and Daddy...they're just cute as a bugs ear.
See...
I still remember the day I got to go to the ranch and sit on Woody as it was my birthday. My only dark spot that day was the fact I knew my father wouldn't see me as he was in Viet Nam. I did sport the bush hat he had sent me though, even if it wasn't quite a cowboy hat. The hat is long gone as is my father, but the memory remains.
Posted by: Patrick S. Titterington | October 29, 2009 at 06:21 PM