My grandfather had his flaws, but he made me the man I am today
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He was my fishing partner. He’s one of the main reasons why I’m a writer today. He was the best storyteller I ever knew.
He was my hero.
My maternal grandfather was a man named Melborn Ivey. He was born in 1917 in rural Southeast Alabama. Even though he passed away when I was only fifteen years old, I believe his influence on me has shaped me as a man more than anyone.
Granddaddy was the oldest of five children. He lost his mother to an illness at a young age. He had to drop out of school at the age of twelve in order to help support his family on their family farm.
Granddaddy was a deeply flawed man. But he was impossibly generous and deeply loving. He was a real man and will continue to shape me as a man for the rest of my life.
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After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, granddaddy chose to enlist in the United States Army. For his troubles, he was wounded in the Battle of Guadalcanal and was awarded the Purple Heart. He had probably 20% or less strength in his left arm for the rest of his life.
After he came back, he married his long-time sweetheart. He had three kids (my mother was his oldest.) And he became a huge success in agriculture and in real estate.
Now that I’ve gone over Melborn Ivey’s resume, let me tell you what kind of man he was. And let me tell you how much of who I am as a man is because of his being.
Granddaddy was a wealthy white man in the Jim Crow Deep South. He employed farm labor to great success. He was one of the last of the family farmers. In fact, in 1987, Ivey Farms was awarded a national farm of distinction. He received this award for his efforts in soil conservation and crop rotation.
His best friend was a man named Hosea. Hosea came to work for my grandfather when he was fourteen and stayed with him until the day granddaddy died. In fact, Hosea was the farm’s manager and was integral to granddaddy’s success.
Hosea is also black.
This type of relationship wasn’t exactly common in the Jim Crow Deep South. A wealthy white man, friends with a black man who didn’t have an education.
Granddaddy took a lot of heat for this relationship and friendship. But he didn’t care. Hosea was his brother and he loved him as such.
Let them criticize. Let them hate.
Martha Ivey – my grandmother – passed away unexpectedly in 1983 of a massive stroke. She was only 59 years young. Melborn and Martha were really one and the same. “Soulmate” can be cliché at times. But Martha was absolutely Melborn’s soulmate.
After Martha died, Granddaddy got remarried twice. I’m not going to disparage the women he married because that’s not my place. Don’t get me wrong, the disparagement would be well deserved. I’m just saying.
In a private moment, I believe he’d have admitted that he made mistakes after Martha died. And the fact that he could own up to the mistakes made him that much more admirable.
My grandfather was impossibly generous. He was a wealthy man and he loved spoiling my sister and me with his wealth.
In a private moment, I believe he’d have admitted that he made mistakes after Martha died. And the fact that he could own up to the mistakes made him that much more admirable.
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Granddaddy was also by my side when I experienced the pageantry and joy of University of Alabama football for the first time. September 8th, 1984 – Legion Field in Birmingham, Alabama; Bama vs. Boston College. I was seven years old and didn’t understand what the fuss was about. Even though I couldn’t understand it, I knew I was hooked. Thus began a love affair with the Crimson Tide that will continue until the grave.
But most of all, Granddaddy is the biggest reason why I am an author today.
It was the summer of 1987 and my sister and I were visiting. It was a hot, muggy night in July. We went over to the lake that he owned to check on an irrigation rig which was malfunctioning. It was on a timer and we went over when the timer was supposed to go off.
Fireflies were out in force that night. They were lighting up all over.
Granddaddy had me convinced hook, line, and sinker that those fireflies were in reality a race of alien monkeys hellbent on sabotaging irrigation equipment.
That story stayed with me for a while and I wanted to turn it into something that he could read. So my mom helped me put together my first piece of fiction writing. It was a picture book with artwork – for lack of a better word – by me. It was called Monkeytown and it was a huge hit.
I wonder what my grandfather would think of my novel Written in the Stone?
I’m 39 years old. I am in a period of transition in my life to two new careers. I’m starting to accomplish major things in my life. And I can tell you that I wouldn’t be the man I am today without Melborn Ivey’s influence on my life.
Granddaddy was a deeply flawed man. But he was impossibly generous and deeply loving. He was a real man and will continue to shape me as a man for the rest of my life.