For Hoddy

My grandfather has always been one of my absolute favorite people on this planet. If you’ve been around while Rachel and James, or Micheal and Robert, for those not from Alabama, were growing up, you’ve probably heard them refer to him as “Daddyfulmer” (or more accurately “Da-fumer”, because we were all raised in the south.) That wasn’t what I called him. No, I had my very own special name for him. “Hoddy”. H-o-d-d-y

Now you might be wondering “Hey, how’d he get such an odd name?” or “That doesn’t resemble Grandpa at all!” Well, like most things in our family, there’s a long, semi-convoluted story behind it.

When I was little, and Hoddy and Mamafulmer lived in Baton Rouge, we would go over to their house fairly frequently.  Whenever I would knock, Hoddy would open the door, crouch down to my level and say “Well, Hidey Do!” He said it every time he opened the door, so I decided that must be his name!

From that point on, my parents would write things with “Hidey” on them. “To: Hidey” or “From: Hidey”. H-i-d-e-y.  (little did they know…)

Until one day, when I was in early grade school. We were learning rhyming words is school, things like “door, floor, rhyming words!” and “flower, power, rhyming words!” And so, one day in the car, apropos of nothing, I busted out with “Hoddy, potty, rhyming words!” And my parents learned that they had been misspelling his name the Whole Time.

My grandfather and I have always been close. He took care of me while mom and dad and Mamafulmer were working after I was born but before I was big enough to go to daycare. I grew up thinking that he must have hung the moon. (Spoiler alert: He did.) He would always greet me with a shakey hug, until it got to the point he couldn’t do it anymore.  

I grew up in his shop, first in Baton Rouge, and then in Alabama with my cousins, playing with whatever (dull thing, don’t worry, mom) we could get our hands on. He had a stretcher down there, a really cool grabber (shout out to James, who got that one!), and every kind of screwdriver head you could ever dream of, and some that you couldn’t. I still love the smell of sawdust, because it reminds me of him.

One of my most treasured memories is from when I was in school to be an OTA. We had an assignment to develop some kind of adaptive equipment. I immediately thought “Oh, I bet Hoddy could help me with this!” And he did. I designed it, we went down to the shop, and then the two of us built it together. It was a blast! It may not be the most functional piece of equipment, but I cherish it all the same.

My grandfather was The Best. I am so grateful for all the years I got to spend with him. And I’m glad that he’s not suffering anymore. I’ll be waiting until the day he greets me up there with a “Hidey Do!” and a shakey hug.