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My dad is a true bubba, and I say that with pride. I come from a redneck family, and grew up in a small town – but I married a wonderful woman whose only fault is that she comes from an affluent, white-collar family. Just kidding about the “fault” part, but it was a real class difference That caused a serious problem when we first married six years ago, but the problem was not with me or with her or with my family or with her mother. The problem was my father-in-law. But my dad was the one who turned a real problem into an opportunity.
My father-in-law is a very dignified, distinguished corporate executive. He went to one of the best colleges in the country and makes plenty of money – and he didn’t like the idea of his only child marrying into a blue-collar family.
From the beginning he didn’t spend a lot of time with my family, and made it clear he didn’t like my dad, who works as a garage mechanic. He didn’t try to stop us from getting married, but he was cool and reserved and polite. My dad did everything he could to become friends with him, but he wasn’t interested.
Everyone in the family knew it was a real problem that might hurt us for a long time. My wife is very close to her father and she cried about it all the time.
Now, while I love my dad, he can be really crazy and wild. That’s part of the way he is. He never hurts anyone – but he has a very loud voice and laugh and a really wild sense of humor. He likes pranks and practical jokes. He has tattoos and drinks plenty of beer and watches NASCAR and has a scruffy beard: yes, he is what you think of as a redneck! But when he is a friend, he will do anything for you. But my father-in-law wanted no part of it.
That changed one day. My wife and our mothers went away together for a weekend, and they met at my parents’ house before they left. My father-in-law picked up his wife after work and drove her to our house, and then the women left together. The plan was for my dad to give my father-in-law a ride home. My father-in-law didn’t like the idea, but it was practical. He had arrived in his Mercedes Benz and he had never taken a ride in my Dad's beat-up pikcup.
My father-in-law was expecting to leave with my dad for a ride home, but my dad said:
“Now, Mr. Prescott, I insist that you have dinner with me and my boys” My brother was there as well. “Now I won’t take no for answer! You just sit right down and we’ll enjoy a good meal!”
My father-in-law said: “I’m sorry – but I really have to get going. It’s been a long day the office. Where is your truck”?” as he headed for door.
But I knew my dad wasn’t going to accept that: “Now, you can’t say no to hospitality! And I have a fine dinner waitin’ for you!”
My father-in-law’s face turned red, but since my dad was the one driving, he didn’t have a choice.
“Now you get the seat of honor, Mr. Prescott!” he said. He pointed to a very old and very comfortable lazy-boy we had for years.
My dad took him over to the chair and my father-in-law had no choice but to sit down.
“I really can’t stay long. Maybe just a quick meal…” said my father-in-law, in his clipped, executive voice, looking at his watch. The lazy-boy is partly broken, which means that once you're in it, you can't get out without help.
Now to understand what happened next, you have to understand that my father-in-law looked like a senator or a governor coming to visit a poor family. He had just come from his office. He is an investment banker.
Every silver hair on his dignified head was perfectly groomed. He was wearing a very expensive pinstriped suit and silk tie that probably cost more than my dad makes in two months, a starched white shirt, gold cufflinks, gold wristwatch, and pair of mirror-shined black leather shoes and black dress socks. He even had his briefcase with him!
In other words, he was in every way the opposite of my bearded, overall-clad dad.
But that didn’t stop my dad. I KNOW my dad. I knew he was up to something. I was worried. I didn’t want to get my father-in-law even more irritated than he usually was. But my dad had how own agenda. He went into the kitchen and returned with a huge plate of barbecued spare ribs in one hand, and corn on the cob in the other. My dad is a good cook when it comes to barbecue. He walked over to my father-in-law and handed him both plates.
My father-in-law looked stunned, but took one in each hand. Then my dad said:
“You gotta kick back, Mr. Prescott! RELAX! Hold on!”
He then pushed the lazy boy back – all the way back – while my father-in-law tried to balance the two heaping plates of food and keep the contents off his very sharp looking corporate clothes. The footrest went up on the broken hinge and those shiny shoes went up, too.
“Look, maybe it would be better if I sat at a table! How am I supposed to eat this?” said my father-in-law with emotion, for the first time coming down a little off his high horse. “I can’t balance all this without a place to put it! I’ve got a suit and tie on!”
“You’re right!” said my dad cheerfully. “First of all, we gotta get you a tray…” and he found a cracked plastic folding table.
Then he looked thoughtfully at my father-in-law’s dapperly attired feet raised high in the air. I knew something was going on in my dad's mind. Why was he staring at my father-in-law's shinier-than-a-black mirror shoes?
“Those gotta go if yer gonna kick back!” said Dad happily.
I couldn’t believe my eyes or ears, and neither could my father-in-law, immobilized by the chair and the food.
“WHAT have to go?” said my father-in-law, in a suspicious voice.
"YOUR SHOES!" said Dad with a laugh.
"MY SHOES?!" said my father-in-law, stunned and annoyed. "There's no need to take my shoes off. I am not comfortable with my shoes off. I will leave them ON!"
"And I ain't comfortable with YOU when you're shoes are ON! So they're coming OFF!" roared my Dad with laughter, enjoying the battle.
"But they're MY FEET!" snapped my father-in-law.
"But it's my HOUSE!" said Dad. "And what I say goes!"
"This is ridiculous" said my father-in-law in a contemptuous tone that I knew would annoy my Dad and make him even more determined.
So Dad suddenly picked up my father-in-law’s left foot, untied and pulled off his SHOE!
“Daddy!” laughed my brother.
“Dad!” I said.
“What are you doing?” snapped my father-in-law. “Put that shoe back on my foot! This isn’t funny! Are you out of your mind?”
But my dad was working as efficiently as if he were changing oil on a truck. He picked up the other foot, untied and yanked off the other shoe.
“There now! You have to relax! You can't go anywhere without your fancy hotshot shoes on!” he said in his booming voice.
“Do you usually garb the shoes off the feet of everybody who visits you?” snapped my father-in-law irritably, squirming in his chair and trying to reach the plastic table. Then he looked around the room.
"Where is my briefcase?" he said. "I just out it down..."
"Most people who come in here don't have shoes on anyway! I'll bet you paid plenty for these. They sure are fancy." laughed my dad, looking at the shoes. "Don't take life so seriously! Your briefcase is in the kitchen. No need to worry about business for now!"
Then my dad looked thoughtfully at my father-in-law’s black business socks.
“Those better come off, too. No need for ‘em when you’re kickin’ back!”
“Not my socks, too! Look, just leave them...” said my father-in-law in a pathetic voice, shaking his head but still immobilized in the chair. “Maybe this who isn’t a good idea…”
But the socks were already being peeled off the executive feet. My father-in-law was pinned in the chair and could not move too much or the food would have fallen on his suit, so he just groaned helplessly as his socks vanished off his feet.
“There ya go! These sure are fancy socks! I bet you can get cold in the winter wearin' socks like these!” said my dad, holding up the gleaming black shoes and the thin silk socks like trophies while their now barefoot owner just shook his head.
“You’re among friends having barbecue! Now just RELAX! This is a bubba` barbecue!! you don't get these back until you leave!" grinned my Dad.
My father-in-law just slumped in the chair and shook his head. “Please don’t lose those shoes somewhere” he said morosely. "They were very expensive. You're not listening to anything I'm saying, are you?"
My dad grinned and said: “Don’t worry – I won’t let the dogs play with them!"
My father-in-law just shook his head. "Thanks..."
At least he knew his executive shoes would not end up as a chew toy for our retrievers.
"Now I've got a big suprise for you, Mr. Prescott! You're gonna spend the whole weekend with us! Tomorrow we go fishing in the creek behind the house. The weather's good. That's my surprise" said Dad cheerfully.
My father-in-law smiled a tight smile and said "No thanks"
My Dad just kept talking. "You can't go home without your car!"
"What?" said my father-in-law. "Are you telling me I have to stay here?"
"But it's gonna be a good time" said my Dad.
My father-in-law just shook his head.
Nothing gets my Dad down when he gets going. He just kept talking: "I’m welcoming you to our family like you did with that big wedding. I want you to feel welcome and comfortable! Now you got some good food and good friends. Now how about that necktie – unless you want barbecue sauce all over it? We eat with our fingers here! And believe me - you're gonna have a good time tomorrow!”
"I don't even have a change of clothes.." said my father-in-law.
"No problem. We'll fix you up!" said my Dad. "Now let's eat!"
Dad gave food to my brother and I, and we started to settle in. I was still very worried. I’m sure this was the first time in his life that my father-in-law had his shoes and socks pulled off before dinner by the host.
“With our fingers?” said my father-in-law. “Don’t you have forks? I would rather keep my tie on…”
“Not for this!” said my dad. Then he suddenly became serious: "Now look here, Mr. Prescott. This is the first time I've been able to do something for you after all you done for us. You paid for the wedding and gave all the gifts and helped out my son. Now I got a chance to show you some hospitality. ust this once do things our way and you'll have a good time!"
What could my father-in-law say? Nobody is better than my dad when he wants to convince somebody of something. He uses guilt and humor and surprise and friendliness and soon they're doing things they would never expect.
“Besides, what do you need a tie for? And a suit jacket?”
My father-in-law sighed, but still did nothing. He wasn't going to give in that easily – he just sat back in his pinstriped suit and his tie, barefoot and looking unhappy.
But my dad didn’t let that bother him. Nothing bothers my dad when he wants to do something. He just keeps pushing and laughing and pushing and laughing, and eventually he gets his way.
It was the battle of the fathers-in-law, the bubba and the white collar executive.
Mr. Prescott was the man with the power and the money and the education and the important job and the expensive clothes, but my dad knew a strategy unknown to the white collar mind. It was my father-in-law who started to surrender, without even knowing he was in a battle.
“Alright! I’ll take off the tie!”
I almost felt sorry for my father-in-law. He was being bubbaized and losing his battle with my Dad, and he didn't even know it. But my Dad was winning and my father-in-law was surrendering parts of himself, literally, piece by piece. As each piece of his corporate executive self was taken away, my Dad was carefully building a redneck in its place! The necktie was just the next step, but not the last.
My dad triumphantly took it from him, and a few minutes later, off came the jacket of his pinstriped suit. We then started eating, while my dad put on NASCAR and proceeded to explain the show to my father-in-law.
Slowly, slowly my father-in-law started to relax just a little but. He then told me dad that food was good. I was stunned by the compliment – the first one.
Eventually, my father-in-law took off his cufflinks and wristwatch – and finally, when he got tired of the battle with the barbecue sauce, he took off his white shirt, too.
By that time, dad pulled out a bottle of whiskey – the good stuff, as he calls it. My father-in-law put the bottle in my father-in-law’s hand and said “Drink up!”
“Right out of the bottle?” he said.
“Sure! Wait, I got something for you!” laughed my dad.
For a minute he hesitated. But my dad had his own bottle, so the two of them were soon putting down the liquor.
He then handed my father-in-law a big paper sack. My father-in-law pulled out a very old baseball cap, which my dad then placed on top of his hundred-dollar haircut.
"Oh, no - that's not for me, is it?" said my father-in-law, starting to take it off.
“Leave it on! It's a gift! You can't take it off now!"
So the hat stayed on.
Then my dad pulled out a can of chewing tobacco.
That was finally too much for my fathe-in-law. He refused point blank to try it. My dad didn't push - at first. He took a chunk, and kept offering it.
"Just give it a try!" he said in his cheerful, friendly way. "Come on - just give it a try!"
Finally, my father-in-laws said: "Alight, I'll just try it..."
And he did.
My dad then gave him a plastic spit cup.
"Good for you! There ya go, Timmy Gee!” said my dad.
Timmy Gee?
Ever since they had met, my dad called his fellow father-in-law “Mr. Prescott”.
Timmy Gee?
My father-in-law’s name is Timothy George Prescott.
But consider what had happened: My dad had stripped this powerful corporate executive of his fancy shoes, his socks, his suit jacket, his shirt, his cufflinks, his necktie, and his wristwatch.
His expensive suit jacket was piled in the corner along with his shirt. His briefcase was dumped on the porch. My dad had put a bubba hat on his head, a bottle of neat whiskey in his hand and barbecue sauce on his hands and tee shirt. He had made him learn how to spit and chew.
Nobody walking in at that moment would have seen Timothy George Prescott, investment banker. They would have seen a bubba.
The only thing remaining of his dapper corporate appearance were the trousers of his pinstriped suit.
My dad had decided that the only way to make peace with my father-in-law was to drag him off his pinstriped high horse and making him into bubba, at least for a while. Then they would equals, or at least it would seem lik it. And he had done all of this with a smile on his face making it seem like he was doing my father-in-law a favor!
So the name change made sense. My dad was a magician: He had transformed my father-in-law from a pinstriped, necktied and wing tipped investment banker named Timothy George Prescott into a barefoot bubba named Timmy Gee!
But my father-in-law took a swig from the bottle, and then dad started to talk. Now, when my dad really talks, he can sell ice to Eskimos, as my mom says.
He talked about how proud he was of his daughter-in-law, how happy he was about our marriage, and how much they had to look forward to. He said it as if my father-in-law would agree with everything. He talked about holidays in the future and the hope for grandchildren. He told my father-in-law how much he respected his position and his education, and he talked about his own business success in the garage with just the right amount of self-effacing humor.
My father-in-law didn’t say very much. Then, finally, he said: “Maybe you’re right, Jim. In fact, you’re probably right. This marriage is a good thing.”
And they toasted our marriage, while my brother was sleeping on the sofa.
I couldn’t believe it. But knowing my dad, I should have.
Then they started telling jokes. That's right - jokes! Both of them started topping each other.
By the end of the evening, my father-in-law started protesting that he had to leave. But my Dad insisted he had to stay until Sunday.
My father-in-law said that he couldn't - he didn't have his razor with him and he had to shave in the morning.
My dad just laughed long and loud.
"Your woman's gone for a few days. Tomorrow is Saturday! Forget about shaving! Let the beard grow. You'll get used to it!"
My father-in-law shook his head.
"They wouldn't allow a beard where I work. The clients wouldn't like it."
My dad boomed out: "Then you can quit and start a whole new career working for me at the garage!"
My father-in-law looked stunned. Then, he laughed and started picturing himself as a grease monkey.
"You go to work at the garage and I'll get a job in your fancy office!"
By that time, they were both laughing so hard, they could hardly breathe.
Finally, my father-in-law swapped his suit pants for a pair of very old and comfortable overalls my dad gave him - the last stage in the transformation - and fell asleep.
The next day we spent the whole day fishing, with Timmy Gee wearing my Dad's old clothes.
The next morning, we all had breakfast. My father-in-law looked very different than he had when he arrived: unshaven, barefoot, and dressed in overalls and the bubba cap my dad had given him. He was more relaxed than I had ever seen him. He had been bubba-ized!
By that time, my father-in-law had three days of silver stubble covering his formerly clean shaven face.
"You gotta grow out that beard, Timmy Gee! And a mullet!" said my Dad, laughing.
They walked out to the old pick-up, which was filled with everything from old cans of chewing tobacco to fishing tacle to dirty clothes to sacks of dog food and empty cans.
My dad picked up all of the expensive banker's clothes that my father-in-law had been wearing and just tossed them in the back. The expensive suit, the necktie and the white shirt landed in the pile of laundry and became laundry, too. One of those fancy business socks disappeared, never to be seen again. The briefcase, the wristwatch and the cufflinks joined them.
The floor on the passenger side was filled wirh junk, and Dad said: "Sorry, Timmy Gee - you're gonna have to ride with your feet on the dashboard!"
My dad leaned over to me and said wih a snicker:
"I don't think we'll have much trouble with Mister High Class anymore" and he smirked.
He was holding the polished shoes my father-in-law had been wearing when he arrived.
I looked at Dad. "I don't know how you did it, but you changed him - and made my life a lot better."
Dad kept grinning. "He can't be too high and mighty now - He's always gonna be a little bit redneck from now on! There ain't no goin' back! Once I got these fancy shoes off his feet, I knew I had him! He came in a MERCEDES - ALL DRESSED UP. Fancy suit and tie and all - And he's leavin' in a pickup truck in his bare feet with stubble, lookin' like a real bubba"
And while my tall father-in-law was pushing himself into the dirty and crowded front seat, my Dad carelessly tossed the fancy shoes one at a time into the back of the truck. One shiny shoe landed on the floor and the other nestled next to a tin can.
So we drove off with this very dignified, wealthy distinguished banker squashed in the front seat, propping his bare feet on the dashboard.
And he roared with laughter. But he didn't say that to my father-in-law!
From then on, we had a gradually changed relationship with my father-in-law, and I have my dad to thank. My wife had always liked my Dad and she gave both of them the credit. And from that day on, my dad always called him Timmy Gee.
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