Southern Funerals. Nothing Like 'Em

We had a sad week in our family last week, as my cousin, who we'll call "Big 'Un" passed away. (I know. I don't typically say things like Big 'Un, but that's what he called himself.) He apparently went for a run, came home to sit down, and had a heart attack. His wife found him in a chair. Y'all may have met this particular cousin. We've seen him at the track with my grandfather's bookie, and he's given us tips. Anyway, it's all very tragic, and his family is in my prayers.

The funeral home, generally a somber place, was hopping for Big 'Un. We decided that when younger people die, they still have friends who are alive. He was very full of life, so the people at the funeral had stories in abundance. I'd tell you, but they aren't that funny.

Here's what's funny. First, we saw Junior. (That's really his name, Junior.) He was my mom's and Big 'Un's neighbor growing up. I've always heard about Junior, as he walks around with a camera all the time, and because his family has tornado drills. That's right, tornado drills. You'll see them stop the car, jump out, and run to the ditch. When asked, they explain that they are practicing for the tornado. I always thought Junior was a little, well, disabled. Dad told me that Junior joined the Air Force after high school and went to Japan. Who knew? Anyway, Junior came to the funeral home, and I was gleeful.

After the Junior sighting, this woman walked through and accosted my mother. She said they went to high school together. Mom didn't know. The woman talked and talked and talked. Then she said, "I really need to get out of here." We mentioned the door right behind us. She said, "No, I'll go that way (through the receiving line.) There might be people I need to talk to." Wonder if she goes to the funeral home every day?

Time went on. Things were normal, except the former elementary school principal suggested I get a gun to take to work. Who does she think I should shoot? The kids? Good thing she retired. We made our way through the line, and then we went to sit in the area where my grandfather had his own little receiving line. That's what happens when you move to "The Ridge" and get your car taken away.

A man came up to talk to my cousin Andy. Andy moved to Michigan/California/Alaska twenty-five years ago. He is not abreast on current events. The man told Andy who he was, but Andy didn't know him. In the spirit of graciousness, Andy said, "Well, I don't remember you, but I've heard a lot about you." That would be a great response if the aforementioned had not been fired from his position of jailer for harassing and possibly raping the female employees at the jail. Open mouth. Insert foot.

When I meet my reward, will y'all make sure everyone has that much fun at the funeral? It'll make me smile down from above.