By Neal Wooten
I love being back in DeKalb County. I’ve been gone a long time and a lot of people who meet me now, or who might know me just from my books, articles, the Depot Museum, or even Facebook, didn’t know me, or don’t remember me, from when I lived here before.
When you grow up in a small rural area, people tend to know everybody else in the area. So when Sand Mountain folks find out I grew up in Blake and attended school at Sylvania, they know they must know me for real — somehow. After searching their memory for a while, to no avail, the automatic first question is, “Who’s your daddy?”
I realize that phrase is used these days by the younger generation and has some weird slang meaning, and I think it’s even in a popular song, but when older folks like me use it, what we want to know is: “Who is your father?” You know; that guy from your childhood who sat at the head of the table, decided what TV shows you watched, and was the only person in your house to never nap – he just rested his eyes.
If that answer doesn’t help, they ask about you mother and continue up the family tree until someone rings a bell. I am always prepared and have this answer ready: “My dad was Travis. My mom is Hazel. My dad’s parents were Pete and Elsie (Price) Wooten. My mom’s parents were Harley and Lela (Reed) Jackson.” If I have to, I’ll rattle off aunts and uncles too.
If they’re not nodding by this point, either they have a bad memory or they’re an extraterrestrial alien with an artificial body posing as a human from this area. It’s not so farfetched. Remember the UFOs visiting Fyffe and now those guys play football like possessed NFL hall-of-famers. (Just kidding. Go Red Devils.)
The first time I made an appointment to see Dr. Gibson in Rainsville I was 26 years old. He didn’t know who I was, so he started asking me about my family. After I named them off, he said, “I know everyone in your family. Why don’t I know you?”
When they finally found my file, the mystery was solved. The only page in the folder was the document of my live birth. That explained it. The reason he didn’t remember me was because the last time he saw me was when he delivered me, and I guess I looked a little different. Well, my legs were probably still the same length.
So when someone my age or older ask you “Who’s your daddy,” just tell them who your father is.