In the late 1950's, my grandmother had a great opportunity for not only 15 minutes of fame, but a nice piece of change in her pocket. Her name was Bettie (I'm named after her) and she was approached to do a promotion at a local shopping center for Aunt Jemima pancakes. The pay per day was $50, and they needed her over the course of a weekend to dress as the character in order to promote the brand's pancake mix. She was very excited. Fifty dollars was a lot of money then, and honestly, I could use an extra $50 right now. It would gas up my car for a couple of days. I can only imagine the wonderful things that ran through her head which could be accomplished with an unexpected $150. According to my research, this would be the equivalent of about $1200 today. Drop in the bucket, right?
My grandfather was a meek and quiet man. He was over six feet tall and labored his entire life. He was a farmer, a farm hand, a day laborer, a husband and father, and a church deacon. He had a beautiful tenor voice. Everyone called him Papaw, but I couldn't pronounce that so I called him Boombaw when I was old enough to talk, and it just stuck. I never called him anything else. Boombaw generally let my grandmother, whom he called "J-Fat" (I have NO idea why), run the show. She was fiery and aggressive and opinionated. She was a very proud woman, but when Quaker Oats came calling, I think she thought she was Hattie McDaniel. She was going to be paid to play a part. Money was scarce and that amount of money was like manna from heaven. She jumped at the opportunity and was quite excited to share the news.
Boombaw, the Quiet and Meek, for just a few moments became Boombaw the Boss. He spoke up in a completely uncharacteristic way and told her NO. Absolutely not. She would not be portraying, publicly or otherwise, such a stereotypical character. But the money!... We don't need it that badly. Her dignity, our dignity was something that a price couldn't be put on. He made her turn it down. I don't know that anything like that ever happened again, but my grandfather proved that day the power and purpose of choosing your battles. In most things, he let her win. It kept the peace and it made him happy to see her happy. He was also wise. He was also proud. Years of laboring for others and scraping by on little to nothing had done nothing to touch his spirit. He was proud of his family and although he was never able to have or provide all that he wanted, he still knew that he had more than his parents had, and that's what most parents want for their children. More. More opportunity for education, earnings, experiences. More to be proud of. He wasn't about to squander that for a box of flapjacks.
Pride is a funny thing. Some people are proud of and for the wrong reasons. Proud of possessions. Proud of their looks. Proud of status. Yet, they are publicly embarrassing, if not embarrassed. My Boombaw was proud of his character and that of his family. He was proud to carry on his father's name. And he was proud of the fact that his parents suffered and sacrificed so he wouldn't have to do the same. Sure, he had it hard, but he knew that his parents wanted him to have more. And so he did. His own house, built by his own hand. A little patch of land that produced the sweetest grapes, peaches and pears in the state. A son, daughter in law and six grandchildren who brought him great joy. And a feisty lady named J-Fat who learned that day that her quiet and meek husband knew how to pick his battles and be the boss at the appropriate time.
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