Buckwheat – 9.10.22

I was home from college for the summer the day I got the call that my cousins had been in a terrible car wreck. Both had been taken to the hospital and were in serious condition with severe spinal injuries. As I processed this, I thought of Buckwheat and the choices he sometimes made. And then I thought of Troy.  At thirteen years old, Troy had begun to play in some summer softball tournaments with Buckwheat, who was nineteen. An incredible baseball player, Troy had a promising future.  But I sometimes wondered if Troy was spending too much time with Buckwheat.

Although I was close to Troy, it was my cousin Buckwheat who I spent the most time with during my early years in Louisa. Buckwheat lived with our maternal grandmother Cora and her boyfriend in a modest single story wood frame house. I want to point out that it also had running water.  Meanwhile, my mom with her four kids, and my aunt Nancy with her two kids, Troy and Kim, huddled together in a three-room wood shack 50 yards away with no running water and only a wood stove for heat.  Although her house was larger with fewer people living in it, Grandmother Cora did not offer to share her house to any of us to sleep in.  She must have thought that she was doing us a big favor by letting us stay in the shack next door.

According to one of my aunts, my grandmother Cora was not a nice person. I also believe that opinion was widely held by most who knew her.  But my mom had a blind spot for her mother.  My mom was always there for my grandmother whenever she needed her. And as my grandmother became feebler, my mom took care of my grandmother until the day she died.

During the months that her two daughters lived next door, my grandmother was always complaining to my mom and Nancy that they were freeloading. Or she would complain about how their children were hellions, which was true.  We were little hellions. Or she would complain that her daughters had married total losers, which was also true. But the funny thing about all of that complaining about her daughters’ choices in men is that Cora was a complete hypocrite given her own history with men.

In addition to being a complainer, Cora slept around.  Rumor has it that her ten children were fathered by six different men. One of my aunts told me that she may have slept around to keep her children from going hungry. That may be true, but my mom and aunts remember going to bed with an empty stomach many nights because there was nothing to eat. Life was hard for Cora and her children.  This may explain why Cora’s children left the house as soon as they could.

My mom was an example. When my mom was seventeen, she met my dad, who was 10 years older.  Already married with a large family, my dad somehow found his way to Louisa County. He met my mom, got her pregnant, and whisked her away from a place that she was all too ready to leave. But life had other plans for my mom. She would return 10 years later to that same place with nothing and with four young kids. And it was my aunt Nancy, Troy’s mom, who supported my mother during that tough journey of escaping from my dad.

So, after we moved to Louisa with nothing, my mom applied for welfare.  When she qualified, we moved across the dirt road to a different house.  And although it did not have toilets or a shower, it did have a faucet with running water in the kitchen.  And it was not escaping the wood shack with no running water that made us feel like we had escaped from prison, it was being able to escape from under the thumb of my Grandmother Cora, who was unbearable to be around. Unfortunately, Buckwheat was not as fortunate.

Because Buckwheat was abandoned by my mom’s oldest sister, Essie, Buckwheat was raised by Cora, who never really wanted Buckwheat around.  I heard her tell him so on more than one occasion.  I would also remember her taking a switch or a belt or anything else that was handy and try to whip or hit him. That in and of itself is not so bad.  My mom would do the same thing with us.  It was the anger and intensity with which she pursued him.  It was if Buckwheat was the vehicle by which she used to vent all her anger and frustration. So, it’s not difficult to figure out why Buckwheat was always getting into trouble.

In Cora’s defense, Buckwheat was wild. But in his defense, he was raised unwanted, brought up in a bitter and loveless household.  If you want to get a quick image of what Buckwheat was like, think of James Dean in the movie “Rebel Without a Cause.”  And like James Dean, Buckwheat hated authority. Given his upbringing, there is a good reason that Buckwheat challenged authority at every turn.  It may also have been in his DNA. Looking back at the behavior of my cousins and uncles on my mom’s side of the family, I think we all hated authority. Or at least we did not trust authority. And authority to us were people with wealth or power, or both. Maybe it was a redneck thing. I’m not quite sure. As my wife would remark sometimes, “That redneck gene is hard to suppress.”

Although Buckwheat and I were the same age, he was a grade below me.  While in middle school, our principal was Mr. Richardson – a big man, and a disciplinarian.  You did not want to be called into Mr. Richardson’s office.  It was inevitable that Mr. Richardson and Buckwheat would lock horns. Buckwheat was a particular thorn in the side of our principal.  Exasperated, Mr. Richardson finally decided that he had had enough. He decided to paddle Buckwheat over the intercom system so that the entire school could hear it.  Instead of being ashamed, Buckwheat considered it a badge of honor.

Unfortunately, our principal’s strategy backfired. Afterwards, Buckwheat became a celebrity. The only thing that incident did was to cement Buckwheat’s reputation as a real bad ass.  How does one take something that almost everyone else would be ashamed of and make it into something to be proud of – or at least appear to be proud of?  Buckwheat managed to do it. Getting paddled over the intercom without making a sound proved he was tough.  And with the entire school listening, it was the perfect stage to prove that he was tough. He even claimed that it did not hurt. But I know it did.  I had been on the other end of paddles during elementary school. And they hurt. 

While not acting up in school, Buckwheat would kill time by catching rides to the nearby towns of Mineral and Louisa and hang out.  He also loved physical activity, including playing sports.  Like me, he never played organized sports in school, but he loved pickup games of any kind, which included basketball. And we played every chance we got, starting with the makeshift dirt court in Buckwheat’s yard with a bicycle rim nailed to a tree. As we got older, we moved the court to our yard and upgraded to a real basketball rim with plywood nailed to an electric pole.  The court remained dirt, so after a rain, there was no basketball.

The problem was that there were not many basketball courts in the county.  The only indoor courts were in the high school and middle school.  But there were two outdoor courts in the town of Mineral, five miles away.  And when I got my driver’s license, I would borrow my mom’s car, and we would drive there to play.  Occasionally, Buckwheat would hitch a ride.

One day, Buckwheat hitched a ride, and we headed to Mineral to play some ball. On this day, Buckwheat was on the opposite team from my youngest brother Keith. Keith at this point was in the 9^th grade but was becoming a very good basketball player and would eventually play in high school as only one of two white kids on the team.  And even though Buckwheat was four years older than Keith, Keith was getting the better of him. So, Buckwheat started fouling to keep Keith from scoring.  As he became more and more frustrated, he began fouling harder.  I began yelling at him to stop.  As I said earlier, I was protective of my younger siblings.  

I am quite sure that I used colorful language when I told Buckwheat to stop. I was no angel.  Buckwheat, almost on script, became belligerent.  As did I.  Urged on by some of the other players, Buckwheat became even more belligerent.  To be fair, I had a short temper, which would plague me well into my forties.  Like my wife says, “That Redneck gene is hard to suppress.” So, angry words quickly escalated into a full-fledged fist fight. 

Because of boxing lessons taken when I was younger, I knew how to throw a punch.  So, I got the better of Buckwheat during the fight.  But even though Buckwheat was getting bloodied, he would not stop.  I was boxing, not trying to kill him.  Finally, the other players grabbed him and calmed him down.  Buckwheat ambled off and we resumed our game.  Believe it or not, that was the only fist fight I ever got into during middle or high school.  Because there were other guys from high school there that day, they spread the word that I had a mean streak and knew how to fight. So, although I was a straight-A student, word got around that you did not want to mess around with Johnny Franklin. 

After several more games, Keith and I followed our usual routine and stopped at the general store in town to grab a cold orange juice.  Here is the funny thing. Outside the store, Buckwheat came up to me and my brother and said he was sorry.  I said, “no big deal” and we shook hands and made up.  We even drove home together. That was Buckwheat. He was stubborn and foolish, but he also had a big heart. He was what most people would call likeable. And I did love him and appreciated his humor and his passion. There are a lot of crazy Buckwheat stories, including the incident where one of the boys who lived down the dirt road from us died while he and Buckwheat were together.  Evidently, he died of a gunshot wound suffered while he and Buckwheat were fooling around with a gun.  I am sure I never got the full story on that one.

Like many of my male relatives on my mom’s side of the family, bad luck seemed to follow Buckwheat.  My uncle Peanuts died from a gunshot wound suffered during a domestic incident. Uncle Billy would die from a tragic auto accident.  Some people claim that he was run off the road by someone who was out to get him. And my cousin Danny Boy would die from drowning. And all would die before reaching the age of 35., which is why, in some ways, the call informing me that Buckwheat had been in a terrible car accident did not come as a complete surprise.  Although shocking and sad, I began expecting bad news about my relatives. 

Before the accident, Buckwheat and Troy had been playing in a softball tournament together with some friends.  Afterwards, the car they were in ran off the road and flipped and crashed. Both Troy and Buckwheat were passengers in the back seat. During the accident, both were thrown from the car.  Although both survived, neither would ever walk again. The weird thing is that the driver and the passengers in the front seat suffered only minor injuries.  I never found out if the driver or anyone else in the car had been drinking or had been doing drugs.  All that mattered was that both Buckwheat and Troy’s lives were changed forever.

When I became a father many years later, I kept a book by my nightstand. It’s called “A Father’s Book of Wisdom.” It is a collection of stories, notes and sayings collected by a former WWII Veteran. When he died, these writings were discovered in an attic by his adult children.  They had been written on napkins, matchbook covers or whatever else was handy when he heard or read them. One of the sayings in the book was “Why is it that the people who work the hardest seem to be the luckiest?”  There is some truth to that statement. I would add a corollary statement stating, “Why does bad luck seem to follow people who make questionable decisions?” 

The men on my mom’s side of the family seemed to be very unlucky. However, they made choices that seemed to attract bad luck. I was headed in that direction. However, I somehow avoided the fate of my male relatives, including my two brothers, who both became addicts to drugs or alcohol.  Some people who know my story will point to my intelligence or perseverance.  And some will say that I had good luck that saved me from that same fate.  But to be honest, it is still a mystery to me. But I have started to figure out a little of that mystery.

I obviously made some key decisions at critical times with the help of some people – and that was very important.  I also made lots of bad decisions. And people looked out for me even then.  During my freshman year in college, I had my own terrible car accident.  I had just finished my first semester in college with good grades after a rough start. So, I wanted to celebrate.

I drove by myself to a Christmas party being held in the town of Louisa at the fast-food restaurant where I had worked while in high school.  They were serving a popular drink at the time called “Purple Passion.” It is a very sweet mixture, but also very alcoholic.  So, it is easy to drink too much.  I drank too much.  And then I tried to drive home.  The only thing I can remember is that Suzie, the girl I was dating at the time, trying to grab the keys and telling me not to drive. But I did.   

When driving on the only straight stretch of road, I lost control of the car, ran off the road, and hit a telephone pole head on. I was not wearing a seat belt.  I got thrown across the front of the car, but not before bending the steering wheel.  I am not sure how that happened, but it may have saved my life by keeping me from going through the windshield. Instead, it must have slowed my forward momentum just enough so that as the car went slightly to the side my body was flung across the front seat and slammed into the passenger side of the car. On the way over, my face connected with the rear-view mirror, cutting my face and mouth.  Along with the facial lacerations, I suffered a major concussion. Although pretty beat up, I had no broken bones or internal injuries. Someone was looking out for me.

Once I recovered, I had to face charges of drunk driving.  But the local prosecuting attorney in Louisa miraculously dropped the charges to reckless driving.  So, no DUI to follow me around for the rest of my life.  So, I not only had the “someone” looking out for me, I also had people looking out for me.  I wish I could say that I learned my lesson. But no – even after that incident and later, when I would visit Buckwheat and Troy after their accident, I still used bad judgement and made questionable decisions.  So, it is a mystery.  It must be true that the judgement part of the brain develops last.

The story I just told points out is that I lived in a community. Even though I was born on the “wrong side of the tracks”, the rural community I lived in took care of each other. And because I was a kid trying hard to overcome his circumstances, that community supported me, even when I did something stupid. And so, being in community is a part of the mystery of my story.  You can also call a community a tribe. My high school class was a supportive community and good tribe to be a part of.  But the most important tribe I joined was Mineral Baptist Church, and as a community, it had a significant impact on my life. 

Buckwheat and I were very close in middle school. During that time, we would utilize the Mineral Baptist Church bus ministry to attend church, eventually joining the youth group and the youth choir together.  To pay for the first summer music camp we attended, Buckwheat and I would perform chores while the other kids hung out.  It was a weird dynamic.  I know everyone meant well, but Buckwheat and I felt shame – like we were hired help.  But we did it because it was the only way we could participate.  We wanted to be part of a “good tribe.”

I stuck with this good tribe and the community.  Buckwheat did not.  And it became a part of my identity. It did not for Buckwheat. As a result, we drifted apart. I have a theory as to why I chose to join that tribe and embrace that community and Buckwheat did not.  I would choose the path to obedience, and Buckwheat would choose the path to rebellion.  They are different paths to cope with the same thing – shame.  

I sometimes admired Buckwheat’s rebelliousness. I was tamed. He was not. There is a freedom to being untamed, but if not careful, it can also become a prison if your identity is to rebel against everything.  But the obedience path can also become a prison if your identity is to please everyone.  Many years would pass before I realized that we both chose our own prisons.  I hoped to gain love and acceptance by striving. Buckwheat realized that you will never gain love and acceptance, so why bother to strive.  Both approaches are very broken.  Total obedience is just as much a cage as total rebellion.  And although my cage had more benefits, my cage was also more pernicious.

Underneath his facade, Buckwheat was a person so entrenched in grief that he was scared that if he shared it, he would crack. So, he stopped wanting affection. He did not want to be loved because if he experienced those things, it would make him feel vulnerable, and if he felt vulnerable, then he can’t be strong anymore, and can’t go on. So, he coped by staying strong through rebellion.  But he and I were not very different. Some of us stay strong by rebelling and others through striving. But in both cases, we were scared to be vulnerable and lived in shame, not truly accepting ourselves.  One would hide his shame by rejecting the status quo.  The other would hide his shame by trying to prove to the world that he was good enough.  

Always the rebel, Buckwheat never backed down. Even though he acted tough, he had a kind heart. He would go out of his way to help someone, including me and my brothers.  And he was always smiling. He just wanted to be accepted and loved. But each time he tried, he met with disappointed. So, he stopped trying.

So, I would choose the path to obedience, and Buckwheat would choose the path to rebellion.  I would graduate valedictorian of my high school class and he would drop out of high school.  I would be in a car accident that was my fault and suffer minor injuries. Buckwheat would be in a car accident that was not his fault and would never walk again.

I would see less and less of Buckwheat in later years. But right after the accident, I was impressed by the way he handled himself.  I detected little bitterness for what had happened. He seemed to take the hand that was dealt to him and to make the best of it.  Unlike many of his male relatives,  he would live well past the age of 35.  He would pass away in 2018 at the age of 57. 

Below is Buckwheat’s obituary.

Daniel Keith “Buckwheat” Gordon, of Richmond, went home to be with the Lord on Friday, September 21, 2018.  He was born in Louisa County on March 5, 1961. He was preceded in death by his father, Ray Gordon Sr., and a sister, Sue Gordon.

He is survived by his mother, Essie Gordon, of Richmond; four brothers; three sisters; nieces, nephews, aunts, an uncle, and many cousins. 

Buckwheat was a very warm and likeable person and was a friend to many. Despite numerous serious health issues over many years, he stayed optimistic and determined to the very end. He will be missed.

I have fought a good fight.
I have finished my course.
I have kept the faith. 

I do believe Buckwheat was a friend to many. Without knowing it he helped me get through that scary first year when I was 10 years old after my mom left my dad and we came to Louisa with nothing – nothing but each other.

So, for a summer, and then some, Buckwheat, untamed and always the rebel, was my best friend.