Papa

James M Driggers 1932-2010

I took a reflective drive out of town this-afternoon… I had an hour or so to think within myself . Last night I pulled a treasured gift off of the shelf. It is a small wooden box made by the hands of a craftsman. It was made of heart pine from an ancient tree that once stood in the forests of South Carolina. Its grain is straight and the color is familiar and golden. Time alone has preserved the fibers… time alone can yield this treasure…

Jimmy Driggers put this dovetailed box in my hands many years ago. By that time, I had gone from addressing him as Mr. Driggers to Mr. Jimmy to Papa. I remember I was at his home and after calling him Mr. Jimmy… he turned to me with his slight smile and said as only a Southerner can say, “Son, you can call me Papa like the rest of my children do”.

My little box has a wonderfully long-lasting finish to it. The usual finish to a wooden piece would be stain and polyurethane. Papa would have none of that. He had a love for quality furniture… enough that he started making pieces of his own. He made them with a craftsman’s eye and a craftsman’s touch. He would choose the correct piece of wood to intersect with others so the grains would run together… the attention was always in the details. He finished his furniture with linseed oil. The aroma is distinctive and classic. He explained to me that you must put several thin layers on the wood. Too much at one time and the finish would not last…

I re-examined the dovetailing… I re-examined the hinges and the clasp. I took the time to look at the grain and the color and tone of the wood. I rubbed my hands over the top knowing that Papa had done the same.

Papa taught without teaching… he watched us without looking. He heard our signals without effort. He knew instinctively when we were up to no good. He had a special relationship with so many people that came into his life. He showed patience with me. He passed on a love for the beauty in nature's gifts.

The last time I saw Papa, he was weakened by time… he grasped my hand and pulled me to him… he had the handshake of a much younger man. He looked up to me with his grin and patted my face with purpose. I wish I would have known that would be my last visit with him. There is so much I could have said and so much I could have asked…

When I got home this-evening, I dusted off my can of linseed oil and dabbed a bit on the fold of a soft cloth. I gently applied a thin coat over the wood of my treasured box and inhaled the memory of so many years…

                                                            Shannon R Killman