Jul. 28, 2006 - My Sister and Uncle Johnny
The following is a short story I wrote about my sister. She is incredibly unique. The story is true, although her memory is faulty!
My Sister and Uncle Johnny
Most children make up stories. Stories about ponies, princess, knights and dragons. Stories about cowboys, Indians and soldiers. But not my sister. My sister made up stories about Johnny Cash. I've never known where she even heard his name. We didn't have a television growing up, not much exposure to radio. So, I've never been sure why she developed this fascination with Mr. Cash. But she did.
As long as I can remember, my sister has believed that Johnny Cash was a family friend. She told stories of how Mr. Cash, dressed in his customary black, would get off a train near our home. In her stories, he would walk to our house, carrying- of all things- a fiddle. He would come in, visit, eat dinner (or supper, as we in the South call it) and play his fiddle. I don't think he played a fiddle in real life, but at our house, he always did. My sister said it was easier to get on the train. He always came alone, although June often sent her regards.
My sister was so sure, so convincing, that soon I began to 'remember' his visits, too. He became part of our family, like an uncle everyone loves. We spoke of him often. Wondered when he would visit again. Wondered how his life was going. Was he well? How were his children? Did they know about us?
As she grew older, Uncle Johnny's visits became less frequent. My sister still spoke of him and remembered him fondly, but by the time she was in high school, his visits had stopped completely. She was outgrowing him. She was outgrowing her need to make believe. It was a little sad for all of us.
When Johnny's wife died a few years ago, we were all sad. My sister and I drove to Nashville to see the funeral procession. We were never sure if the hearse we saw was June's. But it didn't really matter. We believed it was. But when Johnny Cash died, we held a wake. It was at my house. The whole family came; all dressed in black, of course. We ate, shared stories and listened to a Johnny Cash CD that my father had bought just for the occasion.
It was that night that I realized that I didn't know one single Johnny Cash song. Funny thing is- neither did my sister!
Comments
Jul. 29, 2006 - Untitled Comment
Posted by foreigner
Thanks for the sweet story. I grew up listening to Johnny Cash and the Carter Family so it was fun to read.
Linda
