The Music Minister

Back when my daddy first came for a visit that lasted eight years, he stayed in our house.  It soon became apparent that another solution would have to be found.  Any farmer knows that you can't put two bulls in the same pasture without some head-butting to determine who is boss.  For the sake of my sanity, daddy really needed a place to call his own. 

He wanted to live in the country.  I needed him to be close enough that if the need arose I could get to him quickly.  After looking at spot after spot that involved long, winding drives up and down steep, narrow roads, we began to consider alternative solutions.  One solution arrived over coffee at the local men's gathering place.  "My son got a divorce." one reported.  "His wife left him and he's moved home for his mama to take care of him.  Why not buy his trailer, then you can put it wherever you want to."  Never one to hesitate on a decision, within days daddy was the proud owner of a two bedroom mobile home. 

He then looked around for a place in the country, close to me that he could put his new home.   Before you could say, "Jack Rabbit" we had a trailer in the back yard. 

After daddy was gone the trailer became a mecca for young men needing a temporary place to stay.  I'm not sure why -- do I look like a den mother to everyone?  Over the years we have had several come and go and all of them have become my boys.  I've listened to their woes, fed their spirits (and stomachs), enjoyed their foolishness and their help, then seen them married off and moved on.

Probably the one that gave more back to us than  we gave to him, was the young student from Brazil that became our music minister at church.  In an effort to offset the meager salary our small church could pay we offered to let him stay in the trailer.  He arrived one spring day to meet us and check out his new home.  He bounded up the walk, a slim, handsome young man with dark curls bouncing in the sunlight.  He greeted us with excellent English with a delightful accent.  We proudly showed him his new home in the now aging trailer.  In our ignorance we assumed that this poor kid from the primitive jungles of Brazil would be overwhelmed by our generosity.  It wasn't until later, we found to our horror that he not only came from a fairly wealthy family but had grown up in a cosmopolitan city on one of the beautiful beaches in Brazil.  (Think Miami) It must have looked like a slum dwelling to him but he must have been happy there because several years later he returned to take pictures of his wonderful Kentucky home.  It was just one of the many things this talented and charismatic  young man taught us.

Coming from a background of city life and culture (he played three instruments, sang beautifully, and spoke three languages) he probably thought he had been dropped into a primitive culture.  Farm life was definitely a new experience!  He embraced the whole idea with enthusiasm and excitement.  He would pop into the barn to help with whatever chore was going on.  Usually clad in flip-flops and shorts, he would gamely offer to help.  "Umm, you might want to watch where you step", hubby would warn mildly, then let him help. He actually did learn to drive the tractor and became a big help during hay time.  He never quite figured out the cows.

What he did do was open our eyes to a whole new world.  We became quite familiar with the culture of Brazil and the vast diversity of that country.  Through his influence we expanded our music knowledge and attended wonderful concerts featuring some of his many talented friends.  We became members of an extended Brazilian  family living in Florida and Brazil.  We learned a lot about soccer.  But mostly we learned to appreciate people that sounded differently but loved and laughed the same.  And when he married we were proud to stand as his "patrons" at his wedding.  An honor given to couples who have been important in the lives of the bride and groom. 

Thanks, Nuno, for enriching our lives.