One Southern nickname has had more than its share of misinterpretation.
Usually when you hear the name Bubba you might think of a man who is not too bright and not too clean. Perhaps a minor character in a Tennessee Williams play. I know a nice young man folks call Bubba who is the exact opposite of what usually comes to mind.
But the title of Bubba is much more than that. Bubba refers to an older brother. When a toddler calls out for Big Brother, what comes out of the mouth is Bubba. This nickname tends to stay with the big brother after the toddler grows up and learns to speak more distinctly.
If this concept isn’t completely clear, then let me describe four episodes from a life which define the status of Bubba in a Southern family.
Early one summer morning—before the sun had finished its first cup of coffee so it didn’t have the energy to radiate golden beams of heat yet –a boy wearing just a torn pair of jeans walked down a dusty country road. He had a cane fishing pole slung over one shoulder and a pail of worms dangled from his hand.
Crashing through the kitchen door of an old farm house, his toddling baby sister in a droopy diaper ran after him, bawling, “Bubba! Bubba!”
Her brother stopped, picked her up and positioned her on his hip. With his other hand he fumbled with the cane pole and bucket of worms. She dried her eyes and contentedly patted the back of his head as they continued walking on the dusty road to a creek hidden somewhere in a small grove of trees.
Now a dozen or so years passed, and Sissy was a pretty teen-aged girl who found herself in this football player’s car, trying her best to push away the wide receiver who was moving forward for a touchdown.
Just then Bubba flung open the driver’s door , dragged Sissy’s boyfriend out, threw him down and proceeded to pummel the boy’s face. Jumping from the car, Sissy rushed around it to pull her 300-pound brother off the most popular boy in the senior class.
As soon as Bubba let up on his assault, the football hero leapt to his feet, jumped into his car and peeled out, leaving Bubba and Sissy in a cloud of dirt in the middle of nowhere in the shadows of midnight.
“Bubba!” Her voice overflowed with anger, embarrassment and frustration.
Poor Bubba just stood there, shuffling his big clumsy feet, hunkering down his beefy shoulders, and tears rolled down the red puffy cheeks on his full, rounded face.
“Oh, Bubba.” Sissy could not stay mad when Bubba looked so pitiful and sad. Without a word, she took his hand, and they walked through the darkness toward home.
A few more years later Sissy became a beautiful bride. Her only care in the world was wondering who would walk her down the aisle. Her father dropped dead of a heart attack a month before the wedding. Her grandfather agreed to take his son’s place, but the morning of the nuptials he was found dead in his bed.
Sissy’s mind swirled with confusion, fear and sadness. She had no idea who would walk her down the aisle when she turned around and there stood Bubba. He looked uncomfortable in an ill-fitting suit that his grandfather had laid out on his bed to wear to the church. Bubba was about to pop every button on that old suit, but he smiled proudly and extended his arm to his sister. Sissy took his arm and kissed his puffy red cheek.
“Bubba,” she whispered as they entered the church’s sanctuary. “Thank you.”
Life flew by so fast, that Sissy didn’t notice that her children became adults, and she slowed down and grew old. So it was a terrible shock when the doctor told her she only had a few months to live.
Each day friends and relatives visited in her bedroom, dimly lit because harsh light hurt her eyes. Old school mates spent a few hours reminiscing about boring teachers, football games and homecoming dances. Her husband always had a fence to mend on the farm and a mare about to foal. He’d be right in to see her when he caught up with his chores. Sissy’s sons and daughters took turns sitting by her bedside, ready to pour her a glass of water or fluff her pillow. They knew what was on her mind, but they didn’t mention it.
Then one day the home nurse gathered the children together to inform them they would lose their mother before the sun rose again. The sons told their father that he needed to come in the house right now. He insisted the field needed to be plowed or else the crops wouldn’t come in before the frost.
Sissy adjusted her covers restlessly. Everyone knew whom she wanted to see, but no one said his name. Finally the bedroom door creaked open, and a large gray-haired man lumbered across the room to her bed. Sissy smiled and extended her hand.
“Oh, Bubba. I love you.”
Bubba didn’t say a word. Tears glistened in his eyes.
The next time you call someone Bubba, be sure you’re talking about this kind of man.