My Cousin Kenny (second cousin, actually) died this past Saturday in Louisiana and I just found out tonight.
Mom and Pops both deny I was named after him but me and Kenny knew better.
You wanna talk about a White Trash motherfucker? Let me give you just a few examples here.
Cousin Kenny joined the Army back in 1961 and deserted in 1962 when he realized he couldn't lay around drunk all day and run hounds all night. His main claim to fame was he escaped from Leavenworth Stockade so may times that the Military finally gave up and offered to pardon him if he would only tell them how he did it.
My earliest memories of him was that he always had a half dozen Plotts under his trailer for running lions with another half dozen Standard Airedales staked out in the back for cornering them lions. Any one of those Airedales would eat my CharlieGodammit for lunch, they were some BAD motherfuckers. He also had a couple dozen fighting cocks that brought in a decent income for him.
He finally married Virginia who brought his ass in line and straightened him up. I think it was because she could whip his skinny ass anytime. She was a stout Cherokee gal that took no shit off anybody. Stout? She was a big girl, so big that her purse gun was a Redhawk 44 magnum with a 2 inch barrel and that motherfucker wouldn't even phase her. But they loved each other and she taught him some respectability.
I could go on and on about Kenny but let me say this:
My family has been hit hard with death these past few months. First it was Moms' baby brother Donald. I didn't shed a tear although I loved him. Then her stepdad, my Grandpa Bud. I didn't shed a tear even though Bud helped raise me up. Them Moms' baby stepbrother Gary who was only 3 years older than me and my best friend when I was growing up. Again, I didn't shed a tear. A man has to be strong for the family right?
But tonight I got a fucking text message about Cousin Kenny....... my legs gave out from under me, and I cried like a fucking baby.
I remember him and Virginia having me over for dinner the time I actually came home on leave from the Army. I remember catfishing with him on the Tuolumne in the summer after I got out, drunk and the skeeters eating us up and us not giving a fuck. Drinking whiskey with him and working on his truck. Him shooting his truck up when it still wouldn't run.
And the last time I saw him - I had stopped in a couple years ago and gave him and Virginia a stringer of cats and sat on his porch and visited and drank sun tea. I remember when I left I hugged Virginia and she left a lipstick kiss on my cheek and Kenny grabbed my hippie hair, bumped foreheads and told me to take care, motherfucker, fuck the feds and watch my ass, Bo.
Cousin Kenny. Straight-Up White Trash, God Bless 'im.