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episode, he was not a problem. He was quiet, kept to himself, and was prone to staring off into space for long periods of time. Sometimes my mom would stand there looking at him, and say, “Well, I guess Papa’s crossed over again.” That’s an expression we all used affectionately when my grandfather checked out.
    Papa Hester was a sweet old guy. He used to say, “Son, youth only happens to you one time, so if you should miss it when you’re young, you can still have it when you’re old.” Although Papa just sat there on the porch all day long, doing nothing, I thought his words of wisdom were so thought provoking that, years later, they inspired me to write a song about him.
     
    There’s an old man in our town,
    I guess he’s been around
    For years and years,
    At least it seems that way.
     
    Wrinkled hands and rocking chair,
    Growing old just sitting there.
    Every year he had the same old things to say.
     
    Youth only happens to you one time,
    And so I’ve been told,
    If you should miss it in your young time,
    Have it when you’re old.
     
    Papa wasn’t an overtly affectionate person, so it was hard to tell him just how much he meant to us. That tribute in the song was the only way I knew how to do it.
    He was a true product of Depression-era America. He lived through it, and consequently was, let’s say, careful with his money.
    When I was in my late twenties, playing music for a living and scouting opportunities in California, we decided to take Papa, who had never been out of the state of Texas, on a trip. We all piled in my 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air and drove for five days, taking our time because Papa Hester was thoroughly enjoying this bucket-list trip across the country. We stopped all along the way, filling the hours with diners and donuts, eating our way to L.A.
    Once we got there, Papa Hester pulled me aside, as if to spare me any embarrassment in front of the rest of the family, and handed me $313.38 in small bills and a big pile of change, along with some grandfatherly advice: “Son, you’ll never have any money if you keep leaving it everywhere you go.”
    Unbeknownst to the rest of us, Papa had been picking up all the tips I had left in diners and cafés along the road.
    He smiled at me and said, “One day, boy, you’ll thank me for this.”

Chapter Three
    Lovesick Blues
    I started grade school at Wharton Elementary School on West Gray Street with the hope of blending in with all the other guys. I didn’t want to stand out for any reason, good or bad; I just wanted to be accepted. My goal was anonymity. Being considered an average student was plenty good for me, and that’s what I was. I think I probably had a little attention deficit disorder, but of course there was no such diagnosis back then. I was just considered a hyper kid. I had a lot of energy and was a little scattered.
    The problem that faced me early on was this: although I wanted to remain anonymous among the guys, I still wanted the girls to notice me. I was, from age six, girl crazy. The love of my life in elementary school was Colleen Mays. I thought she was the coolest girl I had ever seen. She didn’t live in the Courts, either, but in a very wealthy area near school. Colleen was really beautiful and pretty impressive in her brightly polished brown-and-white saddle shoes. I noticed them every morning as we sat in class. While all the other kids were doing their work, I was totally mesmerized by her shoes. They looked brand-new every morning! Maybe that’s why I was a C student.
    If Colleen had agreed to be my girlfriend, it would have been a classic case of dating up. Her father was a federal judge. Their yard was huge and full of pecan trees. Every day on my way home, I would ask her parents if I could pick up pecans for my family and also a few for her family.
    I also had a pal named Ronnie Harrod who was a real jock and played shortstop on the school softball team. Since Ronnie was on the team, I always came to the