Growin’ Up Write
My dad’s friends were all writers. They spoke in memes before memes existed. Their interactions became the baseline for my language — I absorbed banter, nicknames and puns before I voiced my first words. It only makes sense that I’m a writer.
When I was born, Teddy Allen wrote a column in the Shreveport Journal titled “Once a Kid Masters the Curves, the Rest is Easy” — a public letter in the newspaper that compared growing up to learning how to hit a curve ball. It was my first lesson in using sports writing to convey emotion.
Teddy has been a pseudo-uncle to me my entire life. Seeing Teddy makes you giddy. He’s quick-witted, genuine and smart, but he’s always been just really fun to hang out with, even as a kid.
We named our backyards based on puns of actual baseball stadiums, just like they did growing up (“Shade Stadium” … “Unfairgrounds Field” … “Three Puddles Stadium”). Being clever was always the top priority. Repartee was as valuable as hitting a home run.
My brother and I knew Teddy was rather famous in our area but you’d never know it aside from everyone saying hey to him whenever we’d go to Nicky’s or Strawn’s. People did that all the time to my dad too, so I thought it was normal.
It was only as I grew up and became a writer that I came to understand his prowess with a pen. Teddy is so incredibly of-the-time while also bringing new ideas to the table every read. He always has the ear of the reader from the first line. His voice is center-stage in his pieces: his writing is like having a one-on-one conversation with him.
Mr. Hilburn was another one of my dad’s friends and it’s safe to say he was my favorite person growing up. He was the most exciting thing in the world from ages 2–10.
We obsessed over Braves’ games and the ‘Crime Frog’ Fred McGriff. He took me to the to the state fair and my parents watched in horror while I ate taffy and rode shady amusement park rides, but they knew I was having the time of my life. He made me feel like I was his actual friend - he knew how to level with kids. Not only did Mr. Hilly inform my writing style, but my natural ease with children comes in large part from the comfort he created in me as a child. Talk about a role model.
Currently he is the politics reporter for USA Today network in Louisiana. Mr. Hilly’s father Wiley would end up being a mentor to me as well during my years at the Tech Talk in Ruston, where he chaired the journalism department and ran the news bureau for forty years.
Mr. Hilly, Mr. Teddy and Mr. Wiley all shaped my childhood and even my adolescence with their sincere, articulate nature and their proximity to my life. My father is a writer as well, and it goes without saying that he had a hand in molding how I approach the craft. Still, his friends — their group — will always stand out to me as such a gift as I was able to learn about communication early in my life through sheer osmosis.
Nothing is more important than communication. Having a way with words is endlessly valuable. I was fortunate to grow up around such decent examples of men — emotional, flawed and witty writers who tried to live the truth behind their words.
As I grew up and after Wiley passed, we lost touch for a time. Eventually we connected in new ways. I saw Mr. Hilly on Twitter talking politics last year and I had a childhood flashback of playing ‘3,2,1’ basketball in my backyard. A friend posted one of Teddy’s essays to Facebook one day and I was reminded of his brilliance and country-fried grace all over again.
In my own career as a writer I’ve tried to bring their qualities into my work: Mr. Hilly’s empathy, Teddy’s charm, my father’s wit and Wiley’s grit. Maybe if I’m lucky, their legacy can propagate through me.
