For every person there is a story, a history and love that surpasses all
When I was about 16 or 17 years old, three or so years after my mother and father separated I began to think about changing my name.
For so long in my life I had been closer, emotionally and sentimentally, to my mother’s family. In many respects I had always identified more with the Comer family than with the Hill family. Maybe it was the closeness of my mom’s family or the amount of time I spent with them when compared to my father’s side of the family.
Maybe… just maybe, I always felt closer and identified more with my mom’s side of things because of my father and the things he did. Any of my friends and any person close to me knows at least a little about my family history, especially in regard to my father.
For two years in high school I lived with my grandfather, “Grandpa Bill”, and my step-grandmother, “Memaw”. Grandma Carolyn passed away in April 1994. Her death� was probably the most traumatic event I will probably ever experience in my life and I know Grandpa definitely felt his share of grief that year. Growing up I think I identified Grandpa as more of a father than my real dad was. Everyone knows that there can be a major difference between someone being your “biological father” and your real father.
I remember when I was little and I would go with Grandpa up to “The Mountain”, a little piece of property he purchased back around 1990. “The Mountain” sits right on the other side of a mountain ridge where his and my ancestors settled from The Netherlands in 1755.
I’d ride in his rickety, old, green truck all the way up to Lambsburg, Virginia. I’d watch him as he built our little cabin and sometimes I’d even join in with my little hammer and try (notice the word “try”) to hammer some nails into the little pieces of scrap wood left over from� whatever project he was working on that day. I even remember when we would just sit on the back of his truck and eat Vienna Sausages and drink our warm sodas. As nasty as it might sound… I even remember not having a bathroom up there. Grandpa eventually built an outhouse, but for the longest time there was no such thing as a toilet.
There is a song sung by Jeff and Sheri Easter (my cousins by the way, no matter how distant) called “Grandpa’s Truck” and it reminds me so much of those days:
When I was a young boy learning to grow up,
I used to love to ride around in Grandpa’s pick up truck,
He’d stop at the store and buy a moonpie and R.C.,
That was Grandpa’s way of saying how much he loved me.
I’d sit and watch him working,
He seemed so tall and strong…I look into the mirror surprised at what I see,
‘Cuz now its not a little boy looking back at me,
I can’t believe what passing years turned Grandpa’s boy into,
‘Cuz now they’ve left an older man standing in my shoes,
I watch my own son playing now he sure is growing up,
I bet someday his children will ride in my old truck,
I pray the Lord will help me be the man I’d like to be,
I want to be the kind of grandpa Grandpa’s been to me…
Like I said before… Grandpa Bill is the best father any boy could ask for and it is precisely because of the love I felt from him and� the lessons he taught me that I have changed my name to his. Grandpa W. Morrell “Bill” Comer is in all practical respects my “daddy”.
So in honor of the greatest man I’ve ever known and will ever know and the love of family, an appreciation of familial bonds and a chance to let Grandpa’s family name live on through me… I am now, legally as of February 3, 2006, Matthew Morrell Hill Comer.
Click here to see the “Order and Certificate of Name Change”
About the Author: Matt
7 Responses to “For every person there is a story, a history and love that surpasses all”
I said it to you earlier, but Congratulations again dear, I know it means a lot to you. I know what you mean about someone being your biological father and real father . Plain example being my biological mother and father (which I do not know who my biological father is), and my real parents (which are biologically my grandparents). I love my adopted parents and without them I do not know if I could be typing this comment right now. I am very fortunate to have their kindness and love bestowed upon me. So congrats once again, and I can identify and empthaize with past situations and experiencs you have gone through in regards to biological parent(s) and your real parent(s) .
By Samantha on Feb 9, 2006
Congrats indeed. I’ve had a really hard time changing my name legally - a lot of red tape to deal with. So I know it isn’t always a breeze but how much it can mean.
By Joe Killian on Feb 9, 2006
Matt - you’ve been taking my breath away ever since you rode your bike to the Youth Flag meetings in Winston all those years ago. I just hope that domeday when you’re famous, you’ll remember this old lesbian who holds you in such high regard. Love, Wendy
By Wendy Scott on Mar 16, 2006
Matt,
I just found your blog today and regret not finding it earlier. I really identify with your story, having changed my name to my mother’s maiden some years back. Like you, my graddad Farrell was my father-figure and largely responsible for my strong Democratic ways. His watch-phrase was always “Be fair!” and he called everyone “neighbor” and meant it.
One of the darkest days of my life was when he passed. This humble man, a laboror who did the best he could to turn an 18th century cabin in a holler below Mt Spivey into a home for two growing grandbabies, was one I thought nobody knew or cared much about. The day of his memorial, I was shocked to see the chapel crammed past SRO capacity.
By the time my dad passed, mom had long since taken back her maiden name. My brother, quite possibly the world’s biggest phobe and Republican poster-boy-bigot drank himself to death not long after dad’s passing. (That’s what a steady diet of unreasoning hatred will do for a body.) For me, a new name was a fresh start, a cleansing and healing process. It’s my way of honoring a man who quietly gave me a sense of honor, true Red-Letter decency and the backbone to work for fairness and equality.
I hope it’s a healing and empowering process for you as well.
Since I live and work right at the edge of the UNCG, knowing that I have a neighbor who is as passionate about democracy and civil rights as I am gives me the courage to keep on keepin’ on.
Thanks for all your work.
Bill
By Bill on Jul 8, 2006
Thanks so much for your story and kind words Bill. Maybe one of these days we can catch up and get some coffee or something? I’m always up for making new friends and meeting other passionate folks!
By Matt on Jul 8, 2006
Congrats on your name change.Your grandpa sounds like he was everything a father should be.My mothers family is from Lambsburg and my roots run deep there.I have some fond memories of that place and of of my Grandpa Edwards.He passed away on my birthday in 1978.I was just there today visiting my uncle who leaves at the very foot of the place possibly that you described in your story. I get so sad when I have to leave Lambsburg .I feel so close to my loved ones who had passed who resided there.I get satisfaction thinking about their spirits possibly roaming the mtns that they held so dear.It truely is a magical place for memories. Your story was beautiful.
By Betty Haynes on Nov 24, 2006
Thank you so much for your story Betty. I sometimes think how wierd it is that the internet, of all things, has the ability to connect people who seem so far away and removed from one another, but yet have connections that in the real world are closer than they knew previously.
Lambsburg, VA, is indeed a wonderful place. Here recently, however, (you may have noticed this too), the growth of Mt. Airy and the growth of suburban housing developments are starting encrouch on the once, far-removed feeling of the Mountains.
At night, the sky used to be much clearer and you could see more stars. Now, it isn’t as clear and the light from surrounding communties as well as Mt. Airy kind of blurs things out.
I also used to remember that the sound of I-77 wasn’t as loud as it is now. The far-removed, out-back feeling of the Mountains in Carroll County is quickly fading away and it is sad.
By Matt on Nov 25, 2006