Rob McRay delivered another powerful understory to the crowd at September 2015’s Tenx9 event “Nashville.”
Tonight we were in Nashville.
We took Papaw to the city—well, mostly it was a tour of radiology labs where we answered questions about treating venom with whiskey and flirted with nurses—and it ended with line dancing in puppy poop.
We took a vacation to Florida, where we had dinner with an overly chatty lady, and a quiet stranger; and we returned to Nashville to unemployment, a hurricane, illness and divorce—but the messenger had assured us we’re in good hands.
We visited the ICU of venerable Baptist hospital where cancer was killing his kidneys—and we saw that look…and we heard the alarms…and we made that choice…the choice we all wish he had made.
We were stunned to meet a huge celebrity among the CDs and albums and 8 tracks—and we risked dying, and lost our indoor voices—but that’s why we live in Nashville.
We considered leaving, but a kind older woman helped us at the store, and we got a bluebird tattoo, and we felt comfortable in our own skin—and we decided to stay.
We visited a couple of bars downtown where we were recognized by school teachers and church relations, and we went the wrong way with drag queens while feeding mints to a man in a coma…and we wound up back in the closet.
We toured the Opry, and the Hall of Fame, and the steamboat, and churches and universities, and Nash Trash—and at the Veterans Hospital we discovered celebrity volunteers, and all around us we found another Nashville.
We ran errands for our big Disney trip and had a Nashville lunch of hot chicken; and then we road rides, spinning in every direction, with flashbacks of giant spinning tops and lots of pickles—before riding home naked.
And this is why we live in Nashville…and why some of us don’t eat hot chicken any more.