My Three Sons
The stories behind how and why we named the Brothers Gris
On the day before I became a father for the first time, my pregnant wife had a food craving.
Popeye’s.
Not spinach … the food of choice that turned the cartoon character of my childhood into a strong-armed hero.
But the spicy, Cajun fried chicken. The kind that makes you start sweating by the time you reach for your second piece.
I’m not quite sure why she sent me to fetch a bucket of thighs, wings, breasts and drumsticks on August 16, 1983. She was 10 days overdue and miserable.
It was a real risk. The baby could come at any time. We didn’t all have cell phones in those days. I carried a pager issued by the hospital.
To make matters more challenging, Popeye’s did not have a restaurant in Macon. We had to drive to Warner Robins every time. The closest was on Watson Boulevard, 23 miles from our house in Shurlington.
I made the trip, though. I was a loyal and obedient husband. (I was also hungry.)
That night, she went into labor. We gave all the credit to that spicy Cajun.
The following morning, as the sun rose over Macon, we welcomed Joel Edward Grisamore into the world … kicking and screaming like shot of Tabasco.
And, for the past 40 years, we have laughed and told people we should have named him “Popeye.’’