I do not know the guy. He is a country singer and the nearest I have ever been to the genre is Dolly Parton in Nine to five.
But a bully is recognizabe anywhere in the world. They speak the international language of "my stick is bigger than yours".
Crystal, I just started to blog this month. I have no readers as yet. But I guess I can contribute to the cause a little exposure to the two or three lost souls that stumble into these parts of the woods.
The Completely True Brad Paisley Story and Other Things I've Meant To Post
I had this long, drawn out explanation going and then I read it and realized that I can sum it up in one sentence: I was a shit when I was a kid. I was my mom and dad's only child and their kids from previous marriages probably ended up getting the short end of the proverbial stick for that reason. That's not to say my childhood was a Disney movie, but I wasn't torn between two parents who lived on opposite ends of the state and stuck with a snotshit sister (that would be me) who was so lonely that she did everything short of set herself on fire to get attention. And I'm sure I considered it.
My sister, Leslie, is my dad's daughter from his first marriage. She had been the baby until he and her mom got divorced. They basically despised each other and then all of a sudden, a short time later, I arrived. On the infrequent occasions when I remember her coming to visit, my Dad had a hard time with the guilt that most weekend parents feel, she had a hard time communicating with him (and in all fairness, everyone did) and I was in the middle, jumping around like a monkey on meth. When we moved overseas, I got letters from her every once in a while and she tried really hard to keep in touch. Then as she grew older and her life moved on, the letters stopped. I don't think I was very good at answering them (sent me an email last year? I'll write back! Sure, I will!) and before I knew it, it had been almost twenty years since I had seen her.
My other sister, Lucy, had stayed in the U.S. when we moved to Kuwait and, since she was eight years older than me, by the time we came home, she was married and had a child. But since my dad was still with her mom, she was kind of stuck with me.
Needless to say, I missed having a sister. Between the age gaps, the distance and the emotional turmoil of being the daughters of different women we each fiercely loved and a father who had loved them both, Leslie and I didn't really have a great chance. I wondered about her often and I was saddened that I had never met my nieces and nephews.
One day after I moved, I came across an old address book I had been carrying around since I was a teenager. I had a number for Leslie from years before when my Mom had kept up with those kinds of things. On a whim, I called it and was surprised when my sister answered. We somehow fumbled our way through that first conversation and a little while later, I drove down to her farm in Franklin and found out, much to my surprise, that there is another woman out there just like me. She introduced me to her pot-bellied pigs, Donny and Marie and fainting goats and Bacardi 151 and homemade hangover remedies and I was in awe of how much I loved her (I also found out on a later trip that when rocks get hot enough, they make a sound much like a gun being fired. I have been in Memphis for too long because the first time I heard one, I hit the ground like Tupac). She had, like, eight kids at the time and was thin and blonde and beautiful and I STILL loved her.
There is a point to all of this. Hang in there.
Leslie is married to this great guy, Chad, who wants to have about a dozen more kids, much to the horror of her uterus. Together with his parents, they have/had a non-profit organization called U-Grow that targeted troubled kids in really unfortunate and sometimes awful situations. Chad is always working. Always. They had a petting zoo, a bunch of wonderful service Labs, climbing walls and all sorts of things that made their farm a fun, warm and active learning environment for these kids that sometimes didn't have anyone else who really gave a shit about them. They opened their home and some of the children grew up with them as a family. They cared, they worked their asses off, they didn't live for themselves and they inspired me to be a better parent.
Not long after I reconnected with Leslie, her Mom was diagnosed with bladder cancer after being told for months that there was nothing wrong with her. Sheila died in pain after the cancer spread, so quickly, and Leslie nursed her and cared for her until she finally passed away a short time later. Leslie was thirty-six and had a brand new baby. I wasn't the most comforting person during that time. I didn't know what to say and, "I'm sorry", seemed small and useless in the face of what she was enduring. I have always felt guilty for being the daughter that lived with our Dad and my sister was suffering and basically feeling like she had been orphaned. She moved on through it, rarely did I hear her cry or let on that she was in pain and she continued to be a fantastic mom even though I'm sure she wanted to curl up and sleep for months.
On the heels of that, the farm they rented was purchased by Brad Paisley. Franklin is a mecca of sorts for country singers because it neighbors Nashville and the hills and sprawling countryside are breathtaking. It's home to Tim McGraw & Faith Hill, Alan Jackson, Leann Rimes, just to name a few. For many reasons, the real estate pricing is astronomical and purchasing just wasn't an option for my sister and her husband. The farm they had lived on for almost a decade was a perfect compromise and even though the house was a hundred years old, it suited them. Leslie and Chad met Brad and his wife, the actress Kimberly Williams-Paisley and were relieved to find out that the huge piece of land they were buying wasn't out of interest in the old farm house. They wanted to build a house on the back side of the massive acreage and my sister and her husband were assured that they could continue to rent without any foreseeable problems. Basically, they would be living so far back from the farm house that it was as though they were living on another property. No problem, right?
Wrong.
Before Christmas, Brad Paisley's asshole manager came down (couldn't quite do the deed yourself, eh, Brad?) and informed my sister and her family that they had some ridiculously short time to be out of the house. Ten years of accumulating equipment for the non-profit foundation, climbing walls, a petting zoo complete with horses, pigs, chickens, goats, etc., several vehicles that had been donated and a giant barn full of stuff, but, hey, get the hell out! When my brother-in-law asked, in horror, "Hey man, haven't you ever heard the saying, 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'?" the asshole manager replied, "Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'He who has the the most gold makes the rules'?"
In desperation, the organization asked for a donation from the Paisley's to help cover the massive cost of moving and were met with silence. In a nutshell, Brad Paisley and his lovely wife single-handedly buried the non-profit organization. My sister and her husband were frantically searching for new homes for the animals and trying to find a way to save what they had built over the years. The animals were given away to various places because there was nowhere for them to go and the kids who depended on the happiness they found at that farm were faced with yet another disappointment in a lifetime full of them. Kim Paisley was on Oprah or some such thing a few weeks later harping about her involvement with Purina's charity and how she lovvvves dogs and WHATEVER, ALL THOSE ANIMALS AND KIDS SHIT ON.
U-Grow survived in name only and my sister never complained. She laughed about most of the ridiculousness that is the Paisley's and never got ugly or hateful. She moved on.
A couple of months ago, Chad lost the business he had been building while trying to keep U-Grow afloat. Les has been a devoted stay-at-home mom since her kids were little and now they are trying to keep food in their house as they suffer, again, for being nothing but great people in shitty circumstances. My niece is graduating and doing so without all the frills of a girl graduating high school. No senior pictures, no graduation invitations. My nephew had his sixteenth birthday yesterday and my sister called me and was heartbroken that it was going by without a present. The other three kids are young enough that they're still mostly oblivious to the danger around them. And at the pinnacle of my shitty sister career, Leslie turned 40 on Sunday AND I FORGOT. I didn't call her, I didn't send a card. Nothing. My dad forgot, WE FORGOT. I cannot believe how much of a dickweed I am.
And she started her period.
AND WE FORGOT.
Leslie, I know you don't read my blog on a regular basis, but I'm making you read through this novella. I want you to know how much I love and respect you and that as corny and Hallmark-y as it sounds, you're my best friend. I wish to God I could make all of this better for you, somehow, and I want you to also know that if I had a million dollars, I would give you at least a hundred thousand. (Because I have to help Mom retire and Dad's medical bills and college fund for the kids, that's not included in the hundred thou I'd give you, that's separate and I would want to give money to different charities and U-Grow, get that started back and if I said I'd give you the whole thing you'd laugh and say, "No you wouldn't. Liar.", and we both know I would blow that shit on about a hundred things that have everything to do with paying it forward and how much of a sap I am and we don't bullshit each other like that, am I right?)
I hope this makes you smile.
My sister, Leslie, is my dad's daughter from his first marriage. She had been the baby until he and her mom got divorced. They basically despised each other and then all of a sudden, a short time later, I arrived. On the infrequent occasions when I remember her coming to visit, my Dad had a hard time with the guilt that most weekend parents feel, she had a hard time communicating with him (and in all fairness, everyone did) and I was in the middle, jumping around like a monkey on meth. When we moved overseas, I got letters from her every once in a while and she tried really hard to keep in touch. Then as she grew older and her life moved on, the letters stopped. I don't think I was very good at answering them (sent me an email last year? I'll write back! Sure, I will!) and before I knew it, it had been almost twenty years since I had seen her.
My other sister, Lucy, had stayed in the U.S. when we moved to Kuwait and, since she was eight years older than me, by the time we came home, she was married and had a child. But since my dad was still with her mom, she was kind of stuck with me.
Needless to say, I missed having a sister. Between the age gaps, the distance and the emotional turmoil of being the daughters of different women we each fiercely loved and a father who had loved them both, Leslie and I didn't really have a great chance. I wondered about her often and I was saddened that I had never met my nieces and nephews.
One day after I moved, I came across an old address book I had been carrying around since I was a teenager. I had a number for Leslie from years before when my Mom had kept up with those kinds of things. On a whim, I called it and was surprised when my sister answered. We somehow fumbled our way through that first conversation and a little while later, I drove down to her farm in Franklin and found out, much to my surprise, that there is another woman out there just like me. She introduced me to her pot-bellied pigs, Donny and Marie and fainting goats and Bacardi 151 and homemade hangover remedies and I was in awe of how much I loved her (I also found out on a later trip that when rocks get hot enough, they make a sound much like a gun being fired. I have been in Memphis for too long because the first time I heard one, I hit the ground like Tupac). She had, like, eight kids at the time and was thin and blonde and beautiful and I STILL loved her.
There is a point to all of this. Hang in there.
Leslie is married to this great guy, Chad, who wants to have about a dozen more kids, much to the horror of her uterus. Together with his parents, they have/had a non-profit organization called U-Grow that targeted troubled kids in really unfortunate and sometimes awful situations. Chad is always working. Always. They had a petting zoo, a bunch of wonderful service Labs, climbing walls and all sorts of things that made their farm a fun, warm and active learning environment for these kids that sometimes didn't have anyone else who really gave a shit about them. They opened their home and some of the children grew up with them as a family. They cared, they worked their asses off, they didn't live for themselves and they inspired me to be a better parent.
Not long after I reconnected with Leslie, her Mom was diagnosed with bladder cancer after being told for months that there was nothing wrong with her. Sheila died in pain after the cancer spread, so quickly, and Leslie nursed her and cared for her until she finally passed away a short time later. Leslie was thirty-six and had a brand new baby. I wasn't the most comforting person during that time. I didn't know what to say and, "I'm sorry", seemed small and useless in the face of what she was enduring. I have always felt guilty for being the daughter that lived with our Dad and my sister was suffering and basically feeling like she had been orphaned. She moved on through it, rarely did I hear her cry or let on that she was in pain and she continued to be a fantastic mom even though I'm sure she wanted to curl up and sleep for months.
On the heels of that, the farm they rented was purchased by Brad Paisley. Franklin is a mecca of sorts for country singers because it neighbors Nashville and the hills and sprawling countryside are breathtaking. It's home to Tim McGraw & Faith Hill, Alan Jackson, Leann Rimes, just to name a few. For many reasons, the real estate pricing is astronomical and purchasing just wasn't an option for my sister and her husband. The farm they had lived on for almost a decade was a perfect compromise and even though the house was a hundred years old, it suited them. Leslie and Chad met Brad and his wife, the actress Kimberly Williams-Paisley and were relieved to find out that the huge piece of land they were buying wasn't out of interest in the old farm house. They wanted to build a house on the back side of the massive acreage and my sister and her husband were assured that they could continue to rent without any foreseeable problems. Basically, they would be living so far back from the farm house that it was as though they were living on another property. No problem, right?
Wrong.
Before Christmas, Brad Paisley's asshole manager came down (couldn't quite do the deed yourself, eh, Brad?) and informed my sister and her family that they had some ridiculously short time to be out of the house. Ten years of accumulating equipment for the non-profit foundation, climbing walls, a petting zoo complete with horses, pigs, chickens, goats, etc., several vehicles that had been donated and a giant barn full of stuff, but, hey, get the hell out! When my brother-in-law asked, in horror, "Hey man, haven't you ever heard the saying, 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'?" the asshole manager replied, "Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'He who has the the most gold makes the rules'?"
In desperation, the organization asked for a donation from the Paisley's to help cover the massive cost of moving and were met with silence. In a nutshell, Brad Paisley and his lovely wife single-handedly buried the non-profit organization. My sister and her husband were frantically searching for new homes for the animals and trying to find a way to save what they had built over the years. The animals were given away to various places because there was nowhere for them to go and the kids who depended on the happiness they found at that farm were faced with yet another disappointment in a lifetime full of them. Kim Paisley was on Oprah or some such thing a few weeks later harping about her involvement with Purina's charity and how she lovvvves dogs and WHATEVER, ALL THOSE ANIMALS AND KIDS SHIT ON.
U-Grow survived in name only and my sister never complained. She laughed about most of the ridiculousness that is the Paisley's and never got ugly or hateful. She moved on.
A couple of months ago, Chad lost the business he had been building while trying to keep U-Grow afloat. Les has been a devoted stay-at-home mom since her kids were little and now they are trying to keep food in their house as they suffer, again, for being nothing but great people in shitty circumstances. My niece is graduating and doing so without all the frills of a girl graduating high school. No senior pictures, no graduation invitations. My nephew had his sixteenth birthday yesterday and my sister called me and was heartbroken that it was going by without a present. The other three kids are young enough that they're still mostly oblivious to the danger around them. And at the pinnacle of my shitty sister career, Leslie turned 40 on Sunday AND I FORGOT. I didn't call her, I didn't send a card. Nothing. My dad forgot, WE FORGOT. I cannot believe how much of a dickweed I am.
And she started her period.
AND WE FORGOT.
Leslie, I know you don't read my blog on a regular basis, but I'm making you read through this novella. I want you to know how much I love and respect you and that as corny and Hallmark-y as it sounds, you're my best friend. I wish to God I could make all of this better for you, somehow, and I want you to also know that if I had a million dollars, I would give you at least a hundred thousand. (Because I have to help Mom retire and Dad's medical bills and college fund for the kids, that's not included in the hundred thou I'd give you, that's separate and I would want to give money to different charities and U-Grow, get that started back and if I said I'd give you the whole thing you'd laugh and say, "No you wouldn't. Liar.", and we both know I would blow that shit on about a hundred things that have everything to do with paying it forward and how much of a sap I am and we don't bullshit each other like that, am I right?)
I hope this makes you smile.
LOSER SISTER OF THE YEAR AWARD, 4 YEARS RUNNING!
(and that's Sharpie. Permanent. And I have to go to Wal-Mart. And I didn't fix my makeup or pluck my brows or anything for this picture. I'm shamed into showing everyone how crappy I look)
EDITED TO ADD: I almost forgot to mention the most incredible part...they were told they had to move because the house was being torn down so that Brad could build a bus barn for all his tour buses. As of right now, the house is still standing.
Here are the links to move this around the internet so that as many people as possible know what jackass's the Paisley's are:
Reddit
EDITED TO ADD: I almost forgot to mention the most incredible part...they were told they had to move because the house was being torn down so that Brad could build a bus barn for all his tour buses. As of right now, the house is still standing.
Here are the links to move this around the internet so that as many people as possible know what jackass's the Paisley's are:
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