Thunderstruck

This is a tale of two families, their unique paths, and points where they crossed. It’s about a reunion. It’s about new beginnings.

In 1995, my mother Judy and my stepfather James moved from my childhood home in Tyler, Texas, to a smaller place better suited for empty nesters. That’s the house I called the Swiss Family Treehouse. It was quirky and stucco, and each room was on a different level, so it felt very “treehousy,” only I’ve always said the difference was that my parents didn’t pass food and dishes up and down to each other with ropes and sticks.

James, a gifted artist and a creative soul, named the home “Thunderstruck.” James grew up in the country in Gregg County, and his family lived on Thunderstruck Road. Mom and James had a tradition of having house blessing parties when they moved into a new home, so once they settled in, they invited a bunch of friends and family to cram into Thunderstruck to celebrate a new chapter. Our dear family friend, Dr. Jimmy Reese, conducted the house blessing. James even created a logo for it.

In 2002, Tim and I were married in the backyard of Thunderstruck. My Uncle LB, former county judge of Wise County, presided over the wedding. I love telling our daughter Emily Rose that her brother was the best man, her sister was the maid of honor, her aunt Emily was the flower girl, and she was there to be part of it all. She just wasn’t born yet.

Tyler’s the kind of place where you know your neighbors, and Mom and James particularly liked the young couple who lived across the street. They celebrated when the couple had their firstborn son. When they had their second child, a girl, James gifted them with a rendering of what their house looked like on the day of the baby’s birth.

After we married, Tim and the kids and I began the tradition of spending whirlwind holidays driving around Texas to see our families. Those road trips are some of the best and worst memories of my life. The best because we were together, singing “Travelin’ Soldier" or any number of songs by the Chicks, or trying to nail the words to a Kanye or Jay-Z song, because that’s how we roll. The worst part is that I’m a terrible passenger, so Tim had to put me in the back of the Tahoe with a pitcher of mimosas and instructions to “just don’t look.” Somehow, every year we made it out in one piece, and those trips gave us some of our most cherished memories.

One holiday, Mom and James’ sweet neighbors came over, young son and infant daughter in tow, likely to pick up their homemade bread and jelly that my Mom gives to friends. The mother was holding the baby, looking beautiful as always, but also looking pretty wiped out. Tim grabbed the crying baby and placed her on his chest, and began gently patting her back as he walked, talking in his deep, comforting voice.

“How long has it been since y’all went on a date without kids?”

They looked at each other and didn’t even have time to answer before Tim said, “Leave the kids with us, and Amy and I will watch them so you can go relax. We’ve got this.”

Tim was so good at this kind of thing, I wasn’t even annoyed he’d volunteered me to watch kids on a holiday where I’d rather do pretty much anything than babysit a crying baby.

And with that, the two new parents went to dinner, and a different kind of bond was created. We had each other’s backs. It was that simple.

Flash forward to 2020. We had just made the difficult decision to move James into a nursing facility because he was experiencing dementia and needed more care than Mom could give. He was there for mere days when he caught COVID, and died several days later. Uncle LB passed away the same week. It was one of the worst weeks of our lives, yet the support of friends and neighbors helped ease the grief. During that time, my Mom often said, “It feels like a blanket of comfort is covering us.”

By this time, Mom and James’ sweet neighbors had built a thriving restaurant in Tyler, so they arrived with hot food, hugs, and their condolences. We wolfed down the food and went to bed with grateful stomachs and hearts.

In the Spring of the first year of COVID, I released a book, and the 8-city book tour I put together on my own had to be cancelled. I called our friend, the bar and restaurant owner, and asked if I could do a book party at his bar. To no one’s surprise, he not only obliged, and thanks to his amazing bar staff, I didn’t have to lift a finger.

Tim was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2017, and he fought hard, but in January of 2024 Tim left us for the Great Beyond. Mom’s lovely Tyler neighbors once again showed their generosity, offering up food and donations to Tim’s GoFundMe, which helped me manage the bills and expenses surrounding Tim’s death.

Within months of Tim’s passing, I moved home to Tyler to be closer to family and to figure out what would happen next. On the anniversary of Tim’s first year in the Great Beyond, I held a wake of sorts at the neighbor’s restaurant and bar. Everyone humored me as I told the story of the giant flag that flies above the stage where so many incredible bands have played. Years before, Tim was shopping at thrift stores in Austin - a thing he did with regularity - and he spotted a giant Texas flag for sale. He called the our friend and told him he’d bought a giant flag, and would he want to post it up at his place?

Flash to a month ago. I was standing at the bar at True Vine on the Square in Tyler, gearing up to do stand-up comedy for maybe the 8th time in my life. I was about to go to the bathroom and vomit from nerves, as I’d invited 4 friends to see me, but I wasn’t prepared like I thought I’d be. Just as I was about to take my name off the list, I saw the neighbor - who lives out of state now - standing before me.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” We both said, hugging and tearing up right away.

We did a 2-minute catch-up on his wife and kids and my kids, cried about losing Tim, and before I knew it, it was time for me to do 5 minutes of comedy in front of way too many familiar faces.

I wasn’t terrible. I wasn’t great, but I wasn’t worthy of anyone hurling tomatoes at me, so I considered it a win. After the show, a group of us went for a drink, and I caught up more with my friend. His oldest? 17 now. Thriving and smart and excited about his future. The baby Tim slapped on his shoulder and miraculously got to stop crying? She’s 14. Beautiful and smart and kind and just the kind of kid you’d expect her to be, given who her parents are.

After meeting for roughly 16 hours where we talked through every subject possible, I was offered the life-changing opportunity to work for Nick and Jen Pencis of Stanley’s Famous BBQ. Next to marrying Tim, it was the easiest yes of my life.

I’d kept this big secret for well over a week prior to the job offer, so I called up the Wilkins family matriarch, Judy, to meet us for breakfast at Stanley’s. Nick shared the news with my teary-eyed mom, who is over the moon at the news like the rest of us.

I will be serving as Nick’s executive assistant, though we’re still working out a title, because “Badass Bossy Beotch” isn’t appropriate and apparently not an option. I’ll keep you posted…

These two families who care so deeply for one another have reunited in the coolest way possible. Ahead of me is going to be a lot of hard work, permission to be myself fully, and an invitation to help grow one of the most reputable and giving local businesses in Tyler, Texas. It’s an opportunity to continue Nick and Jen’s mission of being kind and having fun. It’s a chance to eat ribs until I can’t look at a rib again for at least a day or two. It’s a chance to be part of a culture that celebrates hard work, community involvement, and kickass live music. It’s a chance for me to express my gratitude to Nick and Jen, who are taking a chance on a middle-aged widow with a bit of a potty mouth and a need to do stand-up comedy as a new hobby. It’s clear to me that everything I’ve done up until this point has led me to this position. What a gift!

It’s a chance to stop into the office (I’ll be almost fully remote) and see Tim’s flag waving, encouraging me to absolutely kill it.

Be kind. Have fun. I intend to do just that.

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