re: Tell Me About your Dad

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AoG Pastor

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we lost my younger brother 10 years ago. He told me it should have been me

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He's a good man

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Farewell “Big” Gary Plauché

We grew up in a little village. An enclave in South Baton Rouge. It was a different time, much different from today. Life was simple . . . life was
sweet. We all knew each other; we all liked each other. We shared our lives together. There were the McElroys, Achees, McCrackens, Cagles, Grahams,Kuykendolls, Duplantiers, and of course the Plauchés.

They were like our family . . . they were our family. We were living in a young neighborhood bound by common threads and common interests: food, football, fun, and of course the children.

We lived in a time before technology . . . we played all day until the sun went down or until we heard Mrs. June yelling, “Jody! Gary! Get home.” (We didn’t have cell phones; all they had to do was yell down the street, and we would come.) We played Pee Wee Football and CYO Basketball, and we did Y-Indian Guides, jumped on trampolines, built treehouses, played backyard football, caught snakes and turtles, brought home strays, collected cats, dogs, ducks . . . we swam all day at the neighborhood pool. We climbed to the tops
of trees. We would set up ramps and jump them with our bikes like little daredevils (we would actually set trash cans on fire and jump them with our bikes like Evel Knievel), much to our parents’ dismay. . . but we were fearless.

We went on adventures. We would play in the woods back then when there were woods. We would walk down to the Village Grocery, and we would spend all our money on gum and candy. We would see how much gum we could actually fit in our mouths. (My favorite was green apple.) Mrs. June wouldn’t allow me in the house. For some reason June never liked green-apple gum.

We had cookouts, barbecues, and crawfish boils, and our parents drank. . . lots of beer. On Christmas morning we’d meet out on the streets to play with our new toys: big wheels, Green Machines, Stretch Armstrong, our new bikes, our Evel Knievel bikes . . . and then we would play some more.

We experienced trauma and tragedy together. We slammed our hands in car doors, we broke bones, and we got stiches. We witnessed the drama of life unfold: father and son quarrels, little Gary’s (Bubba’s) accident at the pool, and when the unthinkable happened, we all stuck together.

Mr. Gary stood his ground. And we stood by him. The whole community stood by him. We had a loving fondness for each other. And we looked out for each other. Our dads were from a different generation. They drank to excess, they told jokes and laughed until they cried, and they were men of their word and friend to many.
They were good men.

They would scream, and they would yell, but when the
moment was right, the tears would flow down their wrinkled faces, and you knew that there was a deep, abiding love inside their hearts. They were tough
and tender. They were honest, loyal, and kind. They were our dads, doing the best they could, and despite all their faults, the depth of the love they had for their families was undeniable and unshakable.

But Mr. Gary was a dad among dads. He was a sweet-hearted man. I’m not sure if he knew he was great. He was humble, and my guess is that he did not know it . . . but he was. He loved so deeply . . . his wife/the love of his life . . . June. His children:
Gary, Jody, Sissy, Mikey . . . and the grandkids.
We are lucky . . . and we are grateful . . . for the life you gave us.

Mr. Gary Plauché was not just a good man; he was a great man. And he will be missed tremendously

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