A Tribute to the GOAT
By Collin Hockenbury
Like most of you, I’ve also been watching The Last Dance to pass the time. They say Michael Jordan is the GOAT. But he isn’t. The GOAT already came and went, and she was a lot closer to 4’ 6” than 6’ 6”.
Who was the GOAT?
My Nana, Doris Hockenbury.
I’m writing this because it’s been a year since she passed away. She was 91. I miss her all the time.
As I said, Nana’s name was Doris, but everyone called her Dotty. She was one of nine kids, and one of four that had nicknames. There was her sister Sugar (“Sug” for short), her brother Buster and her brother Nuddy, pronounced “Nudie.” Nuddy got his name because he used to swim at the Shelby Park pool naked as a kid. Classic.
Nana was ferociously proud of her family. Her siblings, of course, but also her mom, who “always had a baby on her hip” and still managed to keep their small Germantown home in ship shape. And her “daddy,” Herman. She never brought up her dad without mentioning how handsome he was. She used to tell me I looked like him all the time. So I guess he looked a lot like Vince Vaughn in Fred Claus.
Most of all, though, Nana was proud of my dad. And she let everybody know it.
West Point graduate, surgeon, talented pianist, marathon runner… my dad’s an impressive guy. But to Nana, her only child was a sort of messiah. I used to drive Nana to dialysis in the later years of her life, and we’d be making small talk in the car when she’d suddenly interject with a long anecdote about my dad. How his gym teacher gypped him out of straight A’s in elementary school (she kept all of his report cards). How well-behaved he was growing up. How he used to stay up all night studying. “Todd’s good at everything,” she told me once as we pulled onto the highway. I just smiled and shook my head.
When I really think about it, Nana took insane pride in every aspect of her life. Her German heritage. Her birthplace, Louisville. Her school attendance record. Her dedication to her faith. I truly believe Nana knew every hymn in our church’s hymnal. Standing next to her in the pew as the congregation sang, I’d stare down at her in disbelief as she’d belt out an entire song (and not one of the popular ones) without looking at the pages. She could have given the world’s most adorable TED talk on 20th century Presbyterian hymns.
That was Nana. She believed in herself and what she was about. She went through life with an assuredness. Look at the hymnal? You serious? See this leather-bound book? This is all me, baby.
GOAT mentality.
She was the GOAT at spoiling me and my sister, too. Hooking us up with strawberries and Cool Whip, roast beef and mashed potatoes, 7UP, the good stuff. Riesens. Do you know what Riesens are? If you don’t, you should. If you’ve read any of my past posts, you know I love food. I feel compelled to mention it was Nana who introduced me to Little Debbie, a friend of almost three decades. We’re still in touch.
When I got older, Nana always came to watch me play soccer. She didn’t care about a bunch of dudes chasing a ball around. She cared that I cared. When I was in college, she always sent me cards in the mail. We’d talk on the phone every few weeks, and she’d yell at my Papa when he said my dad was on the line but it was really me. His hearing was bad and his hearing aids were really bad.
After I graduated, Nana’s health went downhill, hence the drives to dialysis. I remember one dinner with her and my Papa in particular. Her appetite was gone and she barely touched her food. I was worried. She looked up at me and asked, “You know what sounds good to me?”
“What?” I responded, encouraged.
“Nothin’.”
That’s a vintage Nana line. Someone in my family quotes it once a month.
Nana despised dialysis, but it kept her here for almost ten more years. Her love of life returned and it was there for everyone to see. She carried Sunday brunch conversations all on her own sometimes, with a spicy Bloody Mary in hand. She never asked waiters if she could have a Bloody Mary. She told them. I want a Bloody Mary. And they couldn’t help but smile a little as they said it was coming right up.
We lost my Papa and my Nana within nine months of each other. It was always bound to happen that way if you ask me. My Papa proposed at a White Castle when they were teenagers. I always loved that. They were married for 77 years. Without Papa, Nana wasn’t herself. Wherever they are, it’s the same place. My family finds peace in that. They had an incredible run.
And I have to say, I’m glad Nana missed out on Covid. She would’ve hated it. No church, no visits with her family, no meals with her friends? Pass. It would’ve made for some hilarious remarks if she stuck around, but I think she’s better off on the other side of this new world we’re living in.
Nana played Game 7 at the right time and went out on her own terms. As sharp as ever, just very tired. Even the GOAT has to say goodbye.
But man, I miss her. I miss her telling me how much she loved me, and how good looking and smart and awesome she thought I was. I think we all need to hear the people who are proud of us say those things sometimes, even if we don’t believe them ourselves.
