Well, well, well. I'm a little hesitant to tell you where the name came from because of what happened the last time I did.I used to write an online column in 1996. I posted my lame-o opinions just like now, gathered a little following of readers and was on my way to fame and poverty.
But everyone kept asking: "Where'd ya get that handle, Shadetree?"
I wrote a nice little 100% true answer (just like I'm doing now), and posted it to my web site.
Well, little did I know, my entire family (sneaky rascals that they are) were among my most rabid readers. They'd read my columns and analyze the hell outta me behind my back. Don't 'cha hate that?
I'm writing a scathing opinion piece on Bill Clinton using foul language left and right, and all the while my grandmother is just waiting for it to come out. Oy vey.
The next thing I know, I'm getting calls from my aunts saying that I need to go into therapy to deal with my problems about hating my family and using foul language.
I have no idea how they found my web site...or how they came across computers, for that matter.
But...here I go again. Only this time four years older and giving less and less of a shit what my family's opinion of me is, I give you...
The Origins of Shadetree Void: The Man, the Moron, the Legend.
by Shadetree himself
Back in my youth I was forced to pick watermelons every summer for my grandfather's farm. By "forced" I mean the same way teenagers are "forced" to guzzle grain alcohol:
"What are you, a pussy?"I probably was, but like any good young'un being pressured into something, I was determined to 'show them'.
I did it, made a hundred dollars a week for fifty hours work, and hated every minute of it. But the point is I did it.
Every Sunday, after church, the entire family of about twenty or so folks would converge on my grandparent's house to be fed and have good quality time together - Southern Style. Fried chicken and corn-on-the-cob and mashed potatoes and gravy and --- I'd better shut up, I think all I have in the 'fridge are three olives and a piece of cheese from the Bush administration.
After dinner the men-folks (so called) would start talking about the farm, farming, and other farm related topics. Somehow the conversation always got around to me, and how I never joined in on these discussions.
My uncle Ken would pull at his over inflated waistband and say, "No, Lee don't want to be out there in that hot sun. He don't want to be pickin' watermelons."
"That's right, but I was there." I'd lamely reply.
"No," Ken would continue, "He'd rather be sittin' under a shade tree somewhere, takin' it easy."
Repeat every Sunday, ad nauseum.
I've got news for anybody. If you'd rather be picking watermelons in August in South Carolina in 100+ degrees than anything else, then there's something seriously wrong with you. Either that or you haven't tried it.
Anyway...
When I was about twenty, I told this story to my best friend and fellow smart-ass, Mitchell. His reaction was typical of both of us. He laughed his ass off.
"That's it!", he said through his choking laughter, "That's your name. Shadetree!
You lazy bastard!"And so it is.
The last name is far less complicated, but equally ironic.About a year after telling this story to Mitchell, and enduring him calling me Shadetree all of that time, I received a letter in the mail. It was from one of these GET RICH QUICK fellows. I can't remember whether it was real estate with no money down or Amway, or chicken farming, but I can remember one part of the letter very distinctly.
This was before the days when everyone and his brother had a computer and Word Perfect, so the guys sending me the letter ham-handedly tried to personalize it to me.
It looked something like this:
Dear Mr. Boyd ,
Are you tired of living month to month, Mr. Boyd? Well have we got the answer for you...
Except for one thing. Whoever put my name on this list had poor typing skills, because the name came out like this:
Dear Mr. Voyd ,
Are you tired of living month to month, Mr. Voyd? Well have we got the answer for you...
As you know, the B and the V are right next to each other on a keyboard, so this is forgivable. I never got rich, quick or otherwise.
Well, I said to myself, "Self, that's you. A damn VOID. Something that takes up space, but has no real purpose."
When good old Mitchell got wind of this, his reaction was one of equal delight.
He said, "There you go. If you ever get your writing published you should use that as your nom-de-plume: Shadetree Void."
And so I have.
Shadetree Void,
Self PublisherP.S.
Grandma,
If you, or any of my other family members are reading this, I don't hate Ken. Okay?
Back to the Shadetree Void homepage Go to the Archives
Email Shadetree Void right here
Copyright 2000 Shadetree Void - LeeBoyd - All Rights Reserved
This site is protected buy the law firm of Ben Dover & C. Howett Fields
