Take Two, They're Small

Yesterday I posted one of my tongue-in-cheek “WonTone Records” write-ups about Losing Her By Fractions (One Fifth at a Time). My dad commented that it reminded him of a song my grandfather, Lee Jackson Cooper, wrote with Dalton Roberts. So of course I went digging—and in mere minutes stumbled across the miracle of the internet: somebody had found an old Impact! label 45, digitized it, and uploaded it to YouTube. Seconds later, I was hearing my grandfather’s words sung back across decades. For all its faults, this is the thing the internet is for: echoes of memory.

My grandfather, Lee J. Cooper, was born in 1925. He grew up in rough times, served in World War II, and was a man who displayed grit, humor, and the insatiable curiosity you typically only get from a life truly lived. He adored music—especially the piano—and I can remember him sitting me on his lap at the piano, trying to teach me music theory I was much too young to appreciate. He passed down not only a love of music, but also a fascination with computers and gadgets (he was tinkering with them even in the 1980s), a gift for jokes and storytelling, and an endless reservoir of knowledge. More than once, I’ve been told I sound a lot like him. If I ever take up bridge, I may just become him entirely.

He was also my introduction to genealogy and family history. He traced our roots, told our stories, made sure I understood where we came from. That legacy lives in me, lighting the path of a lot of what I love to do now. And he was fiercely proud of being named a Kentucky Colonel—because Kentucky meant history to him and it meant family, and those two were inseparable.

And then there was Dalton Roberts. Around Chattanooga, Dalton, who was born in what Chattanoogans used to call "the Water Trough," was a character in the best sense of the word. He wrote songs by the dozens, even had one climb to #1, and another nearly became the theme for a network television show. He recorded albums, played the Opry, wrote newspaper columns, and even served four terms as Hamilton County Executive. He and my grandfather were good friends, sharing a love for music, humor, politics, and community.

My mom remembers them writing this song together. It's easy to picture Lee J. on the piano, Dalton with his guitar, playing, laughing, and turning scraps of words and melodies into something whole. I was so happy to hear the song, because it turns something I knew about my grandfather—that he was a hell of a musician and a man who enjoyed writing songs—into something I can listen to and share.

Here's the track they wrote, Take Two, They're Small:

Take Two, They’re Small
by Dalton Roberts & Lee J. Cooper

The first time I kissed you, if I recall
You smiled at me and said “they’re free, take two, they’re small.”
It’s really strange how things have changed—Your lawyer just called,
You’re leaving me, seeking custody. Take two, they’re small.

Take two they’re small
They won’t be hurt much, so you say.
Take two they’re small,
They’ll understand it all someday.
They’re just my pride and joy,
That little girl and little boy.
They’re just my whole life, that’s all,
So take two, they’re small.

On Sundays I can see them, how nice of you.
And once a year they’ll visit me, and stay a week or two.
It won’t be long till they’ll forget, they knew me at all.
You’ll have your way—what can I say? Take two, they’re small.

Take two they’re small
They won’t be hurt much, so you say.
Take two they’re small,
They’ll understand it all someday.
They’re just my pride and joy,
That little girl and little boy.
They’re just my whole life, that’s all,
So take two, they’re small.

A song is always more than just chords and words. Sometimes it’s a bridge between generations, a reminder of the people who shaped you, and a little piece of family history set to music.