Wishing

The other day, Bryan, my 8-year-old nephew and pollywog #1, was feeling a little blue. For someone who has worn a wide grin since the day he was born, the sad face piqued my curiosity. So I asked him about it.

“I wish I had grandparents like everybody else,” he said.

My heart broke for him. Three of his grandparents died before he was born; only my dad was alive to share the excitement. Daddy doted on the little boy who reminded him of himself for about 15 months before he, too, was gone. All Bryan wanted was for his family to include some grandparents. That wasn't too much to ask, now was it?

I had the old-fashioned kind of grandparents. Both sets, the Berrys and the Millers, were pretty much worn out by the time my brother, Ted, and I arrived. I vividly remember spending the night at each home one time. At the Berry house, I heard mockingbirds for the first time and ate cinnamon rolls that popped out of a cardboard can. My grandfather Miller lived with us, so my once-in-a-lifetime spend-the-night was with my grandmother and my aunt, Mary Belle. They bathed me in a metal pan filled with water from the well and heated on the wood stove, cooked some kind of varmint brains scrambled with eggs, and listened to the radio while my grandmother dipped snuff. Treks to the woods took the place of indoor plumbing. The idea of hands-on grandparenting hadn't yet evolved; or if it had, they didn't feel the need to embrace the concept.

Jeremy, Evan, and Rachel, my children and Bryan’s cousins, were fortunate to spend their childhood with Mother and grow to adulthood with Daddy. I want Bryan to know something of his grandparents.

Bryan, I want to tell you about your Miller grandparents—Mildred and Chat. Both were colorful characters, had lots of friends, and loved life and each other. You would have spent many nights at their house and eaten made-from-scratch biscuits every morning for breakfast. You would have listened to Manna read a hundred books and probably lost to her at ping pong. Gran told stories of going barefoot to school, skipping third grade, and picking cotton on the farm. He might have taught you to say your ABC’s backward like he did. You would have worked at the store every summer and mowed his yard. They would have been in the stands for karate, basketball, and baseball. On report card day, Gran would ask why you didn't make all 100’s and wait while you tried to explain yourself.

If you were sick, Manna would stay at home with you; Gran would check you out of school for trips to the orthodontist which would include lunch. If you needed a haircut, Gran would take you to Mr. Hinkle. Every Sunday you would see Manna in the choir and Gran ushering. After church, you might have gone to Piccadilly and gotten a dollar if you added up all the tickets correctly. Of course, Manna cooked most Sundays and invited the family for fried chicken, Spanish rice and pork chops, or roast. If she had shrimp, you were thankful that they were peeled, deveined, and the shells were in the garbage at the Elks Club. If you left any food on your plate, Gran would remind you of the starving children in India.

Gran would give you a $2 bill on special occasions, and Manna’s laugh would reassure you that the world was a wonderful place. You would know every day how much they loved you.

Bryan, I told you the day you were so sad that I also wished you had grandparents; because if you did, my mother and dad would still be alive. Life doesn't always work out like we wish it would, but somehow it always works out for the best.

Although Uncle Tim and I aren't your grandparents, we love you for them.

Love,
Aunt Gay
April 26, 2013