Grandparents, the Greatest Gift in the World
Being a grandparent is awesome! At what time is an adult allowed to act so silly.
I have fond memories of my grandparents, however they took on a much more serious tone with the grandchildren than we do today.
My grandparents lived in Florence, Alabama which was a hard eight to nine hour drive from Macon, Georgia. Both sets lived there and we would get to visit them at Christmas.
On Christmas Eve around 3:00 in the afternoon, my brothers and I got to go to the movie. This was timed perfectly so that Mom and Dad would get off work when the movie was over and take us to dinner at LaVista, the local best catfish restaurant in town.
About two weeks before the big day of Christmas Eve, Mom would send a telegram to the North Pole advising Santa that we needed him to come early because we were leaving for our annual trip to see grandparents.
So while we little guys was at the movie and the restaurant filling our bellies, Santa came and left our Christmas cheer. Amazing how accommodating the ole fat man can be.
The long night trip to Alabama was good all the way around. My Dad always said that the car ran better at night which was the reason he liked traveling then. As I grew older and had children of my own I realized the real reason was because we slept and he didn't have to stop every thirty minutes for bathroom breaks and since we were asleep we weren't fighting.
Keep in mind this was the late 1950s and early 1960s so the traveling because the car ran better could have been a true statement.
I remember waking up around 12 midnight to the cracklings sound of the old AM radio in Dad's 1952 Chevrolet. The late night airwaves produced the sound of the radio station in Louisiana playing Louisiana Hayride and the sweet sound of the Bluegrass music. Dad would see I was awake but we didn't talk, we just sat in silence as the music and the cool night air filled the car.
We always seemed to arrive in East Florence early in the morning around 5:00 am. The old home that my grandmother lived in was on a dirt road on Billy Goat Hill. Below was the railroad yard and it was always busy with trains moving in and out.
When we saw the light in the living room come on we would race from the car, up the hill to the waiting arms of Grandma. It didn't matter what time of the morning we arrived we knew there were homemade biscuits and chocolate syrup to sop them in.
Granddad was a quiet man that spoke when he had something to say. He did not believe in idle talk or a lot of frivolity. He sat in the living room and read, mostly his Bible. Each morning he had his bowl of bran and never ate his food hot.
After breakfast he would walk about five miles to the courthouse where he would sit for a while with his old men friends and discuss the world situation. It was always a treat to go with Granddad, because on the way home we would stop for an RC and a Moon Pie.
Times were definitely different then and people were much more serious.
Grandma worked all day, she didn't have time to play or spend time with the grands. When she and Granddad got out of bed, the old pot belly iron stove had to be lit to heat the house. They burned huge pieces of coal and it was a thrill for this young boy to open the beehive handle on the door and toss in a piece of that black rock.
Her chores began when she started breakfast for the family. When breakfast was through, she began lunch and then supper. That was in between house cleaning and other things.
Granddad had retired from the TVA , Tennessee Valley Authority, and he filed saw blades for a living. He usually would walk to get them and walk to take them back. I never knew either one to drive a car.
Back then integrity meant everything and we were taught a good name and a handshake was all you needed in life to have a good reputation.
When I was thirteen, I got to go spend a week with them. Mom put me on a Southern Airways flight out of Macon and I flew to Muscle Shoals where I was picked up by my Uncle and taken to their house.
I had picked up the nasty habit of cigarettes and did my best hide them. On a bright Sunday morning, I sat on the porch polishing my shoes in anticipation for church. I had agreed to attend my Uncle's church that morning.
Thinking my Granddad was tucked away in the back of the house, I fired up a cigarette and commenced to enjoy the flavor. Hearing the old screen door squeak, I immediately disposed of the hazardous stick and continued polishing as if nothing was wrong.
Now Granddad was notorious for dipping Honey Bee snuff, as was Grandma. He walked to the chair beside me, leaned over the rail and with his two fingers in the shape of a peace sign, he spit and then sat down in the rocker.
I wasn't sure what I was in for so I sat quietly and continued my polishing. Finally he broke the cold quietness and simply said,"Son does your Dad know you smoke?" Sheepishly I said no and to my surprise he said he would never tell. The man took my secret to his grave.
Being a grandparent is one of the best things in life. I can get on the floor, roll and tumble, act silly and be a kid just like them, a regular playmate.
They always want to come to our house for spend the nights and they don't want to leave when their parents show up. We spoil them, feed them coke and candy and smile when they leave because we know as grandparents we can do it and get away with it.
Someone once told me they wish they could have had grands before they had their children. I don't know if that is true, but the love I have for my grandchildren is definitely strong.
My phone is buzzing, I think one of the five year olds is texting me to explain an issue I have with my cell phone.
"Life Happens"
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