Melon Memories....
This past weekend was pretty strange for me.
Since I’ve been writing these pages, I’ve done a lot of thinking. Some of it has led to memories that have always been familiar to me. Some not pleasant but their all the same. Most of my childhood memories are bad ones. I was a rotten kid after my Grandmother died, my good days were over. I don’t have one pleasant memory after her death. I was the baby of her grandchildren. Whatever I wanted, I got. No one was allowed to mess with me in any form. Then she went into the hospital and she died. She was 64.
I happened to run into a cousin of mine Sunday. Ricky is the last of the family that I’ll even speak to. I think he’s four years older than I am. When we were growing up, he was the black sheep of the family. And considering the family I came from, that was something! We didn’t lack for a list of candidates.
We began talking about some of the relatives and what we thought of each one. He mentioned our aunt Nelline. What was so freaky about seeing him and the conversation leading to this was that I was just thinking about her on Friday. I’d been thinking of her families visits to the south and in particular the 4th of July week visits.
Nelly, her husband George and 3 kids would pile into the station wagon (that’s a prehistoric SUV for you kids reading this) and trek down a 2 lane state highway to Tennessee from Ohio. Their visits thinking back now seems like the ones Chevy Chase took in the “Vacation” movies. They were the ‘rich’ relatives coming to visit. They weren’t really rich but it sure seemed like it to us. They did all the neat stuff us kids loved. I remember George taking all of us to the lake for swimming. His son Mike saved my life one day up there when I went under and he grabbed me by the hair of the head to bring me up. We decided not to tell my bitch mom about that little incident.
But on their 4th of July vacation visits, they’d always buy tons of watermelons and we’d cut them up on the back porch at Grandma’s house. Someone would pull out the ice cream maker and all the grandkids would take turns cranking it. It still has to be the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted.
I know family get-togethers are 4th of July traditions but ours stopped after Grandma died. It just wasn’t the same. A lot of things stopped after she died. Anyone loving me seemed to stop too. At least anyone showing it.
Today, I bought a chunk of watermelon. I took it to my Grandmother’s grave. I ate it sitting on a small wall at the foot of her grave and talked to Grandma for the first time in a long time. The melon wasn’t as sweet as I remembered it and there was no ice cream. There was no Grandma either. At least in person.
But she was there. And I smiled on the 4th of July for one of the few times since 1966. It was a good Fourth for me.
Since I’ve been writing these pages, I’ve done a lot of thinking. Some of it has led to memories that have always been familiar to me. Some not pleasant but their all the same. Most of my childhood memories are bad ones. I was a rotten kid after my Grandmother died, my good days were over. I don’t have one pleasant memory after her death. I was the baby of her grandchildren. Whatever I wanted, I got. No one was allowed to mess with me in any form. Then she went into the hospital and she died. She was 64.
I happened to run into a cousin of mine Sunday. Ricky is the last of the family that I’ll even speak to. I think he’s four years older than I am. When we were growing up, he was the black sheep of the family. And considering the family I came from, that was something! We didn’t lack for a list of candidates.
We began talking about some of the relatives and what we thought of each one. He mentioned our aunt Nelline. What was so freaky about seeing him and the conversation leading to this was that I was just thinking about her on Friday. I’d been thinking of her families visits to the south and in particular the 4th of July week visits.
Nelly, her husband George and 3 kids would pile into the station wagon (that’s a prehistoric SUV for you kids reading this) and trek down a 2 lane state highway to Tennessee from Ohio. Their visits thinking back now seems like the ones Chevy Chase took in the “Vacation” movies. They were the ‘rich’ relatives coming to visit. They weren’t really rich but it sure seemed like it to us. They did all the neat stuff us kids loved. I remember George taking all of us to the lake for swimming. His son Mike saved my life one day up there when I went under and he grabbed me by the hair of the head to bring me up. We decided not to tell my bitch mom about that little incident.
But on their 4th of July vacation visits, they’d always buy tons of watermelons and we’d cut them up on the back porch at Grandma’s house. Someone would pull out the ice cream maker and all the grandkids would take turns cranking it. It still has to be the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted.
I know family get-togethers are 4th of July traditions but ours stopped after Grandma died. It just wasn’t the same. A lot of things stopped after she died. Anyone loving me seemed to stop too. At least anyone showing it.
Today, I bought a chunk of watermelon. I took it to my Grandmother’s grave. I ate it sitting on a small wall at the foot of her grave and talked to Grandma for the first time in a long time. The melon wasn’t as sweet as I remembered it and there was no ice cream. There was no Grandma either. At least in person.
But she was there. And I smiled on the 4th of July for one of the few times since 1966. It was a good Fourth for me.
posted by OpinionatedSOBinTN at 10:26 PM
1 Comments:
Thank you. She was a fine lady.
Post a Comment
<< Home