April 24, 2018

Just a random, train-of-thought blog here.  I wanted to write down a few stories that Granddaddy told me before they are shuffled around in my head and I don't find them again.

He told me that my dad could walk by the time he was 9 months old and have full conversations by the time he was two years old.  And he told me that my Uncle Scott "potty-trained" himself after realizing how bad his diapers smelled!

Granddaddy told me a story of a bully who used to take Dad's bike from him and ride it up and down the road, taunting him, then leaving the bike on the side of the road for Dad to find.  Granddaddy made a club out of a limb and told Dad that if the boy did it again - don't hit his face - but use the club to knock him off the bike.  And it worked.  Dad didn't even have to hit the bully, he just stood there, holding the club like a baseball bat, and the kid got off the bike and didn't try it again.

Another time, two boys were at the creek, fishing, and threatened to beat up Dad if he showed up again.  Granddaddy told Dad to knock the boys' heads together if they said that again, and the next time, Dad did.  One of the boys' fathers complained to Granddaddy and Granddaddy defended Dad, telling him the boys were trespassing anyway. 

"Auntie" lived with Granddaddy when he was a boy, and Auntie taught Granddaddy how to cook.  He could fry sausage and would stir together all the ingredients for a cake.  They stored cooked sausage patties in jars, upside down, and the grease would harden and make a seal.  When they wanted to eat the sausage, they would put the jar on the stove in a pan of warm water to let the grease melt, get what they wanted out of the jar, then store it again, upside down, and let the grease harden again.

If Granddaddy had an extra dollar, he would catch the Greyhound bus at the Wildwood Post Office and take it into town for a quarter.  He could watch a movie at Main and Tenth, at the Dixie Theatre for 12 cents, buy Krystal burgers for 6 cents each, get a haircut for 25 cents, then walk down to 25th street and catch a ride back to Wildwood with someone who was on his way home from work.  Sometimes it would be in the back of a pickup truck.

I hope you get to come home again, Granddaddy.  I miss our talks.  I miss my drinking buddy.  Hope you get well soon.