When I was a very little girl living in upstate South Carolina, my mother's parents lived in Athens, Georgia.
Grandpa was a lot of fun. He and Grandma loved to have parties. My Mom tells the story of their Monopoly parties back when that board game became popular. Somehow they never had quite enough pieces, hotels, or houses for all the friends who would come over to play, so Grandpa would go out to his workshop the afternoon before the party and make more pieces!
Grandpa loved his family dearly. He gave his daughters the same gift that my father gave each of his children; the gift of knowing that they are loved and the gift of knowing that as much as their Daddy loved them, their Heavenly Father loves them far more.
I barely remember going to Athens with my Mom to visit her parents but I do have a few memories. They lived in a huge mansion that had the biggest back yard in the whole wide world. It went for miles from the house to the back end of the property, and almost as many miles from side to side. I bet if I had tried to walk all the way around their yard it would have taken me prob'ly a whole year to get all the way around! The fence along the side was a split rail fence and had a stile to go and visit the very nice lady next door. She had some very, very wonderful toys including a put-it-together-all-by-yourself-tin-wild-west-fort-with-soldiers-and-horses!
Grandma and Grandpa's house, in addition to all the aforementioned amenities, had a fireplace. It was the most wonderful fireplace ever because you could stand in the living room and look through it to the room on the other side of the fireplace. You could play hide-and-seek with your cousin, Baby Susan. You could even crawl through it to get to the other room if your mother was not watching. Somehow Grandma always knew that you had taken that shortcut. Maybe something to do with the ashes on the hands and knees?
There was a set of stairs that went down from the kitchen to the basement. My Aunt Roberta had me convinced that under those stairs lived Mr. Boo. We would call and call for Mr. Boo and while I often heard him I never did quite catch sight of him.
I have so many memories of that wonderful house.
I have only one memory of my Grandpa; only one picture in my mind and my heart of this wonderful man. I still remember being in that basement (probably looking for Mr. Boo) and hearing his voice as he came down the stairs calling for me and wondering aloud where I might be. I remember looking up and seeing his face; one of my favorite faces in the whole world.
Grandpa died when I was 3 1/2 years old. It amazes me that God has allowed me to have any memories of this dear man. I treasure the one memory I have, and I treasure the stories my mother generously shares with me.
I look forward to getting to know him in eternity.
|Grandpa and Aunt Roberta probably 1944 or so.|