WHEN DADDY CAME TO VISIT

I was somewhere between three, and five years old, and it was early Autumn. It was cloudy, and dreary outside, so my sister and I were playing inside when we heard a knock on the door. As we wondered who it could be, our grandmother went to see. When she opened the door, there stood our dad. He came in and we ran over to greet him. We asked him where our mother was, and he said, “She’s at home. She don’t know I’m here.” He said, “Get ready, and we’ll go surprise her.” He told my grandmother to get ready, and we would all go to his house for a few days. She quickly gathered everything she thought we would need, and we were ready to go. We all crammed into his black, 1953 Dodge truck, and we were on our way.

When we arrived, my sister and I got out as quickly as we could and ran inside to see our mother and our little sister. Our mom was happy to see us and was glad to hear we were staying a few days. We asked her if she was surprised, and she said yes, and that it was a great surprise.

My dad and uncle went hunting, and we spent some time with our little sister, while our mom and grandmother spent some time together, cooking and talking. Later that evening, after dark, the hunters returned with a dead raccoon. They skinned it and made some sausages. I remember seeing my uncle wearing a Coonskin Cap that night. He probably had it already, but for years, I thought he made the cap that night from that raccoon. That would have been pretty nasty, I’m sure.

In my parent’s house, breakfast always consisted of mackerels, boiled in a bit of water, and biscuits to sop up the soup. It was pretty good. Then there was the “Thickened Gravy” made with chicken-flavored bullion cubes. It was always good, too. Mom and dad would take turns making the Chocolate Gravy, but, no matter which one made it, it was always delicious.

For lunch that day, we got to try the sausages. They tasted pretty good, but I don’t recommend it, since raccoons are scavengers. They’ll eat anything.

My mom always made T-Cakes when we would visit. She would mix it all up, and get it ready to make into cakes, then she would give us a little to eat before she cooked them. It was pretty good, but nothing compared to how good they were after twenty minutes in the oven at three hundred and fifty degrees. She was a pretty good cook, and she made the best iced-tea in the world.

That night, a torrential downpour came. It rained for the longest time. The roof was covered with tin, and we could hear every drop that fell on it. I remember Daddy coming in, soaking wet. As he took off his coat, he said there were small fish falling from the sky. I had no reason to disbelieve him at the time, but when I was older and got to know him better, I thought he might have been joking, when I would think about that night. I never thought to ask him if it really happened, but I do know there have been recorded reports of “Raining Fish” as far back as the 1600s, so I guess it’s possible.

Well, soon the time came to go back home. We were sad we had to leave, but our home was with our grandmother. She was a pretty awesome cook herself. We went back home to our quaint, little house, and resumed life as usual.

I’ve always been thankful for those few days, and for all the other times we got to spend with our parents. Those memories will always be dear to my heart, but I’m so grateful to my grandmother for raising us and taking such good care of us. Our mom and dad were not yet Christians at the time, but our grandmother was. I’m so thankful for the values she taught us, and for introducing us to Jesus. I’m looking forward to the day when Jesus comes and gathers the dead and the living believers, and we can all be together as a family once again. Until then I have my memories.

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