I’ve already told you about my oldest memory, well I think this is my second oldest one. I remembered playing on the living room floor with a small toy car or truck in that little house my grandma was renting from the Richardsons in Theo, Mississippi. They also owned one of the little country stores that were there at the time.
I remember rolling a small ball around on the same floor. The floor wasn’t level so the ball would roll by itself. All I had to do was place it at the high point of the floor and let it go, then it would roll a couple of feet to hit the baseboard, and then come to a stop in the corner. I recall doing that over and over again. It never got old.
I also remember that part of the linoleum was torn back from the wall revealing another layer of older linoleum that was not torn as far from the wall as the top layer. The edges had been tacked down with those little black tacks. The raw wood floor was made of narrow boards, probably four or five inches wide.
Even though we moved from there when I was six or seven, I can still see much of the house in my mind. We have several pictures of the outside but I don’t think there were ever any taken on the inside. My grandmother had one of those old square shutter cameras without a flash. That’s the camera she used until she died. It had a viewfinder bubble, so you had to hold the camera down in front of you to see the image you wanted to take. Then you pushed a small handle down with your thumb to snap the picture. Then you had to manually turn a knob on the side to roll the film into position to take the next picture. They needed plenty of light to take a good picture so to get the best picture quality, outside on a sunny day was ideal.
The siding on the house was made of the same stuff roofing shingles are made from today but it was in big sheets. The roof was covered with corrugated sheets of rusty tin, and there was a small porch at the front of the house where my grandmother would often sit and watch us play in the front yard. We never got too far away from her. She was our protection and our lifeline and I guess we knew it even at such a young age.
In the backyard, we had a small garden in the summer. I remember almost stepping on a snake in that garden and being pulled back by my aunt just in time. When my grandmother first told me the story of Peter Rabbit, that was the garden I pictured in my mind. There was a clothesline strung between two trees at the end of the garden.
One day as she was hanging out clothes, I noticed a knot on a tree, about a foot up from the ground. I ran and jumped on the knot with one foot, then pushed myself off of it and landed back on the ground. I liked that, so I did it again. My grandmother said to me, “Stop before you get hurt.” I thought to myself, “Just one more time.” As I jumped up one last time, my foot slipped off the knot, and instead of bouncing off the tree, my chin slid down the tree, ripping the skin off in several strips. Owhhhhhhhh! I still remember the pain and embarrassment.
Closer to the house there was a spot where the wood for the heater was piled each winter. One winter we had a pile of slabs from the sawmill. I remember picking up boards about two feet long and throwing them higher onto the woodpile. That was also the spot where we would later tie our dog named Clete that we got from our uncle.
It was cold outside, but we were usually pretty warm in our little house, thanks to my grandmother, and our little wood heater, both provided by God, by the way. There was a pan to put the ashes into before carrying them out of the house when the heater would get too full. It always stayed in front of the heater to catch anything that might fall out while stoking the fire or putting more wood in.
I don’t remember where we had been that day, but we had just come home. My grandmother started a fire and put a couple of chairs in front of the heater so we could get warmed up while she fixed us something to eat. Soon, she brought me and my sister each a sandwich on a plate, and then went back into the kitchen.
Now, I never remember wasting food unless it tasted really bad, or unless I found a hair in it, but my little sister was a picky eater. If she didn’t want it, she got rid of it. She took one of her pieces of bread off her sandwich and threw it in the ash pan. Then she folded her other piece in half around her bologna slice.
When our grandmother came back from the kitchen, she saw that piece of bread in the ashpan. For some reason, she slapped me on the leg as she asked me, “Why did you throw that piece of bread in there?” I started crying. I think it was more because she accused me of something I didn’t do, more than the actual slap itself. When I explained what had actually happened, she apologized. After I stopped crying, I finished my sandwich and went on with my life.
I tell you that story because I remember it, not because I hold a grudge against my grandmother. She wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes, just like all parents do, but she loved us and she did the best she could. I don’t hold any grudges against my mom and dad for not raising us either. Too often, people can’t move on in life because they refuse to forgive their parents for the mistakes they made in raising them, but holding on to anger will eat you up inside and you’ll be a miserable person. It robs you of God’s blessings and his forgiveness.
Jesus said if we don’t forgive others, then God won’t forgive us (Matthew 6:14-15). If we’re not forgiven then we won’t make it to heaven, and that would be sad. So if you’re holding on to some hurt because of something someone has done to you, forgive them and be free from that burden Give it to Jesus and move on. Instead of dwelling on hurtful memories, choose to remember good times. The more time we spend with the good memories, the less time we’ll have to think about the bad ones. Try it. It really helps.
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