Coffee Chat - Kiddie Memories

I wonder what my kids will remember from this childhood, what good and bad will stick out in their little minds. If I think about my own childhood, initially I think that I don’t remember much, but that’s not really true.

I remember my Uncle Bobby, for whom Griff is named (his middle name). As a child growing up in the ’70s, I was convinced Bobby was THE coolest guy ever. He was a DJ - seriously - in Memphis at a time when music in Memphis was pretty amazing. He had long ’70s hair (he pretty much proved the rule that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover!) and would stick french fries up his nose to make me laugh.

(me and Bobby, I must have been seven or so)

Bobby died of cancer when I was 16. Bobby’s was the first funeral I ever attended, and it was amazing. Now, don’t get me wrong… it was terribly sad. But it was also really remarkable. The funeral home was so crowded with people who had been touched by his life that they spilled out of the building and onto the walkway outside. People were talking and laughing and telling stories about what they remembered and loved most about Bobby.

My mom and dad and grandparents introduced me to people they hadn’t seen in years but who had heard of Bobby’s passing and had traveled back to their hometown to pay their respects. I can remember my cousin, who was my age, telling me that Bobby’s death had made her afraid of death. I told her it made me less afraid of it. I knew without a doubt where Bobby was and that I was pretty good with going there, too.

And now that I’m grown up, I can only hope that people will think of me as fondly as they obviously felt about Bobby.

I remember spending weeks on end with my Meemaw and Pawpaw (who my children are blessed to be able to know) when I was little. She would push the kitchen chair over to the wall, so I could talk to my mom and dad on the wall-mounted telephone. And I can remember telling my mother that I didn’t want to come home. They kept RC Cola out in the shed in the back yard.

(my Meemaw and Pawpaw, unknown date)

My Bud and Gran lived in an A-frame house by a lake. They built the majority of the house themselves, and I loved sleeping in the loft. A HUGE attic fan hummed through the nights, making the lack of air conditioning bearable. If I looked out the windows that formed the wall at the back of the loft, I could see my swimsuit flapping in the breeze above the little garden of mint (for the tea, of course). I don’t think I have a single memory of being at their house when I was a child that involved me wearing proper clothes.

(their lake house… circa 1962, before I was born, thank you)

We swam, and we ate fresh veggies out of Gran’s big garden, and we drove the boat when Bud would let us. Bud and Gran stayed up late and watched the “Tonight Show” with Johnny Carson or old Westerns with the advent of cable. They slept till at least 9 a.m. every day. Gosh, how I loved that. THEY were the groovy old folks my brother and I wanted to be. I still think that, frankly.

(Bud and Gran, New Year’s Eve, uncertain date)

I cannot remember one single bad memory of being at their house. I wish that for my grandchildren some day (who will, of course, call me Chel the Great like Alice the Great on “Little Bill.”)

I remember dropping my little brother on his head when he was little. All memories can’t be good. I remember having appendicitis when I was in the sixth grade. I remember being 15 and having my 8-year-old brother give me chicken pox right before a family trip to Orlando. I was really sick. Little snot.

My mom made terrific homemade cinnamon rolls, and my Meemaw made the best chocolate pie ever.

What I remember most is that I was content, even when I wasn’t. I was loved and cared for, and really, that’s a pretty great thing for any kid.

Karen over at Write for Karen is a sponsoring a Coffee Chat in which bloggers are encouraged to write a post on a similar topic & then link over to her Mr. Linky. Obviously, the topic was what I remembered about my childhood.

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